Futuristic ・ＯＵＲＯＢＯＲＯＳ — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮.

[birth of venus]

OUROBOROS

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• CHARACTER SHEETS

  Welcome to the character creation thread for Ouroboros! Please fill out the sheet below in its entirety, and remember, roles are not first come first served. Feel free to PM me with any questions about characters! Tip: this textbox has a hidden scroll and tabs at the top right. Thanks for reading!
  
  Due date: Thursday, Dec. 28th @ midnight pst.
  
  

  — DOSSIER.
  name:
  aliases: (if applicable.)
  age:
  gender:
  sexuality:
  place of birth:
  race/ethnicity:
  
  — VISAGE.
  hair:
  eyes:
  skin: (color, texture, etc.)
  build:
  distinguishing features:
  face claim: (not required)
  
  — PERSONA.
  personality:
  vices: (3+)
  virtues: (3+)
  fears:
  ailments:
  
  — CLASSIFICATION.
  role:
  totem:
  skills:
  weaknesses:
  expertise: (optional, but if you'd like to elaborate on your character's experiences and strengths in dreaming, go crazy.)
  
  — HISTORY.
  background: (give us as little or as much as you'd like.)
  relationships:
  extra info:​
• LORE & MORE

  While I work on the lore thread, in the meantime here's some lore tidbits and definitions for reference! As I've said before, it is not a requirement to watch Inception (though I definitely recommend it lol) so I'll be elaborating on some of the terminology used. If you have any questions, as always, feel free to nudge me in the OOC thread.
  
  Dreamsharing: Dreamsharing is the practice of creating a dream and bringing one or more people into that new dream world with the use of the PASIV device. While dreamsharing, the dreamer (oftentimes an Architect) creates and controls the world, while the subject unconsciously fills the dream with people and information. Oftentimes a subject's memories will be reflected in their dreams, replicating locations they're familiar with, sometimes even recreating moments in their life if their emotional reaction is strong enough.
  
  Extraction: In the business, extraction is the art of infiltrating the mind of a person to steal their secrets or gain access to anything deemed of worth. A smooth, experienced Extractor is crucial to the operation. To successfully extract information from a subject's mind, they must successfully manufacture the world of the dream so that once the subject is brought into that world, it feels completely real as long as they are in it. Oftentimes once a subject realizes they are not the creator or in control of their dream, their subconscious will react accordingly to the threat and the once mindless projections simply populating their dreams become the white blood cells in an immune system - they will become suspicious, aggressive, and even downright violent to eradicate the thread.
  
  Totems: A totem is the most important piece of equipment for any seasoned dreamer. The totem is an anchor to remind the individual that they are indeed dreaming, and to help remind them of what is the dream and what is reality. Each dreamer makes their totem personally, and in order to protect its integrity, only the totem's owner should ever handle it. In that way, the owner is able to tell whether or not they are in someone else's dream. In the owner's own dream world, the totem will feel correct.
  
  Shades: While a subject's mind typically populates their dream world with harmless projections, a shade is a far more insidious facet of their subconscious that can be described as a sentient being. More often than not, a shade can be someone from the subject's life - perhaps an ex-spouse, a deceased family member, any individual with a negative memory attaches. The shade gains a life of its own, and will do whatever it takes to bring others down with it and convince them to question their reality. Many dreamers consider a shade to be a mark of death; any industry professional would typically be vetted before a job to ensure that they have no shades lurking somewhere in their mind, because if they do, they come along for the ride and into any dream, spreading like a disease.
  
  Limbo: An expanse of infinite raw subconscious, Limbo is not dreamt by any one of the individuals dreaming together, but is a shared space where any one of the minds sharing the dream can make drastic alterations of any kind without limits or obstacles. Because of the apparent lack of limitations, Limbo is a dimension that can allow a dreamer to manifest their deepest desires, but also unwittingly trap themselves in a world where they lose their awareness that the world created is not reality.
  
  
• RULES

  Here's our rules once more, just for convenience sake.
  
  1. Please follow all RPN rules. Being kind, courteous, and respectful helps us make a great group roleplay together. Please be aware this roleplay will include: various themes of violence, psychological trauma, and death. Do know that trigger warnings will happily be enforced to ensure the comfort of our fellow players.
  2. Age requirement. This roleplay is strictly 18+. No hate to the younger writers here, as y'all are crazy talented, but I am an adult and I would prefer to write with other adults! Please respect this rule, thank you.
  3. Literacy. Please know that literacy is a must! This will be what most would consider a "literate to advanced" roleplay, where I expect good grammar, literacy, engaging writing, and 2-3 paragraph replies. I'm not super harsh on this rule, I understand inspiration comes and go in waves, so I don't expect walls of purple prose. As long as we keep things fun and moving along, I'm happy. No one-liner replies.
  4. Activity. The world has gone a bit crazy as of late, so I understand that not everybody can be on daily. Once the roleplay has started, please be able to post once or twice a week, but also keep in mind I'd really like folks who are happy to chat OOC and contribute to plot discussions and such!
  5. Joining. This is not first come first served! If enough interest is garnered, there will be an application process, and once applications close I'll be considering which characters will fit best for this plot. Please only use realistic face claims/reference images for your characters, or feel free to opt for a written description. Codes are not required. FCs are not required as well, but encouraged!
  5. Discord. Please know that a Discord server will be made once the cast is chosen. Personally, I find it really great to have a server for easy OOC chatting and convenient plotting, and our server will involve bots such as Tupperbot and other integrations to help shape our story. Be aware of this if you’re interested in joining!
  
  

code by Nano

 

[birth of venus]

THE CURRENT ROSTER:

architect & mission: tasya kuznetsova & timofey kuznetsov ( birth of venus )
forger: delphine jonas ( celadon. )
forger: ziva chan ( a z u l a )
pragmatist: fredrik nordkvist ( Viper Actual )
pragmatist: fausto nobrega ( FloatingAroundSpace )​

 

[birth of venus]

"I AM THE MAKER OF MY OWN EVIL."
TASYA KUZNETSOVA

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  THE ARCHITECT.

  
  

  My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the ones I love, but my mind holds the key. I'm living in an age that calls darkness light, though my language is dead, still the shapes fill my head...

  
  
  

  
  

  enter?

  
  

  
  
  
  
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Tasya Kuznetsova.
    

    Age:

    31 years old.
    

    Gender:

    Trans female.
    

    Sexuality:

    Who's asking?
    

    Place of Birth:

    Saratov, Russia.
    

    Ethnicity:

    Caucasian.
    

    Languages:

    Russian, English, German, Italian.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME, BITE THE HAND THAT NEEDS ME.

    
    
    

    PERSONALITY

    
    "MY BODY IS A CAGE..."
    
    There is a delicate balance to be found when one walks the line between reality and dreams. It is said that Architects typically are those of structured, rigorous minds and type C personalities, though truthfully Tasya feels the opposite. There is design to be found in chaos, there is pattern to be learned from the shapes and structures that her mind forms in idle hours. You just have to look close enough, she'd say. Holding such power and control within the tips of her fingers feels. . . good. Too good. She'd let herself dream for days at a time if she could exercise her hours in such a leisurely manner. But, there is work to be done, and losing her grip on reality is not a luxury she can afford. Behind her permanently fixed black sunglasses is a smiling face, but if she were being honest (which she never is), the truth is that Tasya has never been satisfied.
    
    There has never been true contentment found in her life, but nevertheless she has persisted in the fruitless search of gratification. She cannot lose her grip just yet, there is simply too much to be done. Forged from nothing, destined for nothing, Tasya is a woman who's gone from living on scraps in the margins of society, to becoming a wildly successful professional in a very secretive industry.
    
    There's a special brand of defiance that digs its roots into a person when they are born unwanted. When that small bit of optimism finally fades, the kind that makes you weep and try to prove yourself worthy of your involuntary existence, it is more freeing than anything in the world. Ever changing, always evolving, fast and never lonely, Tasya is all ego and blue smoke in your face, revealing only what she wants to reveal. To most of the world, you'd pass her on the street without a second glance. Standoffish, unemotive, simply making it through the day as she buys a coffee and newspaper and moves along. But when she works, the truth is unveiled; Tasya a manipulative silver-tongued professional who's happy to tell people exactly what they want to hear, when they need to hear it. Its unabashed and shameless, the way she's learned to lie and cheat and drain a person of exactly what she needs and discards them without another thought. Her thirst for knowledge is endless, and she is always determined to get what she wants in life, no matter the cost.
    
    

    VICES + VIRTUES

    
    
    Tasya's vices likely outweigh her virtues, and she happily lives with the fact. She's manipulative, a cunning woman with a sharp mind and tongue, and an ability to weave her words and convince weak minded men to do her bidding. Most of the time, at least. She's analytical and downright nosy, and has always claimed that "If I ever decided on a normal job, I'd probably be a psychologist," and many have likened her gaze to an x-ray examination when unfiltered by her sunglasses. But above all, Tasya is unerringly selfish, a product of an abusive and lonely childhood that was an uphill battle of survival. There had never been any true family in her life, and so she only had herself and her own mind to trust.
    
    In all truth, Tasya is not an evil person. She doesn't consider herself good, or even kind, but there's not much malice to be held against the world. She was born without a choice, learned to be mean, and has forged her path well. The woman is resourceful, an experienced beggar who grew up shaking an empty cup into the world for scraps of food or change on the streets. As said before, there's a shameless aspect to Tasya that can be brash and off-putting for most. Growing up meant lying for survival, and by her early teens she was a con artist with experience, whether it be lying to gather funds for her "poor sweet mother's breast cancer fund," "my baby sister's sick and we need cold medicine," "I can't afford books for school," anything to tug and pull at the heartstrings of good Samaritans so she could have a hot meal that night. And perhaps the most important detail of all for an Architect, Tasya is detail oriented to a mind melting degree. Perfection can be achieved, if she works hard enough for it. If you want your subject to be thoroughly convinced, the look and feel of the dream needs to be perfect. Tasya's work has been good enough to get her to this point.
    
    

    FEARS + AILMENTS

    
    
    Much of Tasya's life has been spent looking danger in the eye; she never had to deal with fear outright, until now. Her biggest fear is her brother's death, he's the only thing tethering her to the world.
    
    As for ailments, Tasya is a high functioning alcoholic. Her drinking began young, and though she tried her best to hold off as she went through hormone therapy and transitioning, it has gotten worse than ever. Its a tricky addiction that Tasya truly believes she has a handle on; her drinking is annexed into certain days and certain times, compartmentalized and something akin to scheduled appointments. Alcohol and somnacin don't mix very well. She learned that the hard way.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I BUILT THIS PLACE WITH BROKEN PARTS, JUST LIKE THEY SAID...

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    6:38 AM:
    Don't worry so much. We'll be done by tonight, and by tomorrow I'll be back in town. See you soon.

    
    

    6:42 AM:
    You know I always do. I don't trust those guys as far as I can throw them. Sweet dreams, brother.

    
    

    11:50 PM:
    Tasya, are you awake? Answer please. I think something went wrong. I don't want to fall asleep.

    
    

    I can feel it, like I'm being watc

    
    

    4:28 AM:
    Timofey????

    
    

    4:29 AM:
    Where are you?? Pick up the phone

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    Silvery blonde and reaching her midback, with messy waves and unruly stragglers of hair. Tasya doesn't do much to her hair, typically keeps it to her shoulders, and always pulled away from her face.
    
    

    eyes:

    A very dark, cool toned brown bordering on black. The juxtaposition of her dark eyes against tufts of white lashes is not lost on her, hence the glasses.
    
    

    skin:

    Flat and pale, a bit sallow if anything due to her being pretty nocturnal. She avoids the sun far more than she should.
    
    

    build:

    5'9", all long limbs and fidgety digits, without much else. She experienced a bit of stunted growth in her youth due to malnutrition, and even now the aftereffects echo in her build, lean and sharp angled.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    wardrobe:

    A once poor street kid, now a career criminal, Tasya is a fashion chameleon that enjoys wearing anything and everything. Her day to day style is function over fashion, though. Androgynous outfits of white collar dress shirts, black ties, straight cut dress pants, oxfords or boots, leather black gloves, plenty of trench coats or even fur coats, Tasya prefers a streamlined and genderless sense of style during her working hours.
    
    

    body modifications:

    A nose stud, but no tattoos or other identifiable marks.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    come closer - boy harsher
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    For a majority of her life, Tasya had always resolutely known that she was born alone, she would live alone, and she would die alone.
    
    Over the years, the fact of the matter had gone from a looming sense of dread that she could never outrun, to a comforting factor that only emboldened her and drove her to work, and improve, and survive. Her early life is a mass of photographic memories, made more and more unclear with every dream she builds herself. A photographic memory means nothing if there is no context to be held; there are images she remembers, a face not unlike hers, blond hair and dark eyes, spending her days as a young child with who she thought was maybe a cousin or another child in her orphanage. But even with thorough searches through her own dreamscape to try and uncover those memories, there was nothing left to discover. Her parents weren't really parents, just two people responsible for her conception, apparent no record of her birth or who her mother was ever existed. The daughter of nobody.
    
    At the back of her mind, she's always considered hiring an Extractor to excavate whatever memories her mind decided to bury away so deep even she could not find it. But there was nobody she could trust with such a vulnerable endeavor, no matter how much money she could pay for it. It's fine, she thinks. There's no need to get so desperate, to turn over that stone.
    
    -
    
    Tasya found her life's purpose in the depths of a night club basement, high on ecstasy and lured by a charming man with the promise of free liquor. Nineteen years old and lost in the haze of Berlin raves and clubs, "happiness" for her was the endless flow of alcohol and lines and lines of cocaine. Maybe she was lost, at the time, but she didn't want to be found. She didn't need to be found - nobody was looking for her, a new woman barely breaching adulthood and travelling with no connections nor obligations. Before she had realized what was happening, her and each of the girls had been hooked up to a PASIV. Despite her inebriated state, Tasya remembers the dream as clear as day. Shifting shapes and colors, a newfound ability that she never knew existed within her brain.
    
    The reality of the situation was that they were an experiment, an observation made to see what exactly happened in shared dreams with inebriated and drugged dreamers. Whatever they had pumped into her, it eventually sent Tasya into a full blown overdose. If it weren't for the chemist holding vigil over their bodies in the meantime, she would have died. He was no guardian angel, though. The man disconnected her, hauled her upstairs and back onto the club floor, disregarded and left to be found by other clubgoers who quickly called an ambulance.
    
    Those few minutes of newfound inspiration never left her mind. Whatever they had done, she would go to the ends of the earth to seek it out and explore it on her own terms. Like a newly formed addict, Tasya was desperate for her next hit.
    
    -
    
    A decade flew by in a blur, more time spent asleep than awake.
    
    A new and unrelenting force of nature entering the emerging industry of dreamsharing, Tasya dedicates her time exploring the limits of creation within dreams. Soon, she's an Architect with a bustling list of eager clientele. The work of an Architect was arguably some of the most important when it came to dreams; to effectively fool someone, you needed to convince them that dreams were reality. Tasya was not only an Architect, she considered it a god damn art form. A precise, mathematical art, existing in a divine juxtaposition that she could spend eternity exploring.
    
    An Architect's work was detail work. With enough time and research (and money, of course), Tasya could replicate the most intricate of bedrooms to the most looming of buildings. It was meticulous, sometimes outright grueling, and always dangerous. It was a thrill ride that never ended. By twenty-five, worrying about a hot dinner or a safe place to sleep was an idea of the past. She was making money faster than she could spend it, and business was good.
    
    What was supposed to be a simple job, a quick jump meant to take no more than four hours of her time, recontextualized her entire life in a moment's notice. The men that had hired her were new clients, and when she arrived at the debriefing, once again she was introduced to a new purpose.
    
    There stood her twin brother, Timofey. The two hadn't even completed the job at hand, reunited for the first time in over two decades. Suddenly, neither of them were very alone anymore.
    
    

    
    
    

    i am nothing in my soul, if not obsessive.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    classification

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Justified in the name of the holy and the divine.

    
    
    

    
    

    etc.

    
    

    Totem:

    Her black sunglasses. In dreams, Tasya has always combatted with a persistent nausea, and has always had sensitivity to light. When she created her totem, she made her glasses specifically with anti-motion sickness technology in mind. When she's awake, they're simply a normal pair of shades, but when she dreams they help level out her nausea and are perfectly balanced.
    
    

    Skills:

    Eidetic memory; Tasya has photographic memory, allowing her to be such an exceptional Architect with such a detail oriented work ethic. She's a skilled pickpocket, is (somewhat) good at picking locks, and is surprisingly fast on her feet.
    
    

    Weaknesses:

    Truthfully, Tasya would not consider herself combat ready. Many of the situations within dreams can escalate to dangerous levels, and Tasya has met her fair share of adversaries in the waking world as well. But she's been in a truly dangerous fight barely a handful of times. She knows how to use a gun, but she's never really had the stomach for violence.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[birth of venus]

"RESISTANCE AND WILL,
EMBRACE THE SUBTLE THRILL."
TIMOFEY KUZNETSOV
THE JOB.

© weldherwings.

 

[orpheus.]

聖なる

서예슬

ex·ploit.

make full use of and derive benefit from (a resource).

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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Oleander Cruz

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  29

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  Cis Male

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  Homosexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  alias

  
  

  Orpheus

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  

  Extractor

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  self-critical

  
  
  
  
  

  trait

  
  
  
  
  

  trait

  
  
  
  
  

  trait

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  personality:
  Due to having been deemed mature for his age, Leander is keen on the synchronicities that make up a general adult human's thought system. Their opinions, mentalities, and habits cluster so intricately for him to just pick apart. He's got a huge chip on his shoulder about not having much of a normal childhood and when someone tries to hold him accountable for his actions, he blames having had to grow up so fast. He's technically spent his adolescence in a coma, but he doesn't necessarily think that's where it started. He was a bright child and his homelife wasn't exactly 'Hallmark' branded. It took a while to feel comfortable in his skin, especially after spending 2 years drifting in the clouds. His actions always point him in the interest of self, but not all of it is due to circumstance. He's tried to be the good person in the room, but he's so vulnerable when he's in that state that he's been taken advantage of before. Not a great reason to keep small circles and never just relax, but he's been colored in that way anyway. There's nothing for him to care about other than himself anyway. As long as he keeps his nose cleaner than most, he figures "Why not be a dick. Not heartless, just less of heart.
  vices: (3+)
  virtues: (3+)
  fears:
  ailments:
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  interests

  
  

  
  

  interests here

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hobbies

  
  

  
  

  hobbies here

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  date here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Blank
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  date here

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.
  
  Aliquam erat volutpat. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Maecenas consectetur eu libero quis ultrices. Aliquam pharetra volutpat diam ultricies varius. Nullam accumsan nec dui in euismod. Suspendisse porta odio in pharetra tincidunt. Curabitur quis urna vitae turpis tincidunt ultricies non a erat. Duis bibendum quam et tellus varius efficitur id quis arcu. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Pellentesque eget mattis ante, et sodales ex. Proin sed leo aliquam lorem vulputate tristique in feugiat dolor. Curabitur id malesuada neque. Curabitur aliquet facilisis commodo. Praesent purus eros, suscipit a pellentesque a, venenatis id dolor. Donec commodo nunc facilisis metus sodales sollicitudin. Nam a odio sit amet augue mollis tincidunt.
  
  Curabitur nulla sem, accumsan sed tincidunt vel, suscipit et dui. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Proin euismod euismod commodo. Cras iaculis arcu nec felis mattis semper. Praesent non dui lorem. Maecenas rutrum, purus quis varius iaculis, turpis quam auctor nisi, sed hendrerit massa lectus nec mauris. Maecenas fermentum, ligula at dignissim placerat, libero lectus imperdiet diam, sed fermentum nulla ligula porttitor nisi. Curabitur sit amet venenatis justo, id bibendum orci. Donec convallis quam ut urna facilisis, quis laoreet ante molestie.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  quote. make it a nice quote

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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  tonight (demo)

  
  

  amira elfeky

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

• .
• .

• You're the anchor that I tied to my brain.

  Саша

  enter
• • .
  • .
  • .
  • .

  • Never Love an Anchor

    the Crane Wives

    0:00

    3:50

    vitals

    aleksandr ivanovich romanov

    sasha

    male

    bi ace

    34

    may 14th, 1989

    moscow, russia

    russian

    the tether
  • visage

    height

    6'2"

    weight

    190lbs

    hair

    
    Blond. Longish and usually unstyled.
    
    

    eyes

    
    Right brown, left blue. Like a husky.
    
    

    physique

    
    Lithe, flexible muscle, like a dancer. Has a nose that looks like it was maybe broken and healed wrong.
    
    

    style

    
    Gopnik stereotype meets annoying gym rat. Hip-hop pants and track suits paired with the most expensive sneakers you've ever seen. Sleeveless hoodies. Big ass sunglasses. Combat boots. Also owns a leopard fur coat.
    
    

    modifications

    
    He's been shot a few times and has the scars to prove it. Stabbed too. Has a handful of tattoos in easily coverable places.
    
    

    face claim

    
    Ivan Yankovskiy
    
  • fears

    
    The things he's done in the military catching up to him, an enemy finding his family.
    
    

    ailments

    
    50% white fuckboy by volume, hubris
    
    

    virtues

    
    Loyal, decisive, clever, competent
    
    

    vices

    
    Arrogant, manipulative, demanding, irritable
    
    

    At first meeting, Sasha often comes across as cold: quiet, reserved, and often dry or brusque when he does contribute to the conversation. This is a defense mechanism: all his life he's been the weird kid, too loud at the wrong times, always saying the wrong thing, and he's learned to keep his mouth shut. If you manage to get him to warm up to you, you'll find a completely different person hiding under that indifferent armor. Confident, affable, and with a decisiveness that's its own kind of charisma, once he's comfortable with people he usually winds up in the center of them, to his great surprise.
    
    At this point, the only person who thinks people don't like Sasha is mostly Sasha, but old habits die hard.
    
    Sasha does also have a hell of a temper, but he's long learned to keep it to himself. Most people don't get to see it until he's well past the boiling point. Despite the temper and his often grumpy daily demeanor, in an actual crisis he's a cool head. When everything is going to shit around him is when Sasha is at his best.
    

    mind

    mythos

    childhood

    The middle child of three, Sasha was born in Moscow during the decline of the Soviet Union to a British journalist and her Russian photojournalist husband. Rather quiet and bookish as a child, and the least assuming of three clever, charismatic children, Sasha never considered himself particularly academic, and was happiest running wild in his various extracurriculars, of which hockey and ballet were his favorite.
    
    Sasha's father passed when he was sixteen, and as his high school graduation drew closer, Sasha's mother decided to move back to the UK. She intended to have Sasha's little sister finish school in England and wanted Sasha to go to university there. While knowing that this was probably the smart thing to do, the thought of having to a. live in the UK and b. keep going to school for another four years made Sasha feel a little panicky. So instead he made the incredibly bad choice to join the military.
    
    

    military service

    Sasha went through officer training after his initial contract was fulfilled, on the recommendation of his superior officers, and soon found himself working in a project he hadn't known existed.
    
    Sasha worked for several years in the Russian military's Dream Ops division, both working in secret bases in closed cities helping to develop the program and explore the limits of the PASIV technology, as well as using it in the field. (Unknown to him, at this time his mother was making a career change in the UK, studying psychology, and specifically researching the psychological ramifications of using PASIV devices.) After ten years in the military Sasha retired, mostly due to becoming increasingly alarmed at potential misuses of the PASIV device in military hands and deciding he wanted no part of it.
    
    

    recently

    After leaving the military Sasha found himself being headhunted by private parties of varying levels of shadiness regarding his expertise in dreamsharing. He's still trying to decide how he feels about essentially being a dream mercenary.
    
    These days, when he's not off working a job somewhere, he mostly lives in Oxford, England, near the rest of his family. Sasha's also still trying to decide how he feels about his mother being a colleague.
    
  • gallery

    OTHER
    Totem: A metal lighter. It's stamped with the words "God Speed" on it. In real life, it always takes him at least two tries to get it to light. In a dream, it always lights on the first try, or won't light at all.
    
    Skills: Though Tether is the accepted term for a dreamer with his skill set, Sasha has always though of himself as an anchor. He's a fixed point for the rest of his team, grounding them in the ever changing reality of a dream. He can tell where they are in a dream, and even teleport to one and return them to his original point.
    On a more mundane level, Sasha's had more training than most in combat and emergency situations, both in and out of dreams, and is a cool, collected presence in an emergency, and probably knows how to get out of whatever bad situation he's found himself in. He's something of a blunt instrument though, so it may not always be the best way out.
    
    Weaknesses: Maybe he simply carries too much weight from the waking world with him, but Sasha has a very difficult time molding the dreamspace around him. Whatever he's got on him in a dream is more or less what he's got to work with.
    Also has the emotional intelligence of a ham sandwich. Please allow 3-4 business months to process a difficult emotion, thank you!
    
    Relationships: TBD
    
    

    additional info

coded by natasha.

 

[zara3447]

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 04

  03

  02

  general

  cinnia

  full name

  Cinnia Nolan

  age

  27

  gender

  Nonbinary (she/they)

  sexuality

  Biromantic demisexual

  date of birth

  September 09

  place of birth

  Nixon, Nevada

  cinnia (cin) nolan — the nurse

  totem.

  A teardrop ring set with a red gem that she wears on a silver chain around her neck. The inner edge isn't smooth, but instead raised in a faint, sharp ridge, just dull enough that it won't break the skin when she slips it on. When it sits around her finger, the pressure is enough to maintain a faint, stinging ache, which is a useful depth gauge in multi-layered dreams.
  
  

  skills.

  They're scrappy, and know how to handle themself in a fight, dreaming or waking. They're also meticulous, detail-oriented, and have an incredible grasp of anatomy which is rather important when convincing dream wounds to knit themselves back together.
  
  

  weaknesses.

  She's physically unimposing, and quiet in a way that can come off as passive. As with any child who grew up in a violent, unsafe environment, they understand people very well, but that's somehow never translated to an ability to actively manipulate or charm anyone over to her side.
  
  

  expertise.

  They're the last sort of person you'd expect to be a talented dreamer, really, with their uncompromising grasp on reality. But perhaps that's exactly what allows them to do what they do...
  
• 04

  03

  visage

  01

  cinnia

  ht

  5'6

  eth

  Caucasian

  hair

  Chestnut brown, perpetually in messy waves. Cut shoulder-blade length.

  eyes

  Very pale blue, with a ring around the edge. Long, dark lashes, and a bit of a downturned tilt.

  body

  She's a collection of lanky limbs and lean muscle on a bird-boned frame. Big eyes and a sweet mouth lend their face a delicate cast, but there's something harder lingering beneath the edges of their features, something almost hungry about the way their gaze devours the world.

  mods

  She's got an unexpected assortment of scars under her clothes, including a nasty six-inch slash along her right hip, and an unmistakable pair of puckered bullet holes just under the left side of her collarbone. They've also got a simple outline of a blacktip shark on the inside of their left forearm, a remnant of younger, stupider days.

  style

  Street casual. Simple tanks and tees, jeans with the cuffs rolled up, a pair of (once) white chucks going on five years old. Almost always has an oversized hoodie on, usually black or dark gray. A worn khaki duster jacket is her only concession to the cold.

  fc

  Amelia Zadro
• 04

  persona

  02

  01

  cinnia

  • fillersss
  • .

  • vices & virtues

    misc

    vices

    Avarice - Any kid that's grown up dirt poor can tell you that everything in the world comes with a price tag. There's nothing that can't be bought, only things you can't afford. Money means a sense of security to her, always has and likely always will. They hoard it like a dragon, has saved up more than their mother ever earned in her life, but it still never feels like quite enough to let their worries go.
    
    Indifference - Whether it's a product of nature or nurture, her strongest defense mechanism has always been to retreat emotionally, to deaden her herself and simply not feel. Despite her current occupation and her.. dreamer talents, she's no bleeding heart. They can watch unflinchingly as something awful happens right in front of their eyes, and choose simply to walk away. She does, however, get fiercely attached to people if she allows herself, which is why she, as a rule, rarely does.
    
    Obsessive - She doesn't have casual interests. It's just a never-ending cycle of one fixation and then the next: Two weeks spent memorizing every bone and muscle and blood vessel in the human body. A month learning the language of flowers, leaving petals instead of notes on the dining table. And when they discovered dream-sharing in that sketchy bar basement? They spent the next three years of their life living and breathing dreams, positively ravenous for that high, addicted to the imitation of escape.
    
    Unforgiving - You get two chances with her, and that's it. One to fuck up, and one to show that you can make up for your mistake. After that, time is money, and she has none to waste on headstrong fools. (That is, of course, unless you're someone who has managed to trick her into caring about you. Then, her vice is holding on long past the time she should have let go.)
    

    virtues

    Adaptable - They're a quick learner, and good at thinking on their feet. Even when they're thrown into a new situation that's completely out of their depth, they've got one hell of a poker face, and it never takes them long to find their footing.
    
    Capable - There's a sense that she approaches every issue with calm confidence, be it an argument or a broken bone, and that she'll always find a solution in the end. She's got a reassuring steadiness about her that's quite effective at convincing people to trust her, as long as they don't look too closely at the steel in her eyes.
    
    Principled - It might not look much like how a typical moral compass should, but she's got her own set of morals and principles. Don't start a fight you're not willing to finish. Own up to the consequences of your own actions. Reward loyalty, reward kindness, and stick by the people who have stuck by you. Never leave any of your people behind.
    
    Tenacious - Even when a situation looks hopeless, they refuse to give up or lay down and die. They've survived this long by clinging to the stubborn mantra that "every problem has a solution", and though there's been quite a few close calls, it hasn't truly failed them yet.
    
  • vices & virtues

    misc

    fears

    
    Attachment - For them, this is The Fear. Being emotionally removed from every situation is the linchpin holding their sanity together. They won't try to make friends, has no interest in getting to know people outside of whatever interesting skills or quirks she might be able to pick up from them. She keeps her social interactions largely transactional, and it's worked well enough so far. "But that's no substitute for genuine human connection!" you may argue, and you'd be correct to. But you can't miss something you never truly had, right?
    
    Failure - Five years helping the Blacktips medic and three years as Glear's Nurse has taught them that the price of their slip-up is someone else's suffering. It would have been paralyzing, this knowledge, except that they'd learned it in an environment so fast-paced, they didn't have the time to freeze up. They've come to terms with it a little better now, or so they tell themself, but all that really means is that she does her very best not to mess up. And when she does, she takes it hard.
    
    Insanity - There's a reason none of the drugs or drinks she's tried has ever stuck, or ever felt like a real escape. The unforgiving logicality of their mind is both their lodestone and their cross to bear, their one constant in a messy, chaotic, ever-shifting life. She's always been able to trust her mind not to lie to her. What is the essence of a person, after all, if not their sound mind?
    
    

    ailments

    
    She's got a bad shoulder (the left one, the one two rival gangbangers shot a pair of bullets through) that aches when the weather changes. The scar tissue means it tightens up far faster than it should, and they have to stretch it out thoroughly after a long job if they don't want it to be so sore it's useless the next day.
    

  personality

  At first glance, there's not much loud or remarkable about her. Just another white trash trailer park kid who never outgrew their roots, never got out of that dead-end town. Soft-spoken but hard-eyed, calm with the aftermath of leaving caring behind. They don't have much of a temper, but they hold a wicked grudge, and the only sense of morality she has is the lawless, brutal, small-town justice kind. Take matters into your own hands, solve your own problems, because ain't nobody gonna dirty their hands for your bruised pride.
  
  Having nobody to lean on taught her to be independent from a very young age, to be level-headed, never lose her cool, and never give fear an inch. Or anyone an inch, for that matter, lest you paint yourself a pushover and an easy mark. If you want to survive, don't antagonize, but always stand your ground. Nowadays, they've got a soothing presence to augment their steady hands, and a politeness that verges on sweetness, but those were definitely later-life acquisitions. Even after she's settled down, though, she has a tendency to keep to herself. She never learned the habit of reaching out, which makes for a rather lonely life, especially in a town like Nowhere, Nevada.
• history

  03

  02

  01

  cinnia

  character name

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam in semper risus. Morbi porttitor metus in velit hendrerit, ac ultricies mauris pretium. Aenean sagittis magna non lorem dignissim, in posuere tellus tincidunt. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Aliquam in consequat libero. Mauris non gravida felis. Sed erat augue, mattis eu fringilla nec, porttitor eu est. Vestibulum vestibulum diam vitae lorem efficitur luctus. Pellentesque sed fermentum dolor. Curabitur sodales arcu sapien, porta mollis sapien vulputate a. Maecenas eu augue vitae tortor molestie scelerisque. Suspendisse quis egestas lacus.

  character name

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam in semper risus. Morbi porttitor metus in velit hendrerit, ac ultricies mauris pretium. Aenean sagittis magna non lorem dignissim, in posuere tellus tincidunt. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Aliquam in consequat libero. Mauris non gravida felis. Sed erat augue, mattis eu fringilla nec, porttitor eu est. Vestibulum vestibulum diam vitae lorem efficitur luctus. Pellentesque sed fermentum dolor. Curabitur sodales arcu sapien, porta mollis sapien vulputate a. Maecenas eu augue vitae tortor molestie scelerisque. Suspendisse quis egestas lacus.

  character name

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam in semper risus. Morbi porttitor metus in velit hendrerit, ac ultricies mauris pretium. Aenean sagittis magna non lorem dignissim, in posuere tellus tincidunt. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Aliquam in consequat libero. Mauris non gravida felis. Sed erat augue, mattis eu fringilla nec, porttitor eu est. Vestibulum vestibulum diam vitae lorem efficitur luctus. Pellentesque sed fermentum dolor. Curabitur sodales arcu sapien, porta mollis sapien vulputate a. Maecenas eu augue vitae tortor molestie scelerisque. Suspendisse quis egestas lacus.

  coded by natasha

  the silver years (0 - 14)

  (TW: implied child neglect, death, substance abuse, addiction, gangs, violence)
  
  This is what she understood of her childhood: that the world was made of rain, and Sebastian Nolan brought the sun. That her mother loved her, but only when she was capable of loving anything, and Ciara Nolan was only capable of it when her husband was around. To a child's sense of time, Sebastian was eternally leaving and leaving, with a kiss to Ciara's cheek and grandiose, grinning promises that, "this time, sweetheart, I'm striking it big. When I'm back, we'll be rich as kings, and you won't have to worry 'bout a thing again." And then he'd return, weeks or months later, penniless and defeated. But that was okay, Cin never minded, because when he was around, it was like the sun had come out again. Ciara glowed in its warmth, the prettiest thing in this dusty, no-name town. And she remembered how to love her daughter again.

  the scarlet years (14 - 19)

  It couldn't last, of course, this unsustainable cycle. It was inevitable that Sebastian would get into trouble over his head, that a man too free with his promises and possessing of so little common sense would break one to the wrong people. "Took him out back and shot him like a dog," a Blacktip told her years later, gap-toothed grin wide and mean. But at fourteen, all Cin knew was that her mother cried for months, throwing herself into drugs and drinking as if grief was a monster she could kill with some pills or drown the bottom of a bottle. And when those weren't enough to keep her demons at bay, she found something harder.
  
  Everyone had their vices, of course, their little escapes. But Ciara's poison of choice promised both a high you could die on, and a price tag that would bankrupt you before you even got there. Cin hadn't known exactly how her father had died, but she got the message clear enough when a pair of Blacktips showed up at the door and pointed their pistols at her mother's haggard face. The Nolans had debts to pay to the gang, and Cin was the only one in any shape to pay them. So at fourteen, Cinnia Nolan joined the Blacktips as a runner.
  
  On top of what her father owed them, her mother's expensive habits meant that no matter how much Cin made, the check never balanced to black. So they took on riskier and riskier jobs, clawing their way up the ranks with ruthless grit. Her father was dead, her mother desperately wanted to be, and they couldn't even picture what a future could look like ten years down the line. They'd lost everything, and lived for nothing, and they weren't afraid to die. All that potential, that bright mind, wasted on the blood and brutality of the streets. Or, it would have been, except that it caught a deputy's eye, forever changing the course of their life.

  the blue years (19 - 22)

  His name was Glear, he'd been a Blacktips deputy for thirty-five years, and he was known around the gang as the Dreamfather. Dreamsharing had only been a vague concept to Cin before he'd brought her to that shitty Reno bar, neon lights striping their faces violet and blue. Before he'd hooked her up to a PASIV, and the somnacin hit her veins, and she opened her eyes to a world that promised her the first convincing illusion of escape she'd ever found. After that? She would have done anything to keep it, and fuck the warning labels attached.
  
  Glear had initially brought her onto his team as an Architect, figuring that their incredible attention to detail and impeccable spatial memory would translate to a natural aptitude. Unfortunately for him, they lacked a critical component of the Architect's arsenal: imagination. Anything they'd seen before, they could replicate perfectly, but they just couldn't create worth a damn on a larger scale. To his credit, Glear had shrugged off the setback, let the team jokingly dub her "Trace", and swapped her in as their second Forger.
  
  And then, half a dozen jobs in, they'd discovered something incredible. Something that changed the rules of the game. That Trace, with her critical logician's brain and intimate sense of how things are supposed to fit together, could convince a dreamer's mind that she had knitted their body back together. As a Forger, she was dispensable, neither the best nor the worst. As a Nurse, they were worth their weight in gold. The three years with Glear's team were by far the most vibrant ones in their life, filled with frenetic highs and desperate lows, the heart-shattering adrenaline of near misses and the soul-crushing catharsis of success.
  
  Eventually, though, those near misses are going to catch up to you. You can't keep scraping by on the skin of your teeth. One of these days, someone's going to fuck up, and you're not going to make it there in time. Cinnia Nolan was twenty-two when she watched her mentor die, a projection's blast blowing the left side of his chest wide open, his ribcage shattering like so much shrapnel. He was gone before she'd had a chance to flinch.
  
  The team had lost people before, but never like this. Never this early into a multi-layered job, with hours left on the clock and the Wizard's strongest sedative pumping through their veins. The others were scrambling to set up a kick, frantic scurrying ants cutting their losses to save their own skins. Trace was a stone in the middle of their ocean.
  
  She didn't turn back that day. She should have. But her heart has always been her weakness, so she followed him down. Afterwards, though? Afterwards, she walked away from all of it. There were just some prices that were simply not worth paying, even for a woman with little to live for.

  aftermath (22 - present day)

  She could have gone anywhere after Reno, with a topped-up bank account and the gratitude of the gang, but she had a bad habit of never giving up on people who had long stopped being worth staying for. So they went back to that dead-end town they grew up in, and did their best to learn how to live some semblance of a normal life. A high school degree finished in one year, a college degree in three. A quiet job at a clinic two towns over. Three cats and a garden of flowers. Taking care of a mother who was dying, body falling apart at the seams from the years of grief and abuse, mind failing far before her health did.
  
  Above all, they did their best to ignore how the world seemed duller, slower, not so crystalline-sharp around the edges. That she hadn't felt true thrill, or anything approaching joy in a long, long time. That the restlessness in her bones had never gone away, eating at her night after night, as they lay awake staring at the ceiling, unable to dream. Silencing the starving child inside of her who never gets enough of anything, who never knows how to love something just a little. Who walked away before they'd had their fill, and thus could never stop feeling the lure of just one more time. She had just enough self-preservation to listen, and just enough willpower to hold out.
  
  This, though, is the problem with secrets: two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead. And much more than two team members had borne witness to her reckless plunge into limbo, and subsequent retrieval of Glear. It should have been a bright yellow warning sign, that they had quit the business entirely afterward, but hope was a stubborn, insidious thing. Word had gotten out on the grapevine, as rumors always do, and the whispers started buzzing about the Nurse who could accomplish the near-impossible. Nixon, Nevada proved to be a rather effective place to disappear.
  
  Though the storm had mostly died down after the initial frenzy, job offers still trickled through occasionally over the years, in the form of envelopes in her mailbox, texts from unknown numbers on her phone, and old faces showing up on her porch. She turned them all away with firm politeness and an implacable smile. The letters went unanswered, the texts deleted without even being read. Trace had disappeared from the dreamsharing scene for good reason, and they had no interest in being found. Or maybe too much interest, despite everything, which was why she couldn't allow herself to even consider it. There was no such thing as a recovered addict, really, just a temporarily abstaining one. A tilted domino, frozen in the split second of inertia before gravity caught hold again.
  
  And then Tasya's letter came. Seventeen words, four million dollars, and a one-way ticket to London. They made the mistake of opening the elegant black envelope, of letting their eyes scan over the short message inside before her better judgement could scream at her to put it down, right the fuck now.
  
  It only took a single moment of weakness for her to board the plane.

left

 

[Steve Jobs]

ID: 450390399

Ollie

+

LOADING...70%

NAME: Oliver Brazzos
DOB: 01.05.1972
AGE: 50
GENDER: Male
SEXUALITY: Homosexual

01

File:

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  Appearance

  >

  HEIGHT: 5'10" | 178cm
  

  >

  WEIGHT: 152lbs | 69kg
  

  >

  SKIN: A light, olive color with cool undertones. His age shows through his crows feet and the creases in his brow whenever he has to deal with a troublesome teammate.
  

  >

  BUILD: Slim
  

  >

  DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: A cool mustache
  

  >

  FACECLAIM: Murray Bartlett

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  Personality

  “I like to disappear every once in a while. Keeps people on their toes.”

  Oliver is nice, but he is not kind.
  
  He'll introduce himself first, offer you a drink, and ask about your day but he'll never answer a 3:00 A.M. call or donate a kidney. Every word that leaves his mouth is laced with the faux cheeriness of a retail worker, designed to either placate or persuade his target to work with him rather than against him. Should you earn his ire however, he'll respond with the cattiness of an off the clock customer service worker. He has an ear for detail, picking up on the smallest of changes in one's voice or body language, hanging on to the details that would seem useless to others. Even the most mundane of information can prove useful, be it as a display of friendship or emotional ammunition.
  
  Some call it cruelty, but he runs his personal life much like his business, purely transactional. Titles, connections, favors, few things come from the goodness of his heart. One would be hard pressed to have a genuine relationship with him, even harder to have something beyond an acquaintanceship. His walls are high and the part of him that despises vulnerability always claws the back of his mind. Even while drinking, he holds a certain poise that makes him simultaneously safe and untrustworthy.
  
  Nonetheless he does his best to honor his client's terms without compromising anyone's wishes. Whether that means playing mediator between two parties, giving up part of his cut, or extortion, Oliver understands that long term relationships outweigh short term gain. His modeus operandi is that "a deal is a deal" and he will hold everyone to that, save for himself.
  
  Because sometimes deals change.

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  Virtues

  Persuasive, Observant, Cutthroat

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  Vices

  Detached, Dishonest, Alcoholic

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  Fears

  Stagnation, Emotional vulernability, Hairloss

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  Ailments

  He's just old and Australian
• 02

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  Backstory

  Before there was Oliver Brazzos, there was . Born to a hair dresser and a rum distiller, he grew up comfortably middle class in Sydney, Australia. Disco, protests, color TV, the 1970s were rife with both social and technological revolution. Though his family erred on the reclusive side, it never stopped Oliver from approaching people from all walks of life. He had a talent for worming his way into the lives of others and a curiosity that couldn't be satisfied by books alone. Regardless of their age, class, or social standing, he loved talking to strangers.
  
  He seemed particularly intrigued with the hippies that sometimes occupied his neighborhood, finding their nomadic lifestyle exciting compared to his mundane life. Where his days consisted of school, saxophone practice (later marching band), and occasionally hanging out with friends, the "vagrants" (as his mother so lovingly called them) played music and smoked pot. If they felt like working they would and if not, they'd find some other way of making cash.
  
  It seemed so much freer than the school to factory worker to nuclear family pipeline. He long accepted that his parents weren't fans of "that lifestyle," but it didn't keep his heart from dropping when his dad called his uncle slurs or pressured Oliver into getting a girlfriend. Luckily he was a good actor and he buried his feelings to depths that no ocean dweller could reach.
  
  He threw himself into his studies, applying for every scholarship, and to every university that accepted international students. Regardless of his savings (or lackthereof), he didn't want to live in the same city as someone who would kick him out for being a "dirty sodomite."
  
  Eventually he secured a scholarship to the University of Southern California where he would start a band called "The Sandmen" and meet his future partner in crime. At first Darius was just the bass player for their band but it turned out that the two had a lot in common. A love of jazz, crazy family members, and the need to get away from their hometown, it was no wonder that he ended up being the first person that Ollie came out to.
  
  They kept in touch after college, exchanging calls and emails to make up for the distance and utterly boring careers. For Darius it was working for a hedgefund and for Oliver it was selling used cars in Pasadena. It was good money and the city seemed more gay friendly than some of the surrounding areas, though much of his love life still had to stay under wraps.
  
  Every day felt like a reflection of his high school days until Darius asked to meet for coffee.
  
  It was 2005 and the United States was four years deep into the Iraq War. MP3 players, social media, and the Internet was just barely making an impact on the real world. He asked the Aussie very plainly if he was happy with his life. Would he drop his old life if it meant going on an adventure, even if it was dangerous? At first it was a hard sell. Because as boring as Oliver's life was, the idea of dreamsharing sounded like a scam; at the same, he didn't take Darius for a fool. Deciding to entertain his proposal, Oliver agreed to explore a dream.
  
  Go figure that all the years of lucid dreaming would finally pay off.
  
  The two joined LUCID, one of the first companies to monetize dreamsharing. As a duo, Oliver and Darius were unstoppable; as a team, as a couple...they were a bit slower on the uptake. It took three years and nearly two hundred gigs jobs before they did more than sleep together. Partners in crime and partners in life, Darius would say a playful grin. By then they'd gotten enough money to give the middle finger to anyone who made a dig at their relationship and more importantly, the nicest condo in West Hollywood. With ten million dollars in each of their bank accounts, Oliver wanted nothing more than to retire young and Darius concurred.
  
  But as Oliver would go on to say, "it's nice to want things."
  
  What everyone knew, but nobody said about LUCID was that it wasn't so much an organization as it was a thieves' guild. Loyalty went to the highest bidder and it just so happened that the payout for killing Ollie and Darius was far higher than the contract that he and his team started. Betrayed by his chemist and forger, Oliver barely woke up when he found Darius's brains scrambled. Though he would later get revenge, no amount of bloodshed would resurrect his significant other.
  
  All that was left was dreamland.
  
  Since the incident, Oliver swore off not only LUCID, but any permanent teammates. No more friends, no more relationships. No more having his life ripped away from him.
• 03

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  Jung

  Full Name

  Darius Stone
  

  Age

  Thirty-Seven (37)
  

  Relationship

  Significant Other

  Calling Darius his "everything," would be pretty dramatic, but he was certainly the person that mattered most in his life. Having met in college, he was the bass player in Oliver's band, the first person that Ollie came out to, and eventually his husband. Aside from being his spouse, Darius was also the one who convinced Oliver to enlist in the dreamsharing industry. They worked together for another ten years before the two of them were backstabbed by the other two members of their crew.

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  Red Eye

  Full Name

  Fausto Nobrega
  

  Age

  Thirty-One (31)
  

  Relationship

  One Night Stand

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce et velit et tortor rhoncus porttitor. Etiam odio dolor, tincidunt id accumsan vitae, lobortis ac metus. Nullam ac placerat eros. Duis id turpis porta sem commodo sollicitudin. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis suscipit magna a risus mattis, sit amet tincidunt tellus eleifend. Maecenas et tortor tortor.
  
  In eros velit, rutrum sed elit sed, dignissim blandit magna. Mauris consectetur quam sed accumsan luctus. Quisque risus quam, pulvinar nec nunc non, ullamcorper viverra elit. Aliquam maximus tincidunt arcu, quis aliquam ipsum gravida eu. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis suscipit magna a risus mattis, sit amet tincidunt tellus eleifend. Maecenas et tortor tortor.

  File:///C:/

  Tasya

  Full Name

  Tasya Kuznetsova
  

  Age

  Thirty-One (31)
  

  Relationship

  Client & Co-Worker

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce et velit et tortor rhoncus porttitor. Etiam odio dolor, tincidunt id accumsan vitae, lobortis ac metus. Nullam ac placerat eros. Duis id turpis porta sem commodo sollicitudin. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis suscipit magna a risus mattis, sit amet tincidunt tellus eleifend. Maecenas et tortor tortor.
  
  In eros velit, rutrum sed elit sed, dignissim blandit magna. Mauris consectetur quam sed accumsan luctus. Quisque risus quam, pulvinar nec nunc non, ullamcorper viverra elit. Aliquam maximus tincidunt arcu, quis aliquam ipsum gravida eu.

  File:///C:/

  Nickname

  Full Name

  First Surname
  

  Age

  Age (##)
  

  Relationship

  Word

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce et velit et tortor rhoncus porttitor. Etiam odio dolor, tincidunt id accumsan vitae, lobortis ac metus. Nullam ac placerat eros. Duis id turpis porta sem commodo sollicitudin. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis suscipit magna a risus mattis, sit amet tincidunt tellus eleifend. Maecenas et tortor tortor.
  
  In eros velit, rutrum sed elit sed, dignissim blandit magna. Mauris consectetur quam sed accumsan luctus. Quisque risus quam, pulvinar nec nunc non, ullamcorper viverra elit. Aliquam maximus tincidunt arcu, quis aliquam ipsum gravida eu. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis suscipit magna a risus mattis, sit amet tincidunt tellus eleifend. Maecenas et tortor tortor.
• 04

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  The Extractor

  Physical Strength

  Tactical Knowledge

  Endurance

  Creativity

  Agility

  Skillset

  "God, it's like herding cats with you people."
  It started with being the lead singer of his old band, then the manager of a car dealership, and finally a renown extractor. He doesn't consider himself a leader in the same way one would consider a CEO a leader but a shepherd. His tone is smooth, but commanding. His verbiage is thoughtful, but piercing. If he has to reprimand a subordinate then he will be soothing but firm all the same.
  
  "Don't be afraid to dream bigger."
  Oliver can design basic buildings, weapons, and other items within the dreamscape with relative accuracy. Though he prefers to employ dedicated architects for heists, he isn't above serving as both extractor and architect if the occasion comes up.
  
  "You wouldn't believe open people are when they think they have privacy."
  Beyond being an extractor, Oliver is a certified stalker. From the days of flipping through the yellow pages and pretending to be a long lost relative, Oliver has accrued the ability to compile information on his targets. As long as they have a societal footprint you can count on him to track down his target be it by investigation or infiltration.
  
  If you ask, his totem is anything from pocket lint to a Yankee candle but in reality it's a glow-in-the-dark credit card.

  Weaknesses

  "I'll take intimacy problems for $500, Alex."
  Withdrawn and impenetrable, he seems to have a compulsion for pushing people away whenever they learn even the most benign bits of personal information.
  
  "You kids go on ahead, I need to catch my breath."
  He lacks the strength and stamina that he had as a young adult so he's often forced to rely on weapons or pragmatists to fight.
  
  
• 05

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  Notes

  001.

  He lives off of coffee and bagels.

  002.

  Despite his skinny frame, he has an inhuman tolerance to alcohol and marijuana.

  003.

  He keeps a dream journal for his "organic" dreams as they are few and far between.

  004.

  He always starts a job by smoking a cigarette in the target's dream because "you'll never know when it'll be your last."

Code by Nano

 

[yokai.]

gavril d'aubigny

the chemist

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mangomilk]

yananovic y. borgov

# the chemist

# hyuk jung

♡coded by uxie♡

"Life is unfair. K*ll yourself or get over it."
YANANOVIC Y. BORGOV

• 001
• 02

• 
  
  
  

  the conductor.

  
  

  
  And if I break
  Could I go on break?
  Be back in my room
  Writing speeches in my head
  Listening to the thousand hands
  That clap for me in the dark.
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  enter?

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4

  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Dr. Yananovic Yuri Borgov
    

    Age:

    Thirty and Five
    

    Alias:

    The Conductor ; Yanan
    

    Gender:

    Cis-Male
    

    Sexuality:

    Pansexual
    

    Place of Birth:

    St. Petersburg, Russia.
    

    Ethnicity:

    Thai-Korean
    

    Face Claim:

    Hyuk Jung
    

    Role:

    The Chemist
    

    Languages:

    Russian, English, Spanish.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    green flamed scientist come out with your scales up.

    
    
    

    PERSONALITY

    
    With enlarged eyes behind the microscope, dressed in a lab coat and a whacky laugh, Yananovic Yuri Borgov is the mad scientist as good as he can be. A little innovation, wittiness and a morbid sense of humor in vitro and Yanan is the experiment's result.
    
    He’s an uncanny character due to his bizarre thoughts and the desire to share all of them. In most cases this is unsettling but there’s a unique charm to it.
    As a result he is an amusing companion in conversation and debate about anything coming to one's mind. He feels no shame in his insatiable hunger for deviant questions and their macabre answers. Yanan finds his confidence in his undeniable skill in the field chemistry and enjoys to be challenged by those who underestimate him. This challenge that other often inflict on him, usually don't end too well for his challengers and hence it's no surprise he has been sued once or twice.
    
    Despite being seen as eccentric, he brings extraordinary and reliable results to the table which makes everyone excuse his strange approaches.
    His enthusiasm is so intriguing he's going to make you believe chemic reactions are the coolest thing ever. Which they are!
    
    The same flexibility that allows Yanan to come up with unique plans makes him drop them entirely as the initial excitement wanes and newer thoughts come along. As a result he has difficulties to focus on tasks since boredom reaches him fast.
    
    His susceptibility to taking risks isn’t always revolutional. Rather than that it pushes Yanan into unknown territories without any back-up plans in sight. On top of this, he likes to test out his limits and push and push and push until he's pushed past everything but the abyss – this self-dug hole in which he lies by himself at the end of the day.
    
    

    VICES + VIRTUES

    
    There's a lot to explore if you don't give a damn about 'the way we have always done'. It's 2023! Time to tear existing methods and systems apart and create new ones. His untraditional yet eccentric approaches increased his reputation under fellow scientists, especially chemists to be respected and looked up to and the view up here is tremendous! Hence Yanan is creative and courageous.
    
    He tends to be mean but charming. A gentleman raised by another is always quick to insult eloquently. His instincts in social settings leave much to be desired; he is often awkward, he laughs during eulogies and leaves for a cigarette when someone shares a good word about him, he can't take it. Compliments, they burn his throat like acid, too many balls of wool heaved up. He is too hard on himself.
    
    

    FEARS + AILMENTS

    
    
    For some avid reason, Yananovic has an immense obsessive fear about the phenomenon of carcinisation – a form of convergent evolution in which non-crab crustaceans evolve a crab-like body plan. Perhaps the fact that the sea crabs always ganged up on him as a boy on the shore didn't help.
    
    On a more serious note, he shudders at the thought of needles. It used to be more severe since he had to apply them on others in the frame of his job in the dreamscape world and yet he feels sick when the sharp end lies a little too close to the softs of his skin.
    
    Isolation. He refuses to talk about this one.
    
    As for ailments, Yanan suffers from insomnia like most successful people.
    There are other rumors that scrape on his professionalism, his capability.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    YOU DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU THINK.

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    5:20 PM:
    Dr. Borgov, you haven't replied to countless emails. My clients are in dire need of a chemist for important operations. Please report.

    
    

    7:08 PM:
    What is so important? Stupid passwords of incapable presidents? Construction plans for a bloody coup? More corporate secrets to steal and sell so some old capitalist rubs his belly and invests in the right kind of stocks?

    
    

    7:10 PM:
    It was stated in the inquires the topics are ... sensitive information of a Corp. for performance reviews and staff surveillance.

    
    

    Dr. Borgov?

    
    

    7:54 PM:
    You are still trying I see...

    
    

    4:29 AM:
    I'm out.

    
    

    7:59 PM:
    Is there any circumstance which would have you return to the business?

    
    

    3:00 AM:
    Kuznetsova.

    
    

    
    
    

    hair:

    Black hair – always sticking out, rarely ever tamed – is styled slightly shorter on the sides. Their structure straight and soft, if one reaches a moment of calm to get a handful.
    
    

    eyes:

    Brown is a warm color in his face. They're almond-shaped orbs that have seen too much, fleeting looks in rooms in which he moved; with guilt and shame. They have a google eye feel.
    
    

    skin:

    Rather pale all year around but tends to tan easily and fast.
    
    

    build:

    6'3", a sad tower of a man, he has much height to show but when walking his back sags behind him, slouches. He's thin and lean and doesn't have much muscle to call his own. Broad shoulders and long legs make him look like a cartoon.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    wardrobe:

    Yanan's sense of fashion is questionable. Usually you'd find him in his white lab coat with his safety goggles on. In his free time though, he likes to throw patterns together until it gets odd. Don't even get him started on tracking suits, an all time favorite.
    
    

    body modifications:

    He wears glasses.
    
    He calls it an accident at times when speaking about his right arm that was amputated, other times he speaks of sickness where the limb left an empty space, now replaced with a much more capable and high-tech (and elusively expensive) prosthetic.
    
    Yanan has a vertical eyebrow piercing on his left brow and pierced ears on diverse spots.
    
    An old deep scar sits on the side of his throat; sloppy and dirty.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    default – atoms for peace
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    
    Normal children receive a name when they're born. Parents discuss passionately different variations of names for their small little being, maybe even fight about it. Sometimes men let the mothers choose and just nod when she presents her perfect idea. Yananovic received his uniquely long name when he was six years old. His father had walked him to his estate in the outskirts of St. Petersburg and each morning he received tea.
    
    He doesn't remember when things started to become bad.
    Whether it was when he left the orphanage, when he lost his right arm or when his wife died a few years back. Perhaps it was before all of it.
    
    Yananovic – taken under the wing of his father, the renowned Dr. Nicolai Yuri Borgov – learned all things of importance from anatomy to languages, from physics to chemistry. The latter stuck with him for all his life, only in this expertise he was allowed to make mistakes, test limits and trial and error as much as he found fit.
    
    Through a beginning university project, he found his way into the hidden world of dreams. A worldview built on sticks and bran shifted and Yananovic grew skills at being an Architect in the Dreamscape. He had it all: talent, creativity, durability, precision, but all of these tings wane with a body that is fucked. Due to 'psychotic episodes' after engaging too often in the position of building the dream and keeping it steady, he was forced to stop.
    
    "You are a sheep that forgets its place, Yanotschka. You are no wolf. You are no architect, you are a chemist."
    – "Yes, father. Apologies."
    
    And so Yananovic worked day and night to strive for better results, he published articles and passages in works considered bibles of chemistry, of dream walking. By the age of Twentynine he had already made more money than most people can dream of.
    
    Drugs were all he knew most of his life, in one way or another.
    When his own incapability to sooth and alleviate his wife, took her life, he disappeared from the surface altogether. This was three years ago.
    
    The burnt out child prodigy is too old now to perform wonders. But he can be the old dog that tries to relearn a forgotten trick.
    
    

    
    
    

    run from me, darling. run, my good wife.

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    classification

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    run from me, darling. you better run, for your life.

    
    
    

    
    

    etc.

    
    

    Totem:

    His watch. Within a dream, the pointers flicker.
    
    

    Skills:

    Yananovic possesses many if not all useful ideas – he's a brainstormer, a thinker, a player of chess and knows how to apply strategy on the board. On top of that he is an old soul in the business, there are not many things he hasn't seen yet.
    
    

    Expertise:

    Yanan' knows his drugs. He is known to make the cleanest form of Somnacin with a feel so close to reality, it is fear-inducing. He is referred to as 'The Conductor' as he guides his clients and dream-sharers to sleep and wakes them in a gentle haze. He is a guide to the chemical compounds of any mission.
    
    

    Weaknesses:

    He is a clumsy thing when it comes to fighting, to firearms, to anything that is combat related.
    
    Without his glasses, he makes out his surroundings only by blurry shapes.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[idiot]

THE NURSE.

full name

Jordan Auclair.

alias

None.

age

Twenty-seven.

gender

Female.

sexuality

Pansexual.

p.o.b

Marseille, France.

ethnicity

Afro-Jamaican & European.

hair

A thick forest of dark brown, curly locks that are shaped and shifted into a variety of hairstyles with the help of wigs and extensions.

It is not uncommon for Jordan to change her hair on a whim. Yet, more often or not these days, Jordan slicks back her hair into a practical bun as though she has lost her muse.

eyes

Tired and appearing glazed over, her eyes border on black. In the light, a subtle hint of murky green can be found hidden within.

Dark rings suggest or rather make it painfully obvious a sleepless night is common in Jordan's world.

skin

Namely unblemished and smooth, Jordan's light brown skin is supple and naturally glows — thanks to a simple, ritualistic skincare routine.

build

Unassuming and short, only standing at 5'1", Jordan is swallowed up by the crowd and can easily fade away. Yet, when her limbs and body flex, it appears as though someone has carved out muscle — hinting at an athletic past.

dist. features

A body treated like a canvas with dozens of small, minimalistic tattoos that unfortunately have too much memories attached to them, unusually sharp canine teeth, silver piercings in her nose, several silver piercings littered throughout her ears.

face claim

Myha'la Herrold.

Rät

Penelope Scott

req.

req.

My guilt is an ocean for me to drown in.

Shoes pounding pavement and breath ragged. Music roars in her ears — a petty attempt at quelling their screams.

Skeletons live in Jordan's closet, their bony fingers dragging up and down the door in an attempt to be free — or at the very least noticed. Jordan had to learn to compartmentalise from a young age, even more so after being hired by [REDACTED]. Each dream world she entered over those years gets a box. A box that is locked shut, wrapped in heavy chains and thrown into the shadowy depths of her psyche. Hopefully to never resurface again. Yet, those skeletons...they have different plans. They remain an ironic reminder of her Hippocratic Oath that may as well be torn to shreds. In its place is a deeply troubled individual, one that is plagued—if not downright haunted by the things she did.

Yet, in most instances, you wouldn't be able to tell. The only tell-tale sign is the disconnect between her smile and those almost pleading eyes.

She keeps running. One foot after the other. The shadowy figures in her peripheral blur into one shape. She half-heatedly waves at a neighbouring runner despite the figures creeping closer.

Jordan keeps up a façade. A well-maintained one at that, yet frays had started to show over the last year. Late nights in the emergency ward, she painstakingly helps anyone that enters that door with an almost obsessive nature, as though her own life depended on it—or maybe it did? Attempts to tell her to go home result in excuses. Jordan couldn't imagine anything worse than being home...with them. At least here, the people were still living and tangible. She couldn't help the ones at home — she made sure of that. But here, in the hospital, she could keep going until her legs buckled and her hands shook from over exhaustion. An ingrained workhorse mentality that was strengthened by her time with [REDACTED].

Jordan isn't really ever honest with those around her. Her parents still ask about the degree she dropped seven months ago; her co-workers still think she is with her ex-girlfriend. The worst part though, is Jordan even lies to herself — sometimes even believing the compounding lies that leave her mouth. The lies are the stitches that keep the old Jordan alive; the once cheery disposition, bright-eyed and curious, never-faltering morals, a deeply empathetic soul. Glimpses appear from time to time, a cruel reminder that deep inside her psyche that young girl still exists — trapped in a cell of flesh and bone.

Jordan can at times be a good friend—especially when she fixates on helping someone to avoid her own dilemmas. The same obsession that she gets at the hospital when tending to her patients. Yet, Jordan can become uncomfortable when people fixate on her, any offer for help will be politely declined. Jordan is a saviour by nature but the hypocrisy isn't lost on her with the actions she had made over the last few years.

She turns a corner and is plunged into darkness. She feels almost weightless, yet, simultaneously is held down by all of their clambering hands. In front of her stands a disembodied man, a bloodied burlap bag over his head. Blood seeps from where his eyes once were.

Guilt has become her baseline emotion. It is almost pitiful really, Jordan refuses to accept the reality and weight of her actions. Instead she remains in an endless loop of unhelpful thought patterns and maladaptive behaviours that halt her from moving on. Part of her believes she doesn't deserve to move on. That would explain why she works long hours in the hospital to only leave herself enough to pay her bills, while the rest is given to charities or those in need. Just enough to buy groceries and the odd solemn smoke she has on the fire escape. If she keeps distracted enough with the help of music and false company, Jordan can starve off the guilt for a period of time. Just enough time to come up for air and take a breath before she is plunged back down.

The man stands in front of her. She wishes he would take the bag off his head, but he never does, as though taunting her further. She pleads and pleads for forgiveness until her throat is raw. Then she stops, shaky limbs pulling herself back onto unsteady feet.

"No. No more. I don't deserve this. I didn't know."

Moments of clarity and hope still linger. It was only recently Jordan started seeing a psychologist. She didn't tell him the full picture but enough to piece it together. CPTSD and OCD he called it. He commended her mental fortitude and the fact she had managed by herself, keeping it all hidden. In the recent months she had been feeling somewhat lighter, more focused and even could sleep some nights without a handful of pills. Jordan would even genuinely laugh from time to time and was beginning to enjoy her own company again. She just had to stay the course, no matter how difficult and confronting it was.

Maybe she wasn't broken after all—or maybe she was still stuck in Limbo after all and this was some cruel joke?

vices

Troubled, self-critical, workaholic, compulsive, dishonest, fatalistic, overly cautious, obsessive, reactionary, secretive.

virtues

Adaptable, benevolent, clever, meticulous, dedicated, resilient, organised, perceptive, proficient, thoughtful.

fears

She fears them the most—those skeletons that reside in her closet. A general fear of rats. Still hasn't been able to shake the fear of being alone. It would also be amiss to not mention the fear that she was still stuck in Limbo—often questioning her own reality.

ailments

Diagnosed with suspected OCD and CPTSD, Jordan has many of the hallmarks symptoms with intense flashbacks, nightmares and a hyperawareness of danger that causes distress and anxiety. Jordan also has difficulty regulating her emotions which are often heightened in response to being reminded or triggered by her time dreamsharing. A warped sense of self is a typical, if not automatic response, to moments of confidence.

Jordan suspects she has always had OCD but it wasn't until after her stint with [REDACTED] that her symptoms worsened. Jordan has a number of obsessive thoughts that while unrealistic are unable to be solved with logic at times. Jordan also has compulsions that she has to complete or else she will become incredibly distressed. Thankfully, working with her psychologist on a medley of cognitive behavioural therapy and exposure therapy has helped lessen the severity of her symptoms—alongside a cocktail of pills from her psychiatrist.

pers.

pers.

session. 1

"My childhood? I'd say it was...unremarkable? I mean, I'm originally not from Brooklyn—if you couldn't tell by the slight accent that still lingers. Oh, and my father died while I was young—if that is the kind of information you are asking for? I wasn't upset about it, if that helps. We left Marseille not long after that. Mother always said it was his city to begin with."

"My mother is a doctor. A good one at that. She remarried after we moved to America. Let's just say he has been more of a dad than my biological father. I also have two siblings—a younger sister and an older stepbrother. We still keep in contact but I haven't been honest with them for a long time.

"Okay sure—you're right—I definitely had these behaviours when I was young. And yes, I see your point—that it may of started because of my biological farther. Yet, I could manage them—you know? I could handle it. It was after my studies when it got out of control."

session. 3

"I wouldn't admit this to anyone else, as it is so cliché, but I loved college. Thankfully, my parents were financially stable and could afford for me to have the typical college experience. Definitely don't drink like that anymore."

"I always knew I wanted to help people—you know? There was something so rewarding about someone feeling better because of you. I know that might be selfish to say but to be needed is something that I crave. Plus, I'm sure my mother's profession played a factor. She didn't particularly pressure me but I felt the need to succeed. It didn't help my brother is some big, fancy lawyer."

"During my last year there was an incentive to join other student's studies. I'm sure you had to them back in your day. The usual stick a few cords from an EEG machine to your head and make you watch a video or press a single key over and over. That was when I joined a study about dreaming. It was when I was exposed to the PAS—a device. Some fancy technology for dreaming—think a VR headset."

"In hindsight, I believe the study was a screening tool to find individuals who were more predisposed to interact with dreaming. I say that because it was only a few months later that I was offered a job that used that technology."

"It was too good to be true really. I mean, I've just graduated and they are offering almost triple of what I would earn within a year as a new graduate. Nurses are sorely underpaid as it is. So yeah, against better judgement I took it. The things they did—I did using that technology are what keep me up at night."

"My role was more non-direct than the others but I used my talents for bad, bad things. Really fucked up things—excuse my language. I just wish I never joined that study."

"Now they won't leave me alone. The people I've hurt. They follow me everywhere. If I don't listen to them I fear what they will do to me."

session. 6

"I messaged Meg today. It isn't like I want her back. I royally messed that up. I just wanted to be honest with her about everything. Well, as honest as I could be. She hasn't replied yet but I must admit—I feel better."

"Exposure therapy, huh? I can give that a go. Especially if it helps the way you are saying. I'll start small and gradually work my way up."

session. 9

"I fought the compulsion. I actually did it! It was very difficult at first and I attempted to avoid it, like you said I would, but despite how loud the voices' threats were—they never came true. I think I knew that all along but the uncertainty always stopped me."

"So...I know we created that exposure list and you wanted me to work my way up but I had an opportunity arise. If it wasn't for you I don't think I would of even considered it. Yet, I think it needs to be done for me to face all this shit."

"I can actually right my wrongs—you know? Something not many people get a chance of doing. It isn't going to be easy but now that I've got all these coping strategies, as you say, I think I can handle this. I think I'm ready."

The ex

megan dalton

The pair met at a college party and awoke twisted in bedsheets. Friends with benefits for a while soon developed into a loving relationship. Meg was the one who kept Jordan somewhat sane during her time with [REDACTED] but all the lies and her inevitable descent into guilt pushed Meg away. Jordan came home one day to find Meg's key to the apartment and a note.

the puppets

the [redacted]

Employed at the end of nursing school, Jordan was promised a lucrative job that involved delving into the dreams of "bad people". Jordan's team consisted of four others who all played their part in doing unspeakable things. Sometimes she wonders if they were just as much misled as her. The organisation responsible for this group has been scrubbed but Jordan wouldn't be surprised if another was put in their place.

totem

A pair of wired earphones that have tape wrapped around the fraying, white cord. When she is awake, they remain a reliable tool for drowning out the thoughts. Yet, when she is dreaming they hold within her auditory memories from a happier time. Not only does it tell her she's dreaming, it calms her down when she gets too distressed.

skills

A registered nurse for over five years has left her proficient in first-aid, aiding in surgeries, performing diagnostic tests and extensive knowledge of medicine. Somehow this has translated into her having the rare ability to heal those in a dream—namely physical ailments but sometimes she can go even deeper, repairing ailments of the mind when reaching Limbo. It isn't an exact science but by placing her hands on someone she can locate these ailments and almost feel it within herself. As though an architect but shaping and manipulating the very DNA of someone.

Jordan has a keen interest in running and has the stamina and flexibility of a once adolescent track runner. Participating in a lone, late night run each day has resulted in Jordan being physically fit, having high stamina and being quick on her feet. Coupled with her small stature, Jordan is able to infiltrate places most people can't.

Jordan is fluent, albeit a bit rusty, in Jamaican-Creole and French.

weaknesses

Apart from a bit of experience and knowledge in handling small, bladed weaponry, Jordan does not have much combat experience and could easily be overwhelmed if someone caught up to her.

Jordan has always struggled with her ability to create within a dream and is usually only able to manipulate pre-existing constructs in the dream.

Unbeknownst to the team, Jordan isn't exactly in the best head space and has a backlog of potential Shades that could jeopardise the mission. Yet, Jordan is determined to not let it affect her and finally face her guilt.

hist.

hist.

scroll

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

pragmatist.

scroll

Fausto

hehe

ㅎㅎ

01.

name

Fausto Nobrega

02.

aliases

Falcon, Red Eye

03.

age

thirty-one

04.

gender

male

05.

sexuality

bisexual

06.

P.O.B.

NYC, NY

07.

ethnicity

Portuguese

• .
• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  no real mercy.

  
  
  
  

  the price of human life is high. but there has always been a market
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  6' 1'' // 1.87 M

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  face claim

  
  

  Carlos Machado

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  dark brown, curly

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  scars

  
  

  Fausto is littered with them, though they are mostly faded and old— a knife that tore flesh here, a bullet torn through muscle there, broken and then mended skin telling a tale of a man rather than a machine. The most prominent of them is displayed on his right shoulder, the remnants of a bullet that passed through bone for once. The newest is a surgical scar from getting his appendix out at the ripe age of twenty-eight.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Built to take and dish out damage, Fausto is a presence when he enters a room. He appears as strong as he is— broad-shouldered and muscular, a brick wall designed to provide cover for the rest of the team if time is of the essence.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  One of the many vices that Fausto indulges in is shopping, frequently perusing boutiques between jobs with freshly washed hands. His taste in clothing errs away from the monogrammed atrocities so many other nouveau riche seem to indulge in and tends to lean more neutral with the occasional interesting design cut into a blazer, embossed shoe, or meticulously knit sweater.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Confident in his own abilities, Fausto is excellent at what he does, garnering the nicknames he has due to his skill and prowess. Despite what one might think of a man whose occupation is as potentially stressful as his, he is, at times, an alarmingly cheerful— and depending on who you ask, annoying— man. He rarely seems bogged down by the moral complications of what he may be asked to do, embracing the task before him and moving forward without much visible consideration of the implications of what exactly he is being tasked to do. He views this rumination, especially in the moment, to be a waste of precious time— time that he rarely has if he wishes to keep his job and standing within the industry. He is the first advocate for cutting the knot of the issue, and will do so in the same breath he is announcing his solution, hardly one to wait around if he believes he is doing what is right. Fausto toes the line between self-assurance and hubris every time he seems to open his mouth, and a near decade of experiences and tall tales with enough grains of salt hidden within have made it so there are few standing that can object to his statements.
  
  That said, he also knows what his limits are as well, better than anyone else. When it comes to areas that he may not be as well-versed in, such as the intricacies of the subconscious of whatever poor schmuck has become a case for him and whatever team he has been saddled with, he is more than willing to take a backseat and follow commands. His responsibility is ensuring that the goal is achieved with as little damage to the team as possible. A body felled to protect the objective is done so with an unflinching gaze and a steady grip on the trigger, but an order to stay quiet lest they trigger a body is one that is obeyed without question— unless he sees something that he believes has been missed. After all, he trusts himself above all else.
  
  Outside of the missions, though, Fausto is a non-entity. The smell of gunpowder, the roar of blood in his ears, the plunge into and out of consciousness, is what he is. The mask that he wears is one that he believes as well, that sits atop his skin in such a seamless way that it barely registers. But there are moments, infinitesimal and gone before they can be registered, where the empty shell reveals itself, where his gaze becomes empty and the smile becomes a bit more painted and the words ring hollow as the man who says them.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  
  

  
  
  

  self-assured

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  observant

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  quick-witted

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  analytical

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  
  

  
  
  

  self-centered

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  stubborn

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  vain

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  
  

  
  
  

  missing an important cue

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  failure

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  being tricked

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  childhood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Born to immigrants in NYC, Fausto had a childhood akin to any other in his position— there was struggle and there was strife, but there were also moments of lightness. His parents worked hard to give him the good life they had been sold in the stories that motivated them to move to the United States to pursue, though he did not see this. This led to most of the fights in Fausto’s teenage years as he clashed with his parents, their expectations, and the box that was already closing in around his head. Fausto ended up joining with a crowd of like-minded teens trying to rebel without quite knowing what that meant, committing petty crimes and disappearing as best they could from the gazes and sharp tongues and barely restrained anger of their parents.
  
  His break came when one of the group revealed, in a moment of arrogance, that his older brother was exploring something called PASIV, something that permitted him to infiltrate the minds of the rich and powerful and steal secrets that were sold to the highest bidder. Many of them were intrigued, and many of them, therefore, tried to learn more. By sheer luck, Fausto was the one who actually did manage to meet the older brother and hear his tales. In that moment, hearing the tales of shifting landscapes, of flying through the sky, of taking fate into one's own hands and emerging with an open palm for the wealth that was promised at the end, Fausto’s fate was sealed.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  early adulthood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Deciding that PASIV was the true key to living the dream that his parents had for him, the dream of wealth and self-sufficiency and success, Fausto plunged headfirst into it all, guided by this older brother to a man named Alejandro to be taught the tricks of the trade, the ins-and-outs of the dreamscape.
  
  What he had not been aware of was how much of the dream was a nightmare and how brutal the industry truly was.
  
  Blood and pain became all he knew for the next few years, both in the waking and the dreaming. It was a constant that threatened to plunge him into limbo, struggling and scrambling to know what broken bones were there to stay for the next handful of weeks or months and when a ripped limb was meant to be a simple lesson.
  
  His first mission provided an even more painful lesson, one soaked in failure from all angels, reeking of gunpowder and dead and bloated corpses— a bullet fired into his own head from a gun he could not pull the trigger of. And then the after, the empty air and the smell of something that almost was.
  
  This was the state that he existed in, mission after mission, lesson after lesson, piled atop one another over and over and over—
  
  Until finally, finally, a bullet fired from his own hand through the head of the man that had taught him all, the nightmare finally coming to a close.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  recent adulthood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  From there, it was only up. Climbing over the dead bodies, up the ranks, was easy compared to the first handful of years. The shadows that loomed melted into the night and the only pain that ever came to him was wiped away when he awoke. The idea that money could not buy happiness was proven a lie as he accumulated his wealth and his reputation, indulging just a tad in as many vices as he could find, discarding most just as quickly when they did not aid in his quest to mold himself into a vision of a man that could not be touched. Years passed in moments and success found him, embraced him with both arms and he clung to it, refusing to let go.
  
  There was now a low to fall, the yawning maw of failure growing teeth and eyes and arms to claw him into the pit that he had thrown far too many of his own compatriots down into. He refused to be a victim, continuing his way forward, never looking back, never looking down.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  space ghost coast to coast

  
  
  
  

  glass animals

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  connections

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaa
  • aaaa

  • 
    
    
    

    connections

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Tasya Kuznetsova

    
    
    
    

    First failure, broken mirror, open wound. Someone who was with him before he pieced together who he is now, back when they were young and had no dead bodies to carry with them. There are cracks that lie beneath his skin that she knows and there are fractures underneath her persona that he saw first.
    
    They will kill each other before that truth ever reaches the surface again.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    delphine jonas

    
    
    
    

    One of the only people who freaks Fausto the fuck out. Endlessly on edge around her, there is something about the vacancy in her that opens a door somewhere in his own soul, turning a knob that has long been locked with the key thrown away. Has the great honor of being one of the very few people that Fausto is far from interested in sleeping with and/or killing. He would rather she be a thousand miles away and he never have to think about her existence or what it might mean about his own track record, thank-you-very-much.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    ziva chen

    
    
    
    

    The epitome of bi on bi crime. They are constantly in a battle to get one over the other, whether it means a foot stuck out in the middle of the hall or a snide comment about their performance. No one is keeping score, but plenty are doing their best to stay out of the way. It is a sort of mindless rivalry, one that had roots in their (brief) prior entanglement, though these days, it is more for something to do. This push and pull has become the closest thing to something akin to a friendship for Fausto, in a sordid sort of way.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    totem

    
    

    A fountain pen with his mother's name carved into the barrel. The ink has long dried out, the barrel long thrown away— therefore it should not be able to write.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    skills

    
    

    Trained in krav maga and jiu-jitsu; excellent marksman with both firearms and projectiles such as knives and throwing stars; decent lock-picker; very attentive to whoever manages to catch his fancy
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    weaknesses

    
    

    Not very persuasive given how much of an ass he makes of himself, horrified of self-reflection and therefore refuses to do it, has a tendency to miss the trees for the forest and turning towards the ruinous path before being talked out of it
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[a z u l a]

wip

ziva.

• 01
• 02
• 03
• 04

• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  ziva chan

  
  
  

  
  

  32

  
  
  

  
  

  the cat's eye

  
  
  

  
  

  french
  cambodian

  
  
  

  
  

  december 27

  
  
  

  
  

  female

  
  
  

  
  

  paris, france

  
  
  

  
  

  bisexual

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  height

  weight

  
  

  5'6

  135 lbs

  
  
  

  blood type

  star sign

  
  

  ab negative

  capricorn

  
  
  

  hair

  
  Long, espresso colored hair falls just past Ziva's shoulders. It is often worn straight and with the top half pulled up into a bun. When focusing, Ziva often wears it in a loose ponytail.
  
  

  eyes

  
  Sharp, almond-shaped molasses colored eyes see everything. Always scanning every room for potential exits and threats. Years of secretive work have trained her to be ever vigilant.
  
  

  body type

  
  Lithe and toned, Ziva keeps good care of her body.
  
  

  skin

  
  A golden beige.
  
  

  dist. features

  
  Several scars mark the beige planes of Ziva's skin. One on her left shoulder blade in the shape of a crescent moon, one on her right calf in a jagged line, and one small but angry scar on her lower back.
  
  

  faceclaim

  
  Elodie Yung.
  

  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  personality

  
  
  

  introvert

  sensing

  
  

  80%

  72%

  
  
  

  thinking

  judging

  
  

  75%

  83%

  
  
  

  turbulent

  assertive

  
  

  20%

  80%

  
  
  Who is Ziva Chan? The answer depends on who you are and what she needs from you. You will never truly know her. Like a chameleon, she shifts her entire self to fit the situation best. In fact, Ziva is so good at this ever changing charade that even she has forgotten who she really is behind the facade. Ziva is a mystery to everyone, including herself.
  
  Everyone is always an arms length away, she will never earn their trust and they will never gain hers. For if someone looked too deep, they might see that there is no face behind the mask. Only a hollow shell, an empty woman with no true sense of self. This is why she loves her role as a Forger, why be herself when she could be anyone else?
  
  
  

  
  

  characteristics

  
  

  virtues

  
  charming
  observant
  clever
  adaptable
  charismatic
  
  
  

  vices

  
  unloyal
  fake
  no sense of self
  finicky
  reckless
  
  
  

  fears

  
  Ziva's greatest fear is not having access to dreamsharing or not being able to do her job. Her only sense of self comes from the work she does, the freedom that comes from becoming someone else. Without her job, Ziva loses her entire identity.
  
  
  

  ailments

  
  tendencies consistent with borderline personality disorder.
  
  
• 
  

  the student

  
  

  If you have ever asked Ziva about her background, you have probably gotten a different answer each time. Sometimes she's an orphan, a military brat, or a pickpocket. The truth is that that Chan's are a long line of con artists, her father and his father have taught her the artform of human behavior and how to take advantage of it.
  
  Pickpocketing was her first con, and it wasn't long before she was running multi-level schemes with her father. Ziva could blend into any situation, assess a room and know exactly who she needed to be to get what she wanted. It was an art form that she excelled at with the teachings of her father.
  
  
  

  the artist

  
  

  As Ziva went off on her own in her early twenties, she came across the practice of dreamsharing while pursuing a degree in the Psychology of Human Behavior at university. Always up for a good challenge, Ziva dove in head first. The rush was unlike anything she'd felt before, the ability to actually become someone else was a drug she couldn't get enough of.
  
  Her schemes had leveled up, now not only did her psychological analysis of human behavior work, but her whole physical form could change to fit exactly what she needed. It wasn't long before she was a familiar face among the dreamsharing scene, willing to work any job for the right benefits.
  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  role

  
  the Forger.
  
  

  totem

  
  A ruby necklace.
  
  

  skills

  
  A degree in human behavior and a silver tongue, Ziva can talk her way out of anything.
  
  

  weaknesses

  
  A little too adaptable at times, Ziva can have a hard time portraying the role is she doesn't connect to it. She is a little too fearless, sometimes jumping into a situation without thinking it through entirely.
  
  

  expertise

  
  work in progress.
  
  

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[Viper Actual]

>>>DOSSIER

NAME: Nordkvist, Fredrik
ALIASES: "Fred", "Freddy"
AGE: 35
GENDER: Male
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
PLACE OF BIRTH: Sweden
RACE/ETHNICITY: European

>>>VISAGE
HAIR: Dark brown, shaved
EYES: Blue
SKIN: White, fair complexion
BUILD: Fit, strong
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:
Military tattoos, right arm
FACE-CLAIM: Aksel Hennie

>>>PERSONA
PERSONALITY:
Calm, professional and sometimes calculating.
Team-player, loves adrenaline. Problem-solver.
VICES:
Women, pride and an extreme stubbornness.
VIRTUES:
Fearless, compassionate, cool-headed.
FEARS:
Disappointing his daughters, dying alone.
AILMENTS:
Light PTS- He's seen some shit.

>>>CLASSIFICATION
ROLE: Pragmatist
TOTEM: A carved Dala horse, traditional color scheme
SKILLS: Military special forces-training, firearms expertise
WEAKNESSES: Limited understanding of PASIV, due to specialized training
EXPERTISE: Special training on Enhanced Dream Interdiction Tactics

>>>HISTORY
BACKGROUND:
Born in 1988 to Klas and Tilde Nordkvist, Fredrik was the sole child in a broken household.
Having been raised by an alcoholic father and an absent-minded mother he was left to his own devices most of the time.
Finding comfort and escape in the great outdoors, Fredrik excelled at sports and team-exercises.

When he came of age Fredrik left his hometown and, by extension, his family behind to enlist with the Swedish Armed Forces.
Pushing himself to his very limit he was known as a strong-headed individual by both teammates and officers alike.
Eventually enlisted with Särskilda Operationsgruppen ('Special Operations Group'), would go on to serve in Afghanistan, Chad, Mali and more. Partook in the evacuation of Hamid Karzai International Airport, 2021.

RELATIONSHIPS:
No contact with either parents. Sporadic contact with Elin, his ex-wife.
Has two daughters- Anna and Clara.

EXTRA INFO:
Was on loan to a special project of Sweden's military intelligence service.
Co-operative military research into PASIV, reverse-engineered from Russian prototype.
Project was shut down due to a stop in funding. Assets mothballed, operators and support staff returned to previous postings.

Spoiler: FACE

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

chemist.

scroll

Chelsea

hehe

明珠

01.

name

Wen Ming Zhu

02.

nickname

Chelsea

03.

age

thirty

04.

gender

female

05.

sexuality

lesbian

06.

P.O.B.

Jersey City, NJ

07.

ethnicity

Chinese

• .
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• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  madness and genius are the same.

  
  
  
  

  it all depends on who is being accused of which aliment
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  visage

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5' 10'' / 1.78 M

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  face claim

  
  

  Huang Shengyi

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  jet black

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  scars

  
  

  Lessons learned once and learned well litter Chelsea’s hands; a scalpel through the pad of her right thumb, a chemical burn through her glove stains the side of the middle finger on the same hand, a jagged cut over the second knuckle of her pinkie on her left, a flame that danced too close to her pointer fingers showcase all the attempts for perfection that fell flat. She also has a faint scar over her right eyebrow from a late childhood incident.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Most would assume Chelsea has spent her life at the lab bench, appearing rather scrawny and waif thin at first glance when one takes a glance at her. As most find her swallowed by either her oversized lab coat or under layers of PPE, it makes sense that the wiry strength underneath is never noticed. She is aware that she treads in a dangerous realm and has done the bare minimum to ensure that she will not go down without a fucking fight.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  Practical and borderline boring, Chelsea has enough dignity to avoid the oversized, sweat-stained T-shirts or sweaters that every other lab rat seems to wear and instead put on basics so plain that it loops back around to embarrassing. Her appearance is never disheveled, but not quite highlighted either, appearance being so low on the totem pole that she simply has a comfortable shirt in several colors in several copies that she cycles through on a day by day basis.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  There is a sense of urgency in everything Chelsea does, as if there is a countdown somewhere in the corner of her mind that never quite stops. Whether it is one of her experiments reaching its crescendo or simply waiting for her third cup of coffee, her eyes are trained on the objective and do not seem to waver, her mouth turned slightly downwards in something that might be a resting bitch face if not for the fact that it looks like there is some effort in the expression. It is easy to see her as someone tightly wound, bound to goals and objectives that are a constant drip through everyday life, emerging one after another as they are put down with steady hands.
  
  Her tendency to be so meticulous does not translate to a demand for the same sort of discipline from others, or even a lack of a sense of humor. There is something pitifully self-aware about the deprecating words that may emerge from her mouth when she remarks on the ways that she is seemingly bound to the steps of daily life, the way that she cannot seem to unwind and get that stick out of her own ass, uncomfortable as it is. For those that bother to try and interrupt her in her process, they would find a woman who is shockingly aware of her own flaws—not that it motivates her to fix any of them to any effect.
  
  Far too rigid in her ways, the chance for “mending” whatever it is that causes the sort of barely present sigh of relief whenever a task has been completed has long passed her. She is simply putting one foot in front of the other until she can no longer move.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  
  

  
  
  

  thorough

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  self-aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  personable

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  academic

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  
  

  
  
  

  unserious

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  low self-esteem

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  rigid

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  
  

  
  
  

  disappointment

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  her mother

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  abandonment

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  childhood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Chelsea was born into a rigid set of expectations. She was the daughter of a woman who did not want to be a wife to a man, who did not want a man, but had acquired one nonetheless. Her mother resented the way that Chelsea’s birth and existence trapped her further in the structure that she had stepped into, feeling the walls closing in on her with every cry from the baby, with a husband that couldn’t even see the ire that dripped from her gaze onto the newborn. As such, she poured into Chelsea the hopes and dreams that she had given up in a desperate attempt to live somehow in the way that she wanted.
  
  Chelsea chafed under the careful orchestrations of her life that her mother inflicted upon her. Extra curriculars were piled on top of schoolwork were piled on top of academics at home, pushing her to always reach farther, to do better. It was a deeply unhappy childhood, Chelsea’s mother building the walls around her the same way they had been inflicted on her mother during her own childhood. It ran in the family, the well long poisoned by a man who could not see his children for what they were, molding and breaking them into form and showing them the only way to make anything was through force.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  early adulthood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  College was an escape. Finally, Chelsea was free from the confines of her mother’s home (her father long since relegated to a non-entity, doing whatever he pleased with little consequence from a woman who could barely look at him). Finally, she was allowed to be herself.
  
  But a lifetime of being molded meant that whatever seeds might have been her own had long been swept away in the flood of her mother’s ire, the roots that had made up her current state sunk in too deep to be upended. Still, there were glimmers of hope, of exploring what it was that she truly wanted to do, tastes of freedom as sweet as cherry lip gloss. The lessons drilled into her head had meant that she was ahead of many of her peers and there were plenty of professors and companies eager for a pretty woman to be present in their midst, a declaration that they did hire women, and smart ones at that!
  
  Spoiled for choice for the first time in her life, Chelsea pursued a career with the government, interested in whatever this somnacin was. And here, where the shadow of her mother finally began to fade away, she was free to do whatever she wanted.
  
  Whatever she wanted.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  recent adulthood

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Morality is a fickle thing. Where the compass is pointed is shaped by how it was calibrated and by whom. While academics were something that Chelsea knew like the back of her hand and she could recite the periodic table in any of the languages she spoke, climbing forward and over and onward was what she was taught was the only reward. She needed to go further, push harder—and so she did, forging ahead when others may have stopped, conjuring up ideas where others dared not go.
  
  PASIV needed to be perfected so that it could be weaponized so that it could be utilized for the US government’s own designs, and Chelsea was more than happy to help if it meant moving upwards, being provided with an endless stream of problems to solve and projects to complete. Some of her coworkers balked and walked, some of them filled up with glee and ran rampant and some, like her, simply came in at eight in the morning and left at five in the afternoon, the screams of the volunteers trapped behind steel doors they only knew the codes to.
  
  Her work was recognized for its excellence and she found herself being recruited by other organizations, the promise of money, of notoriety, of maybe, perhaps, having something to show for herself one day to her mother, something to rub in her face and declare to that old woman that this was her own, pushed her father, further, stretching the bounds of human capability with a disregard for typical morality. She left her government job to pursue these more lucrative missions, experimenting with somnacin in her rigid, academic manner until she understood the ins and outs and then worked on the angels until they too were laid bare in front of her.
  
  Onwards and upwards she trekked, never looking back.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  panic attacks in paradise

  
  
  
  

  ashnikko

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  connections

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaa
  • aaaa

  • 
    
    
    

    connections

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Juliet Wen

    
    
    
    

    Cousin from her uncle, the closest thing to a companion she has had her entire life. Chelsea took to calling her her little shadow as she always seemed to be behind her, though these days the path she travels is far different, a sense of wariness clouding all of their interactions.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    totem

    
    

    A fidget ring that she can spin to keep herself grounded. If it is able to be pulled apart, she is aware that she is asleep.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    skills

    
    

    Deeply knowledgeable about PASIV, somnacin, and chemistry; basic self-defense; able to speak English, Mandarin, and Spanish; has a dark humor joke locked and loaded at any given time
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    weaknesses

    
    

    Given how much she has specialized over the years, she is shockingly gullible on certain subjects. She also has diagnosed anxiety and can become overwhelmed at times when she feels like she is under too much time pressure. Also smokes like a chimney when particularly stressed.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[celadon.]

forger.

n. a person who falsifies; a creator of false tales

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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  delphine 'del' jonas

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  thirty-two

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  unknown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  place of birth

  
  

  unknown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  

  swedish

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  Roughly six feet and one inch tall.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Dirty blonde dye job, dark brown roots. She ties it back neatly.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Light green. Part of her right iris is fucked and she tries to hide it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skin

  
  

  Snowy and chemically perfect. She's a freak about taking care of it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Gymnastic. Moves like a hunting animal. She can mess you up.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  features

  
  

  No tattoos. Rarely seen without gloves.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Erika Linder and others.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  flexible

  
  
  
  
  

  hard-nosed

  
  
  
  
  

  diligent

  
  
  
  
  

  underhanded

  
  
  
  
  

  threatening

  
  
  
  
  

  competitive

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Del is a cover-up in action. She has convinced herself that she was never a person. She thinks she has gotten rid of all possible proof. She is just this other thing, now, a pretender made of nighttime, this silly hallucination that watches you from the corner and laughs. The empty chair. She will have words to say about you. She knows who you are.
  
  Faces are fashion. Del has worn so many. Hardly ever having to really practice them. She is very aware of crowds, of how she comes off to people, and also not really aware at all. She likes making people afraid. She can smell fish from a mile away, but she doesn't mind disaster all that much. She can stomach it. She needs for little and has a high stress tolerance.
  
  Del does not rush anything. She is only as fast as she needs be. But she must move always. She does not care if someone is talking. If you are not useful, or a part of her inner world at whatever moment, she will not respond to you. She will lie about everything, even obvious things like the weather. She does not make threats, only predictions. She is a thief. She will steal parts of you. She will steal you from you. She already has. And she has found the only line of work where that's a talent, an important skill, something positive, something worth a little glamour maybe. Not that she's terribly glamorous.
  
  Del is never amazed, and she does not allow herself to get angry about anything. She has a problem with all living things. She is thankful for nothing. She does not believe in right or wrong anymore and will make fun of you, red rubber nose, if you do. She has a price and she believes that you will meet it for her, because you will. She believes in good business and being well-informed. When bad things happen, she doesn't really want to save herself.
  
  Del is upset by germs, drinking, and salty food. She only likes flowers when they're dead. She hates celebration. If you touch her a certain way, she will smile and go blind and hit you somewhere raw. Getting older has been a hard pill to take — low evening sun and all that. She does not think about her life before ten years ago. It would be so much easier to explain if she was just a psychopath.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  Being sick, being truthful, facing it.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ailments

  
  

  
  

  Separated iris, health anxiety, untreated C-PTSD.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skills

  
  

  
  

  Forgery, close-quarters combat, marksmanship, fencing, motorcycling, hypnosis.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  
  

  She isn't concerned with risk; she often forgets the humanity of the subject and her coworkers; she'll stop communicating if she runs out of patience.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  totem

  
  

  
  

  She has one, but it's not clear what it is. They thought it was a ring at one point, but then she stopped wearing it. She has no other jewelry.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  background

  
  

  
  
  
  

  She appeared eleven or twelve years ago, sort of hovering around the dreamsharing scene in Northern Europe as if she had always been there.
  
  She was young, had natural ability, was perceptive and inexhaustible and didn't ask questions. Escaped questioning herself, as now, but there were a few other things about her then. Real things. They would be pushed away soon enough.
  
  And she's had the memory of those early days wiped out, mostly. Made unreal. Only a few people remember what she was like when she was, not to be mean, still somewhat human. Though as people were curious about her then, they are curious now. They play guessing games about her.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  expertise

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Over time she's become known as a professional. A troubled and demanding professional at that. And maybe an addict too — she's nearing a job total in the low thousands by now. Always coming off one job and boarding another. Recovery being "simple" for her. She carries on, endures, is reliable, deals in likelihoods. In spite of everything. Word is she's one of the best forgers working. Some will never hire her, saying she's an inherent risk; others won't hire anyone else.
  
  Lately she's felt like there might be an end coming. Of what, she doesn't know. But it's almost distracted her a few times. It's like there's something she's losing grip of. She would search her life for whatever it could be, some haphazard decision she made with now-mounting consequences, but she will not search herself for anything. So she's just ignoring it.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  quote. make it a nice quote

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  amok

  
  

  atoms for peace

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[celadon.]

architect.

n. a person who designs and guides a plan or undertaking

• .
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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  soren wender

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-five

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  nonbinary

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  bisexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  place of birth

  
  

  sydney, australia

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  

  chinese-german

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  About five feet and nine inches tall.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Dark brown. Shoulder-length. Bangs.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Dark brown, patient, never surprised.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skin

  
  

  Warm. Not much coverage needed.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Thin and thin-boned. Long limbs.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  features

  
  

  One of their fingernails is black. And there's a little age around their eyes, or maybe they just need some sleep?

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Cami You-Ten.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  astute

  
  
  
  
  

  unflappable

  
  
  
  
  

  calm

  
  
  
  
  

  detached

  
  
  
  
  

  opportunistic

  
  
  
  
  

  self-centred

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Soren is sharp as hell. Multiple areas of intelligence — ingenious is a word. They're always thinking, always several steps ahead, yet always here, now. A details person, they keep count of every important thing. They work rapidly and do not tire quickly.
  
  Part of it is that they're still somewhat new to this — the act of dreaming still makes them dizzy and out of breath — but Soren has a more grounded mindset than a lot of dream-sharers. They feel the pull but they resist it. They won't be enveloped where others have been. The only meaningful possibility for them, out of all this, is getting paid. Enough money would make them do things they would never feel okay about.
  
  Soren is adaptable. Folding themselves in to make way most of the time. What's more is that it hasn't made them awkward. They don't hide, or feel the need to; they just believe in being economical. They learn the game before they play it and they know how not to take things to heart. They're hard to rattle. They know how to throw barbs and how to take them. They know when to keep quiet.
  
  Soren is self-protecting and so sure of their own worth in a way that insecure people do not like. A reassuring presence, they're skilled at handling embarrassing situations and touchy egos. They will sometimes choose to be honest when it doesn't profit them, only because they feel that they should. They have a hard time nailing people down, their behaviour and what it means, how they feel, how they feel. Sometimes they think they don't really feel anything at all, that all they have is knowledge.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  Having no home to return to; missing something important; not getting to live their own life.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ailments

  
  

  
  

  Claustrophobia; several allergies; possibly on the autism spectrum.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skills

  
  

  
  

  Accounting, repairing things, cooking, finding people, sleight of hand, problem-solving.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  
  

  They can't fight; they can't lie very well, if pressed; they're indecisive when they can't afford to be.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  totem

  
  

  
  

  A bracelet their parents left with them. It's old, made of wood. Something you'd buy as a tourist.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  background

  
  

  
  
  
  

  The love child of professional criminals, Soren was, from the age of eleven months, reared by their paternal grandparents while their parents served jail sentences overseas. Reared on watered-down stories and the help of friends and strangers.
  
  Soren's grandparents' attempt at a low-key existence was troubled by Soren's emergence as a prodigy. Doing the equivalent of year eleven mathematics in year five type of thing. They passed all their peers in achievement without having to work at it.
  
  Soren went to public schools but theirs were always a bit nicer than most. Their grandparents owned a restaurant around the back of which suspicious packages would arrive. In the offices of which deals would be made. Soren saw glimpses at a young age. Not enough to understand what was happening, or what a 'money laundry' was. And then their grandparents got a bit older and for a while, before people were hired to do it, Soren was a vital contributor to daily operations and accounting. They learned how to carry no expression on their face. They learned the true power of 'thank you'.
  
  At eighteen, Soren left home to pursue multidisciplinary honours (psychology and engineering) at the University of Exeter in southwest England. To make money as a student, they waited tables and worked as a seamster's assistant and oversaw a credit card scam, later falsifying invoices for industrial equipment as part of a smuggling operation in Greater London. Soren's efforts over a few years made that operation grow in both size and ambition. It also got them noticed, eventually, by the wrong people — a first. They'd been careful. They'd thought they'd been careful.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  expertise

  
  

  
  
  
  

  One night, two years ago, a man in a mask showed up outside the window of Soren's single-story rental flat.
  
  They awoke in a warehouse hours later, next to a briefcase the type of which they'd never seen before. Police sirens. They fled, taking the briefcase with them. They don't know how they didn't get caught.
  
  Around this time, their grandparents, now in their late eighties, lost ownership of the restaurant — mismanagement and complaints to the sanitation department. Now stuck in the poorest assisted-living, a few stitches away from something bad:
  
  An unknown caller signalled to Soren that their grandparents' remaining debts would be cleared or else their whole family would be at risk.
  
  Their search for answers re: their abduction led them to a nightclub in the north of London. Gangsters held vigil there. Arms dealers. They returned the briefcase to a big man with an inhaler and a few guns were pointed at them.
  
  It turned out to have been an unsanctioned job. The boss's youngest son had gotten his hands on something called a PASIV device, found people (three — nowhere near a full team) who said they could use it, and thought to try and rip their rivals' secrets out of Soren's head. But those people lied and the son was a massive fucking idiot, of course.
  
  They talked to the man with the inhaler for a while. Blankly, Soren offered their services, not seeing any other way out. Needing work anyway.
  
  The man with the inhaler agreed. Soren thinks it was because they hadn't looked scared.
  
  For months it was the sort of work they'd already done: documents and legwork. But that night in the warehouse stayed in the back of their mind throughout. The dream hadn't felt like a real dream. It'd been... cheap. It'd been stupid, other, unlike their own.
  
  They eventually found someone to take them in, put a PASIV needle into their arm. Delving down changed everything, as it does. When they awoke back in the small room, they sat up asked: how much does this work usually pay?
  
  For some, a lot. Though for those starting on the bottom floor, the spoils were far outweighed by the dangers involved. Yet Soren proved themselves from the jump. Changing the dream was just... something they knew how to do. It turned out there was a job title for that. And better jobs for anyone who was at all good at it, and insistent about doing it.
  
  Two years later and Soren's star has gained a great deal. They've settled the debts facing their family. They've accrued some respect. They've received a number of offers and turned away a lot of them: do they really need to be doing this? On the flip side: how do you go back to other jobs when you've done this?
  
  Now a woman named Tasya Kuznetsova has sent a letter, saying: four million euro. Urgently.
  
  It would be enough to fix their family for a long time. Give their grandfather and grandmother a nice last few years. Something for their mother and father when they get out so they can start again, together, maybe?
  
  An unwelcome thought: it would pay to be so naive.
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  quote. make it a nice quote

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  this is why

  
  

  paramore

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡