Fandom Vecna's Curse // Stranger Things RP // RP Thread

[Aviator]

In September 1983, Ronald Reagan is the United States president. Billy Joel tops the Billboard Hot 100, with Bonnie Tyler being a close second. The Washington Redskins prevailed over the Miami Dolphins to win the title of Super Bowl XVII. And lastly, twelve children with preternatural powers break free of a top-secret, 100% off-the-books laboratory in Hawkins, Indiana.

In the midst of the never-ending Cold War against the Soviet Union, after bombs, superspies, and fearmongering propaganda have all failed to secure victory, the United States is preparing to unleash its ultimate weapon: child soldiers who can manipulate reality at its most basic form. These twelve children have numbers for names and settle playground disputes with telekinetic force. They do not know families, they do not know friends, and they do not know firsts that haven't been forcibly taken from them. One night, during a fearsome tornado that knocks the whole town's power out, the children orchestrate an escape from Hawkins Lab, successfully breaking out and spilling into the small town beyond with no plan and no resources other than the clothes on their backs.

However, unbeknownst to both the psionically-enhanced children and the residents of Hawkins, the tornado that wreaked havoc upon Hawkins was not entirely, well... natural. This tornado that contained such inexplicable power as to rip a whole through the fabric of time and space, allowing beings who are not of this world to cross over into ours. They want blood, and nothing will stop them from quenching their thirst for human flesh. Or might our ragtag team of child phenoms be able to assemble themselves into a team capable of eradicating extraterrestrial superpowers? Of course, these lab rats who've known nothing but overbright florescent lights and the stench of anesthesia won't be able to do it alone, requiring Hawkins civilians to step in.

The Demon Children Psionic Super-Soldiers:
One: Can render themselves unseen by the naked eye and become invisible in visible spectrum. The user can move about an environment unseen by others and act without being observed. Some users can choose to let certain people see them, while staying invisible to others. This power can be used for stealth, causing chaos, and getting the upper hand against an opponent. Furthermore, all of One's senses are enhanced so that they push the upper boundaries of that which is possible for human perception. On a more advanced level, they can disappear items (including clothes) and other people from sight through touch, and they may occasionally be able to elude auditory and olfactory detection, as well.
Two: Is totally helpless when surrounded by normal humans. However, when surrounded by humans with preternatural powers, this individual can "steal" others' abilities for several minutes at a time, and at advanced levels, may be able to wield several powers at a time. Those who have their abilities pirated by Two are rendered normal until they either exit a mile radius from Two or Two's concentration breaks, either of which will restore their powers.
Three: Is an absolute ghost and would make an excellent burglar. With the power to render their body intangible, they can phase through solid materials, be it walls, floor, or physical attacks. They can break into buildings considered impregnable and wade through battlefields untouched. At more advanced levels, they can render items and other individuals intangible through a physical touch. At more advanced levels, Three may be able to traverse the fabric of the universe via the creation of portals, linking two unrelated destinations with only a few footsteps and effectively recreating teleportation.
Four: Can generate various types of illusions, from sensory and mental to external and environmental. At its peak, this ability can be used to not only create images, but also simulate a wide variety of environments, events, experiences, and conditions, accurately replicate different phenomena and other effects, and potentially become tangible enough to have a variable degree of influence on reality. Furthermore, at advanced levels, Four may be able to create illusory people borne of their imagination. However, illusions are only as realistic as the user's imagination is vivid, and careless oversights (such as the exclusion of shadows) may render the illusion an obvious fake.
Five: Can transmit information from themselves to another through mental means. Moreover, Five can read the thoughts of others at will and detect the presences of other minds through extrasensory means. At more advanced levels, they can view the complete minds of their targets and manipulate their thoughts at will. With a physical touch, Five may be able to see past that which lays on the surface of their target's mind, viewing past thoughts and delving for answers to specific questions.
Six: Can control memories of oneself and others, allowing them to modify, fabricate, suppress, influence, repair, restore, erase, detect, and view them. Six can change memories to confuse, wipe away certain memories to cause amnesia, discern and provoke nostalgia, and throw the victim into a psychic vision, replaying their memory. At more advanced levels, they can even view, interact with, and manipulate dreams.
Seven: Can manipulate metal, morphing it into different shapes and moving it without physical touch. One limitation of the power is that Seven requires metal to already be present in order to manipulate it, unable to create metal of their own accord. At more advanced levels, they can manipulate the laws of physics to launch themselves through the air when ample sources of metal are present.
Eight: Can communicate with spirits of the deceased, summoning them as spiritual apparitions that appear as the person did during their lifetime. When given a prized possession of a deceased individual, Eight can view exactly how that person died. Eight may also be able to make "pacts" with spirits, borrowing power in exchange for a later favor... of some kind. At more advanced levels, they can control ghosts, perhaps even summoning an undead army to do their bidding.
Nine: A silver-tongued smooth-talker, Nine can perceive and manipulate others' emotions, intensifying or diminishing them as they please or warping them altogether. They have an uncanny knack for persuading, intimidating, and deceiving others, using their charismatic influence to inspire reactions of their choice in others. However, Nine cannot determine exactly what is causing another person's emotions, nor can they directly control their targets' behaviors. At more advanced levels, they may acquire mastery over their own emotions.
Ten: Armed with the power of absolute obedience, they can make anyone follow a specific command with a spoken word and sustained eye contact. Targets are powerless to resist Ten's commandments; however, this ability only works on humans (superpowered or not) and can only be used once per person. Ten must use their commandments strategically, because after commanding someone once, that person experiences no compulsion to follow later orders, nor can they command someone to do the physically impossible.
Eleven: Can produce physical copies of themselves that are identical to the original form. Depending on how many self-copies that Eleven produces, their range of control over their clones' actions and motives varies, with fewer clones being easier to control and more being... significantly... harder, to the point that they may try to sabotage Eleven's original goals. On the upside, however, Eleven can use their clones for extrasensory purposes, meaning that they can psychically see, hear, smell, and feel things secondhand through their clone's experiences. However, balancing these extrasensory perceptions with those of their original self may be tricky. Luckily though, they can vanish clones at will. At advanced levels, Eleven may be able to create clones of others, but they will have no control over others' clones and experience more difficulty vanishing them.
Twelve: A chameleon at heart, Twelve can shapeshift into anyone at will. However, they can only shapeshift into real-life beings whom they have visually seen, rather than just creations out of their head. Shapeshifting becomes more difficult to maintain over long periods and significant concentration devoted to other tasks. At more advanced levels, they can shapeshift into Earth animals and combine phenotypes of different beings, creating an appearance borne of multiple individuals.

Rules and expectations: While it’s not required that you’ve seen the Stranger Things television show to join this RP, please be aware that it is the source material! It definitely can’t hurt to familiarize yourself with it a little bit, but we will also be willing to help out newcomers to understand the universe and its rules as necessary. On another note, please be aware that this is an advanced RP, so 3+ paragraphs per post! It’s A-okay if English isn’t your first language, but please do try your best with spelling and grammar unless it pertains to dialogue. Please be able and willing to post on the RP thread at least once every two weeks; don’t make me have to hunt you down for replies. Lastly, feel free to come up with NPCs and side plots on the fly! I love RPers who have an imagination and take initiative to keep the story rolling! For now, at least until the RP thread is launched, everyone is limited to only one psionic lab escapee child, with their age range being 14-17 years old. However, you may play as many regular Hawkins residents as you wish! Cheers, my loves, and hope to see you on the CS thread soon.

 

[Aviator]

Muto Koki // Three // Male // Age 14 // Intangibility // Japanese​

It’s just another ordinary day in the laboratory. Meaning that everyone is trying to kill each other.
Well, maybe I exaggerate. But only a little. In all fairness, we only try to kill each other once a month or so. That’s when they take us to the Obsidian Room—called such to contrast with the Rainbow Room, where we all play—and pair us off in two’s and then thrust us inside of taped-off circles on the reflective black floor and they tell us to fight. A year or two or three—time is funny in this place; live here long enough and you’ll see why—ago we used to be given the option to concede the fight, but now that we’ve gotten older the option has been rescinded, which is one of Dr. Martinez’s favorite words.
She is a thin lady with cinnamon-colored skin and hair cut in a chin-length bob that curls inward as it frames her face. Glasses perch atop her beaky nose, and she is petite enough that her billowing white lab coat swallows her frame. With pencil-rigid posture, she marches down the orderly line that we all stand in, the tops of our toes able to form a ruler, they are so straight. She uses a pen to point at us like a deity’s vengeful finger before doling out our fates.
“Four, you’ll be facing off against Ten today. Six, against Two. Three—”
I’m not sure which surprises me more: the flickering of the lights or Dr. Martinez faltering. Dr. Martinez never falters. Of course, she wouldn’t have if not for the momentary shuttering of the lights. Her voice cuts off at the same time that the cold light snuffs out of the Obsidian Room, draping its contents in impenetrable darkness, making its name ring oddly appropriate. But the outage lasts for only a second before there’s a crackle of electricity.
I bite back a flinch. I’ve learned the hard way that there’s a glitch in my “gift,” as Dr. Martinez likes to call my siblings’ unique psionic abilities. What the doctors hadn’t intended when creating me, a ghost who can walk through walls like smoke, is my inability to pass through electrical fields. Something to do with electricity being able to bridge molecules in phasing, or some overly technical language that I don’t need to understand to avoid it. Anyway, this particular glitch makes it convenient for the doctors to punish a kid that they can’t otherwise hit. Needless to say I’ve developed a healthy aversion to electricity over the years.
When the lights flare back up, Dr. Martinez is eyeing the ceiling irritably, as if promising the lights a worldful of pain if they don’t comply with her wishes. Much like she does to any one of us when we do something she doesn’t like. The joke would be funny if it weren’t true.
The long column of her throat bobs as she swallows, collects herself. I am unsure whether or not I imagine the vein throbbing in her forehead, but it amuses me regardless. “As I was saying. Three.” She levels a sharp gaze like a swordpoint at me. But then, strangely, it softens. Dr. Martinez has always told me that I’m one of her favorites at the lab, but part of me suspects that she says as much to all of my siblings. “Your sparring partner for today is Eight. Best of luck to you both.”
Standing next to me on my right is Five. She looks anxious as usual, biting her lip, fists balled at her sides. As Dr. Martinez stops in front of her and scans the remaining subjects for a worthy opponent, I swivel to Five and, trying to take the edge off her unease, say, “Why the long face? We’ll only be apart for a few minutes, no need to miss me too much.” I smile to show her I’m teasing, but Five isn’t the one to be needled by my joke. Dr. Martinez clears her throat, and while almost all adults are taller than me, I get the distinct impression she’s looking down her nose at me. Her glasses flash in the dimly lit Obsidian Room, obscuring her eyes behind two streaks of white.
“I love you to death, monkey, but save the chitchat for later. Our friends in the Pit need these results pronto so that they can modify your training regimens for tomorrow morning, okay?” Dr. Martinez extends her fist to me to bump, as is her custom after she finishes reprimanding someone. Knowing that refusing the fist bump comes with revoked Rainbow Room privileges, I simply grunt in response and brush my fist against hers, in equal parts bumping it and knocking it the hell out of my way. Dr. Martinez is everyone’s best pal, until you screw up and she’s your worst nightmare times ten. She’s never the one to administer punishments though, and she acts like she’s on your side when her underlings do, but it’s for your own good so that you know better next time. Yeah. In other words, she’s a piece of work.
Eight is already standing in a circle by the time I shrug free of Dr. Martinez and her fake-ass fist bump. I pad across the sleek black floor toward her, actually a little bit psyched up for this fight. Well, as much as one can be by the thought of hurting one’s sibling, and being hurt in turn. Eight is shukufuku sa reta, or blessed. Kami hear our prayers and are always watching us, but Eight is the only one they actively answer. If I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous that they chose her and not me, but Eight sets a good example of what I should strive to become. Not only can she chat and make friends with them when she gets fed up with her siblings, but sometimes they grant her certain favors with an immediacy that doesn’t come from ordinary prayer. I don’t remember much about my mother, but I remember her describing kami to me and my brother as the building blocks of the world. They live and breathe in trees, oceans, mountains, forests, fire. They comprise the universe, and as their go-between with the human plane, Eight holds the world in her hand.
Earlier today when I was playing with my paper slips in the Rainbow Room I drew suekokichi, which means uncertain but a little luck. Normally, I would take it as a sign that the fight won’t bode well for me, but Eight is the kami’s chosen one. Where she is involved, I’m certain they always have a plan that works out for the collective best, so I can’t be mad at any outcome they decide on. I can, however, make her work for the victory. And just maybe, if the kami will it, teach her a lesson in humility. Chosen one or not, I don’t suffer fools. People have to earn my respect, and I believe that everyone should strive for improvement. I just hope that my recent improvement is more evident than Eight’s in the coming match.
“Sorry to make you wait for your ass-beating, koibito,” I say as I slink into the makeshift rink. At least, that’s the verb that Dr. Martinez uses to describe my walk, as if an unintentionally stealthy gait is a natural accompaniment to being able to phase through walls. She says it’s as if the darkness swallows me. I think she’s just failing to realize how very short I am, because invisibility is One’s power.
I bare my teeth in a smile at Eight, equal parts friendly and vicious. “Should I just let you have the first blow to make up for my tardiness? It’s not like you’ll be landing any others, after all.” I stick my lower lip out at her, as if mourning her incompetence. Really though, I know she’s a force to be reckoned with, and that it’s gonna be a tough fight.
As I settle into a fighting stance, knees bent at soft angles and bouncy on the balls of my feet, I look Eight over for any openings, any tells. My gift is much more straightforward than hers in that the application is purely physical, whereas hers is a mix of physical, cognitive, and… interdimensional. I know from our previous sparring matches that she has more versatile attacking options than I do, but she’s not as physically strong or quick on her feet as I am. Well, that’s unfair. No one has my slipperiness for avoiding hits. Except for electrical fields, I can pretty much avoid any attack thrown my way. I just can’t maintain an intangible state for an overlong period because air will pass right through my lungs. So long as I strategically time the intervals at which I come out of it to breathe or inflict damage on opponents, I’m fairly invulnerable.
Just as a silent, white-clad orderly dodders over to observe the fight and ensure that it stops when one opponent can no longer go on, the lights sputter and pop and go out again. I completely don’t intend it as an advantage, but that’s what makes it the best kind. This time, they are slower to flicker back to life than they were before, and by the time they do, I’m up in Eight’s face with an aggressive flurry of attacks, feigning a jab to her face before whipping my foot around in a leg kick meant to sweep her feet out from under her.

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

Interactions: Sanctuaryforall1 (?)

Hello, watcher. This is an tape of everything that has happened to the residents of Hawkins, Indiana, the ones they want you to see and the ones they don't want you to see. These tapes got released anyway, so the point is moot. Right now, the tape is focusing on a high schooler. He definitely didn't expect to be sucked in, but he did. He enjoys engineering, although he welds a lot when he's not working on cars, not in school. Sorry the video quality is terrible, apologies for having to film it on the fly. Anyway, this is a day in his life.

It was math class, a class that Laurel unironically liked(usually), along with Science. He took diligent notes, his eyes squinting in concentration, paper smudged a little with motor oil. When he wrote sometimes, people joked that he was nonhuman, the way he worked with his hands so quickly, but still did a good job. He was matching the place of the teacher, trying to get everything down at once. Yeah, you might be a little envious, Watcher, or maybe it's just me. No? Just me? Okay.

Ooh, okay then... someone is leaning in behind him. I'm turning up the audio so you can hear everything thing in real time. Okay wow, that's dirty:
Laurel could hear breathing directly down his neck, and he craned his neck slightly, as if he was stretching it.
"Dude,"One of his classmates whispered into his ear, and Laurel was on his guard. He was never called dude unless he was being asked for a favor, sometimes a favor he wanted to do. "Can I copy your notes, asking as a friend?"
Laurel froze there, as he didn't handle peer pressure very well. He didn't want to let his classmate do so, and he glanced around, hoping for a lifetime from his classmates. He then glanced at the board, noticed that the teacher was moving on. There was obvious relief on in his seemingly intense eyes, and he continued to write.

At the end of class, Laurel turned around to face his classmate, still slightly unsure. As a result, his classmate had wondered if Laurel was going to bite his head off. Apparently, he still wanted the notes enough that he tried to ask again.
"Sorry,"Laurel finally decided. "Notes are too long. It'll take too long to write." He grabbed out his notes as proof.

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

Interactions: Sanctuaryforall1

And here happens to be another of the citizens they don't want you to see or know about, but you do, Watcher. If you're wondering who the other "secret citizens" are, they are all in this black room, and they are about to fight. The one who was just in focus was the little guy who engaged in trash talk, and from his expression, wanted to bitch slap the lady's hand away. Based on her files, I'd say that is quite understandable. Don't ask how I got these files, as I have no clue either. But, there's a camera pan about right now...wait, what's he doing in a random corner? He looks like he doesn't want to be there at all. He's whispering to someone, a twin maybe. Oh wow, he is short, not gonna lie. This is Tartak, Watcher, and lemme read the files...Oh, wow, that's his clone? Watcher, Tartak has an odd situation with this clone, and it may be hard to explain. Let me turn up the volume so I can hear what they are talking about. Are they fighting..?

Tartak was in the aforementioned corner, debating with Shadow about who would win each of the matchups. As much as 011 was annoyed by and disliked 003, Tartak figured that 003 had a good chance of winning. But, partially out of spite, and partially out of a prearrangement, Tartak voted for 008. 008's powerset was very good, it's just that Koki couldn't be touched when intangible, especially for short durations. Essentially, 003 was a ghost. It would be ghosts(literally) vs a ghost(figuratively) For the fight between 009 and 001, Tartak was quite curious, as how would emotions get in the way of someone wanting to go poof? Would Wallace allow 001 to go invisible? He voted for 009. 005 vs 012 would be interesting as-
"011," Dr.Martinez scolded him, and Tartak was immediately on guard. He'd done some she didn't like, and he soured at the fact that she had just ruined social interaction. Of course, he didn't say that aloud, as that'd be criminally stupid. 007 was waiting for him, and he was delayed. He said nothing, just stepped into the area where he and his 'sibling' were supposed to fight.

Instead of trash talk, Tartak, or 011 as everyone knew him, stared wordlessly at her. He hissed only when under threat, he didn't trust you, or when he was very, very annoyed. Only 003 had ever gotten that treatment and the orderlies had known never to leave the two in a room unsupervised. What made things worse was the fact that 001 was ever so slightly shorter than 003. He was just bouncing on the balls of his feet, and he had a visibly annoyed expression on his face. He wasn't annoyed at her, as everyone who had ever been his sparring partner had figured out. He just wanted to get it over with. However, he wanted to put up enough of a fight that he wouldn't get flack from both 007(he didn't know the lab kids' names aside from his own) and Dr.Martinez.

Oooh, he's bringing out this clone, whose name is...Shadow, plus three or four more. Watcher, please note that the clones won't die unless this kid also dies. Even if the clones were destroyed, they'd 'heal', and then they could come out again. Okay, what in the name of my mother is he doing?! He's, destroying one of the clones and replacing it with a morally grey clone who might want September, who is 007, to kick his ass. I think he wants to lose but wants to make it subtle. Watcher, I've never seen this happen in combat before. I'm honestly shocked!

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

Seven/September

Mood: ...

Location: Hawkins Lab

Interactions: Eleven

The familiar prickle of pain danced through her skin without Seven so much as batting an eyelash. As she stepped up to the sparring matt bits of metal implanted within her seemed to awaken and burrow through her flesh, splitting the skin with surgical precision as they once more entered the world. Tiny trails of blood trickled down from behind her ears and along her neck. The same could be witnessed in the growing blooms of crimson that spread across her lab-issued attire. None of the bleeding ever got out of hand though. Seven knew anatomy too well, she knew exactly where the metal was safest stored within her and the best routes for it to be released when she needed it. Normally she would seal the wounds by manipulating the iron in her blood to clot and prevent more of her life force from leaking out but that wasn’t necessary today. She had only summoned forth a few small shards, enough to be effective without doing too much damage.

As her deep hickory gaze fell upon her younger opponent she tilted her head, a silent question of if he was ready or not. Seven was someone who enjoyed coming out on top and tended to perform highly but that didn’t mean she enjoyed hurting her siblings to get there. At least here in Hawkins Lab, she wasn’t expected to kill her siblings in order to win a fight as she had been in Russia. Too many of her sisters had bathed her in their blood as they fell to her in combat training, the rest falling to the Americans when the Russian lab was raided. She didn’t want a repeat of that here. She would certainly fight to win but she would not maim or kill Eleven to do so.

Upon his return of her nod with his own gesture the fight between the two of them began. Seven instantly started off by turning the shards of metal that hung in the air into three rings spinning at high velocity around her person. This would make it difficult for the younger boy to get close to her as he would risk getting shredded by the rotating blades that orbited her so quickly that they almost looked to be forming solid loops. Back in the motherland one of her sisters had tried to attack Seven aka September when she pulled such a strategy and that was the day July lost her arm and then her life. If these clones began attacking her it would be the equivalent of sending them face-first into a blender. Suddenly a flash of silver glinted in the dim light as one of the several remaining pieces of metal flew through the air and among the clones, the sound of ripping flesh and fabric filling the air as several more free-floating shards followed. The high-velocity shards flew like bullets through the clones. All the while Seven kept her eyes on Eleven, never losing sight of him in order to ensure she didn’t maim or kill him as she dealt with his clones.

At several points, she tried to give him openings to get a hit in. Her eyes darted to her deliberately vulnerable angles in an attempt to guide him there if he wished. Whether or not he chose to take advantage of the brief openings was on him, she knew she couldn’t keep them open for long though. The scientists of this American lab would certainly recognize her taking it easy on him as they fought but she didn’t want to make it too obvious that his heart clearly wasn’t in it. Finally, after several moments of downing clones Seven directed multiple metal bits at the version of Eleven she knew to be the original and rotated them around his throat. They were far enough to not truly endanger him but close enough to make it clear they should call the match at this point.

Ashy_OCdesigns

code by Stardust Galaxy

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

Andromeda/Drew

Mood: ...

Location: Hawkins High

Interactions: Mentions Laurel

The cool blast of the air conditioning unit just above her head was Drew’s saving grace as she sat through the hour-long class. The sun beat in through the window practically roasting her alive in the bulky letterman jacket Rudy insisted she wear every day because, according to him, how else would everyone know she was his girl? Such logic never made sense to her though. Rudy constantly made it clear they were together, always having his arm around her, always pulling her towards him whenever she tried to walk off to do her own thing. Anywhere he was she knew she had to be on point. She needed to smile, say all the right words, fluff his ego, look cute, and go with whatever he said. That was how relationships worked right? It was how theirs did and they had been together for almost a year now. Her father certainly approved of him. He claimed Rudy was a real man, one he knew would provide for his little princess, he could tell by the firm handshake the two had exchanged when they first met. Maybe her parents weren’t the best people to take relationship advice from but it was far easier to just make all of them happy than to deal with their disappointment.

Her eyes flickered from the board to her notes which were detailed, organized, and easy to follow along. She was a little hidden genius among the citizens of Hawkins but alas she never saw herself that way. Her Uncle never stopped telling her how smart she was, he always had, but her time spent at his shop had become less and less due to Rudy, her parents, her job, and her extracurriculars. She missed it more than anything. With Uncle Cole she could be at ease, at rest, in her element, within the walls of his mechanic shop she had found her bliss. Drew was an inventor and a fixer. She grew up getting her hands dirty as she fixed motorcycles and cars by her uncle's side and nowadays she could easily fix just about anything. From a young age, she also had a knack for making new things and inventing machines that came to her at random. Cole told her she had a gift but the rest of the world told her to fall in line and unfortunately the latter won.

The sharp chime of the bell queued the blonde adorned in her cheerleading uniform and Rudy’s letterman jacket to start gathering her items and making her way out of the class. As she placed her pens into the little case she had on her desk she noticed a classmate looking crestfallen as another refused to share notes. Turning she swiftly tore her notes free from her notebook and held them out to the young man in need of assistance. “Here, borrow mine.” She offered him with a kind smile. The notes she took were simply to give her something to do in class, her photographic memory making things far easier for herself than it was for others. She didn’t mind sharing and was happy to see the look of relief that quelled the worry in his eyes as he thanked her for sharing. If for some reason her memory failed her she was on splendid terms with her teachers and could ask for a chance to glance over their materials again.

The sound of hooting and hollering in the hallway made her aware that Rudy and his friends were outside waiting. The thought of seeing them exhausted her but she never let it show. Putting on the most darling of smiles she gave the other boy in the room, the one who didn’t share notes, a nod before standing up with her backpack shifting over her shoulders. Each step she took felt like she was being dragged down by bricks but to anyone else they looked light and springy, like an excited saunter. Within a few heartbeats, she was once again at Rudy’s side with his arm around her and a kiss being planted on her cheek.

code by Stardust Galaxy

 

[Abyss]

Number

Twelve

]

Twelve didn’t like thunderstorms. He wasn’t exactly sure how he knew there was a storm raging outside when they were surrounded by several feet of concrete and more than likely somewhere underground. He’d always possessed a strong sense for these things. Weather. Time. The movement of a crowd. He was attuned to his surroundings in a way that felt only partly learned. Some things, like why he felt overly energised and agitated on nights with a full moon were an absolute mystery, even to his own mind. Twelve liked puzzles, but as with most things about his life, he wasn’t exactly in a position to solve them any time soon.

“Four, you’ll be facing off against Ten today. Six, against Two. Three—”

The electricity flickered on and off, which was … an abnormal event. Twelve didn’t look up at the lights in order to avoid drawing attention to himself, but he was watching out of the corner of his eyes for when it happened again anyways. The likelihood of the power to the facility shutting down was probably astronomically low, but not exactly impossible. He felt a faint flicker of hope at the thought, but he pushed it down in order to focus on the task at hand. Escape was an ever-present dream that he’s reminded of whenever something out of the ordinary occurs, but reality demanded his attention now. Dr. Martinez was assigning pairs for sparring and he didn’t feel like incurring any strikes on a mostly clean record for being slow to respond to instructions. If he was going to risk upsetting any of the staff, then it was going to be for something determinately worth the hassle.

—”Twelve against Five,”

A bitter taste appeared at the back of Twelves' throat, as realization dawned that the subject he would be fighting was Five. Twelve didn’t mind sparring as an activity. It could be a decent challenge under the right circumstances; like if he was matched to an opponent that shared the same desire to prove themselves in combat. But fighting Five? Fighting any of the littles was a bit too close to punching puppies. This wasn’t the first time they had been assigned as opponents and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make him feel any better as he moved to take his place in the ring.

Once a match was decided, there was no getting out of it. Twelve ran a hand through his hair nervously. Reluctantly he focused his mind and activated his power. His skin prickled and a familiar numbness spread throughout his body as it changed shape. He pointedly ignored the presence of everyone else in the room and focused on the image in his mind's eye. While he was used to a lack of privacy, he’d never managed to shake the feeling of wrongness that occurred when he transformed while being watched. He suspected that it was some type of inherent instinct that a shapeshifter should avoid detection by only using their abilities out of sight.

The transformation process only took a couple of seconds. Around him, the other people in the room suddenly seemed a lot taller and larger than himself. Mimicking Five’s form was the least he could do to even the playing field. Now with her ability to read minds, Five might even be at an advantage. Twelve still had some tricks up his sleeve of course. Having given up his physical advantage, he didn’t feel as guilty about genuinely fighting. He didn’t want to hurt Five, but they could use this opportunity to help improve her fighting technique—which might mean that a little bit of tough love was required.

Twelve had to pause to roll up his sleeves and pant legs so that he didn’t trip over his clothes. When he was ready, he planted his feet and shifted to a defensive stance. “Come on, fight me!” Twelve said it with a challenge in his voice, like he was genuinely eager for a fight. In his mind, he tried to think encouraging thoughts. I won’t be mad if you hit me. Make sure you really go for it this time.

Obsidian Room | Reluctant | interactions

♡design by riptide, coded by uxie♡

 

[cyberzkull]

A Tactic of Audacity . ࣪✮ ‧₊˚




009 • emotional manipulation • wallace samuel
interactions: milo fitzergald ( Walliver )

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𖤐♱𖤐.𖥔 ݁ ˖


tw // lotta blood + one vague mention of v*mit

Dr. Martinez was a shrewd lady, for sure. As she listed off the sparring pairs, Nine could tell by the purse of her lips which children she was the most disapproving of. Particularly Three, but her cynicism seemed to know no bounds. She had her sinewy, thin fingers wrapped around her clipboard in front of her, like she was better for at least trying to feign composure, but steam seemingly rolled out of her ears like an overturned pot of boiling water as her shrill voice drawled on. Pointing to each child with a pen in hand as if orchestrating their fates, she nearly snapped at those who failed to properly hear their name called out. She was comparable to a drill sergeant, or a total square. Either way, Nine didn't like her very much, or any of the doctors for that matter. For Nine, it was merely a game of forced smiles and fake laughs with the adults of the labratory. Even though Nine was unaware of the entire lab's history, he felt the workers' soulless drabbles and endless working had more to do with the completion of a project, rather than the wellbeing of the patients. Any foreseeable future that the doctors had in mind for the children was up to their standards, wants, and needs. Talents, personalities, and hubris fell to the wayside.

“Four, you’ll be facing off against Ten today. Six, against Two. Three—”, by some electrical mishap miracle, Dr. Martinez was interrupted by faulty wiring. Shocked circuits could be heard rustling beneath the ceiling panels, and before they knew it, the lights shut off. Suddenly, the flourescent lights above everyone's heads flickered in and out, instead. Most heads shifted to face the ceiling, and Dr. Martinez eyed the lights as if they had a death wish. However, Nine noticed her disdain was not only because of the disrupting ceiling lights, but her reluctance to interact with the children for any longer than necessary. Her eyes periodically darted toward the door, and her adamant avoidance of interaction with the children seemed to be more than just keeping a "professional distance". Too much time spent with lab rats, huh? At least, that's what Wallace presumed Dr. Martinez was frustrated with. Why even work with children if you can't stand them?— Nine thought. When the lights returned, Dr. Martinez remained fixated on the ceiling with a devout glare before she returned to calling off the list, clicking tongue and all. Nine's icy, tired eyes glazed over the room as her words strung together like tangled knots. He didn't care much for the other pairs. He was one of the oldest patients among the children and he grew tired of the monthly sparring, at this point. So as she ran through the final names, she finally settled on the pair Wallace took the most interest in. His own.


"Nine against One. How interesting."


Nine nodded, yet he could feel his face involuntarily twisting. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the very notion of having to spar with One made Nine feel reluctance. Nine's power wasn't physically advantageous, per say, but mindfucking seemed out of the question with a guy who could just hide away if he wanted to. How would he be able to see his face? His body language? His reactions, for that matter? It would be a tango between the unseen and the unhinged, and Wallace didn't know if he cared to see the ending. Besides, he had often won many matches due to his mere cunning towards his opponent's visible mood shifts. A twitch in the eye, a tense in one's shoulders, a nervous laugh, or even clammy hands. Humans are emotional creatures, yet hiding one's emotions is as good as hiding one's humanity. It was the only weakness Nine could think of when he contemplated his power.

As all the children gathered around the make shift arena in the Obsidian Room— leaving a significant gap between them and the areas of combat for safety— the respective pairs began to face off. In the past when Nine would waiver fights (simply because he his control over his power was significantly weaker). He didn't care much for who won or lost, but he did like dissecting the choices people made with their pairs. The most prominent blunder being mere hesitation. The wavering resolve to fully strike the other, for fear of hurting them beyond repair. However, this meant that fights were not a test of strength, but audacity. Who was willing to risk it all? This question rattled Nine's brain throughout most battles he's done. In fact, he's often tried to test this theory of audacity, but he often lost due to his physical inferiority with his power.

As his current location returned to him, he shook his head. It was time to fight. Sighing, Nine cracked his knuckles before One and him stepped into the arena from opposite ends, and as the two seventeen year olds met each other's gazes, time seemed to stand still. The tension between them settled in, even with their sickly, pitiful statures. One's chesnut eyes were fierce and brooding, but his slouched back, tight frame, and unkempt hair could make one wonder what he was capable of if he appeared so nervous. And the longer they stared, Nine tried to recollect some of the things he knew about One. He's always been quite the asocial guy, but he's pretty polite if you're nice to him. What threw Wallace for a loop was that he knew how vicious One can be while fighting— biting if necessary. He gulped at the thought. For someome who can fade into the background— he sure knows how to make a scene. The buzzer then sounded, and as Nine hovered around the borders, One activated his power. Wallace assumed a boxing position, shielding his head with his arms. Listening for the sound of One's footsteps, Nine was cereminiously caught off guard with a blow to the gut. Staggering back, he hugged his torso, clenching his teeth with a groan.

"One of us clearly has the physical advantage here, One—", Nine coughed up saliva before spitting onto the floor, "Do you really have to hit me so hard?"

The punch was actually pretty light compared to others Nine has taken in the arena, but he hoped that he could use his weakness to his advtanage. After forcing out a couple of heaves and quiet groans, he had successfully garnered pity from onlookers— his power intensifying the shared commisseration and protective instincts as some patients even began to boo at One in their moments of cooldown— albeit, not knowing where he was— seemingly booing at thin air. Usually, noise from onlookers was not permitted under any circumstances during the sparring matches; however, Nine often illicited such strong emotional reactions with his power that doctors understood that it was because of his lack of control. Nine was usually severely lunished and trained because of this, but it never changed the fact that targeted attacks seemed beyond him For the time being— his best bet were "emotional, collective bombs". In fact, Nine couldn't always control the potency of his power, which often lead to a crowd of people being affected by his insidious schemes rather than a single individual. Besides, Nine wondered if his power was fazing One at all, anyway, since he remained invisible nonetheless. Perhaps One didn't care.

As Nine side stepped, backed up against the borders of the arena, he listened in on the room with more earnest, only to hear the sounds of fighting children and whirring vents. The smooth, black tiles were cold beneath his warm feet as he felt sweat draw at his brow. His own dizzying breath seemed to be louder than the entire room, and his focus felt hindered by his own confusion. His feet faltered aimlessly as he bounced on his heels, ready to punch, but when? And where? Maybe One was standing in place. Perhaps he was stealthily shifting around the arena. Either way, One was as silent as a mouse. Nine could feel his fists ball even tighter as his shoulders stiffened. He knew of one tactic that could get Milo out of hiding, but he had never tried it, since the more he contemplated it, the more stupid he felt. Regardless, it seemed like the only plausible tactic to take against a man he couldn't see. It required a lot of audacity, though— something Nine knew he had plenty of. They can just sew it back on, he thought. It's just for a couple of minutes, anyways.

Nine slowly positioned himself into an impenetrable stance. He stood idol with his arms slack against his sides, and his entire body as straight as a plank. Nine slowly opened his mouth ajar, wide open and visible for everyone to see— so wide that it looked as if his jaw was about to unlatch from his skull. He then stuck out his tongue just far enough to meet the tip of his teeth, and as silence engulfed the room— his mouth clamped shut with a loud CLENCH. The upper half of his tongue wriggled on the floor, and as Nine stared at the ground, gasps and groans emerged from the surrounding patients and doctors. One nurse even vomitted in one of the disposal bins for good measure. Blood spilled from the boy's mouth, and as red began to pool onto the floor from his catastrophic bite, he could feel the entire room's heart rate rise. Panick. Just like he had hoped for. Almost too soon, an electric, burning sting pierced through Nine's lower jaw and neck; his head panged with black and white flashes; his vision blurred; his stomach churned; and his entire body trembled. Before collecting himself, he suddenly regretted panicking the entire room, for the noise made his headache all the more cruel and seething. And as Nine brought his shaky hands up to his mouth, he slathered his own blood on his hands. With not much else left to lose (literally), he finally assumed a a sloppy stance stuck between wrestling and boxing, awaiting One's next move.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𖤐♱𖤐.𖥔 ݁ ˖​

coded by archangel_

 

[Walliver]

​

In all honesty, One was quite glad that Nine was going to be his opponent. Quite literally anyone else would have been worse, or at least more of a challenge. Going against Seven would have been a nightmare- an invisible target is still a target, and surviving a metal bar through the spine would be nigh impossible. Going against Three would take forever- one of them being intangible and the other being invisible meant that neither of them would be able to hit each other until they were both exhausted. That would be quite the bother. While Five was sweet and most likely wouldn’t attempt to invade his mind, he didn’t want to chance it. His mind was his, and he didn’t want to go back to that not being true.

Eleven, Twelve, and Eight posed the least threat to him. There was no ghost Eight could summon to make him falter, and no shape Twelve could take that would sufficiently disturb him. Any amount of clones that Eleven produced probably wouldn’t even be able to catch him. He moved far too silently and far too quickly. As he did when he landed a blow to Nine’s gut.

His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach when Nine bit his tongue off. The chunk of pink flesh fell to the floor with a wet plop. One could hear the sound of one of the staff members retching, and was tempted to do so himself. Half his instincts screamed at him to help Nine, make sure he was alright. The other half turned his attention towards Nine’s hands, now stained with blood. A clever, albeit self-damaging idea.

His next strike was a sweep to the leg, and a quick dodge out of the way of Nine’s bloodstained hands. One was going to win, whether he won fairly was not something he was concerned about.

cyberzkull

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

This lab is rather chaotic, isn't it? How can they manage to have so many fights at once? Has anyone in a fight ever accidentally hurt another sibling if theirs? Honestly, Watcher, are they children or soldiers, these high school age children? How did they develop these abilities, I wonder. I don't know if I want to think about it. Take, for example, the Seven girl. She's launching metal at him, which has got to hurt. I wonder if that with make Tartak actually try to fight, because getting stabbed with metal doesn't seem like fun, even if she is trying not to hurt him.

Great, just great. He actually had to try, sort of. He looked at Seven, and Tartak needed to decide what to do. He deliberated as slowly as he possibly could, stalling, stalling, stalling. The metallic...was it screeching? He didn't even know how to describe it. Anyway, that ugly sound preceded the metal floating through the air. He was deliberating between clapping his hands over his ears, or trying to fight back. The metal decided for him, choosing to come at him. Seven hadn't been trying to hurt him, but his brain didn't think so, and he ducked out of the way. Most of the metal he managed avoid but one came hurtling close. He scrambled back, and then attempted to dash towards Seven, intending to use his clones and his fists. He didn't go for feinting, but a wild punch, unpredictable in it of itself. That hit would've been good, if it had more power behind it. He had been throwing fights for long enough that he hadn't improved from last time.

Dr.Martinez looked at him with disapproval, but couldn't do anything technically. That doesn't mean she couldn't try after the match that was leaning in Seven's favor. Eleven drew her ire often, partially because he lost the fights, and partially because his attitude left a lot to be desired in her book. She and the lowest number, try as they might, didn't get along. The only reason Tartak didn't hiss at her was because she was too high up, and hissing at her seemed like too much trouble. In fact, he wanted to his at her more aggressively than he hissed at Three, a miracle. Not that he would know that.

Watcher, I wish this guy would try as hard as Laurel did...You mean he's actually trying to fight back? It looks so one sided, though. Still, props to him for trying. It made the lady Dr.Martinez glare less at him. Although, I don't like her and now would like for this guy to throw the fight to spite her. Or at least I would if I didn't know that she's going to punish him. I don't trust her at all, and I don't think you should trust this lady.

 

[Ashy_OCdesigns]

Laurel is zipping up his backpack, and he grunts with the effort of going so. He always has to shuffle everything around and make sure his notes don't get crumpled, so he takes extra time. Apparently, his backpack decided to be a jerk, and unzip ever so slightly, even after he had to put the notes away a second time. He's grunting, and cursing under his breath, and is aware of how much of a fool he's making of himself. He's rather careful to keep his curses quiet, making sure the teacher doesn't hear him swearing, even as she's about to walk by. He finally gives up, and looks sheepishly at the teacher. This is just embarrassing for him, not being able to zip up his backpack, so he's about to open his mouth when a boy drops down beside him. It's not Rudy, but Ian, known by everyone to be very well-behaved. He never smoked or drank, was always polite, and never violent to anyone. Even Rudy smoked and occasionally had bad breath, but not Ian. Although, people should've realized Ian was a jerk if they also realized Rudy's nature as well, alas, that wasn't the case.
"We've got it," Ian assured the teacher with an easy smile, and at that moment, Laurel was grateful. He didn't stop to think that Ian had been anticipating this request, observing him. He let Ian help him to his feet. Until now, and he attempted to step away from Ian, to no avail. Laurel's mind went into overdrive, even as Ian yanked him so hard he was in the middle of the pack of boys who'd been waiting there. Ian was to be a bystander today and made little comments to make it seem as if they were a group of friends messing with each other.

Watcher, I have completely misjudged Ian, and I think I might hate him more than Rudy and Dr.Martinez because at lest they're obviously jerks. Ian is a slippery little shit, alright? Listen to me carefully, alright? He.Cannot.Be.Trusted. He's helping with the bullying of one Laurel Conti, or as one of them is calling him, Lauren. It's a wonder the jocks haven't been caught yet, wouldn't you say. That's to say, I hate Rudy too. He treats Drew like a trophy girlfriend and forces her to wear his jacket. Is it just me, or is that thing too big on her? I wish I had the power to make him go poof, but, I don't. I just found these tapes, and we're watching them together, friend. At least we know about the stories of these people. Not all of them, but some of them, at least.

Laurel grew progressively more uncomfortable as Rudy and Co. decided to screw around with him, but not outright bully him. He was much too disoriented to form a response of some sort, but he got annoyed as one of them decided to open his backpack ever so slightly, enough that it would be hard to close his backpack soon. Besides, 5 v 1 wasn't fair, at all. So, Laurel did one of the oddest things he'd done in a long time. His dad may have known Italian, but Laurel didn't. He had picked up a few words, and what came out of his mouth was the broken Italian word for piss. Laurel naturally died inside, but at least the harassment had temporarily sto-It started up again, but the harassment was accompanied by wheezes of laughter.

 

[cyberzkull]

Count Your Losses . ࣪✮ ‧₊˚​

009 • emotional manipulation • wallace samuel
interactions: milo fitzergald ( Walliver )



.𖥔 ݁ ˖𖤐♱𖤐.𖥔 ݁ ˖

​

One swiftly kicked Nine's leg, tripping him in the process. Almost immediately, Nine tumbled backward onto his rearend, catching himself with his hands with a mediocre reaction time. And as he pulled his hands away from the tiles, he stared at the red imprints on the floor. And almost in an instant, Wallace realized One wasn't fazed, and even if there was a chance he was— One's willpower must've triumphed his panick.

Nine's consistent blood loss was beginning to truly take notice as his body limped— and if he wasn't already dead— he looked damn near it at this point. In an instant, Nine tried to say that he quit, but his lack of a tongue devolved him into sounding like a jarbled, miserable wreck as he sounded incoherent yells. He activated his power one last time to try to get the attention of a nurse, and sure enough, lab workers rushed to Nine's aid as they noticed his helplessness. Since Nine was already near the edge of the arena, getting him out of the arena was easy, but it was evident that he needed emergency treatment.

They grabbed his tongue as they carried him away to another room. As Nine looked back with dazed eyes, he locked eyes with One, or at least— where One should seemingly be. He then nodded his head, as if saying, "good match", and as the door slammed shut and the matches carried on— so it was. One had won, and Nine had lost. Even then, as Nine felt his body slowly numb from the pain, he had at least learned of one thing.

"I don't think... fighting's for me"

"Excuse me?", One of the nurses asked, strapping him down for his surgery. Realistically, Nine didn't sound coherent due to his lack of a tongue, so he sounded like he was babbling more than anything.

"Fighting's not for me", Nine repeated, even if nobody could understand him. It had been nearly half a decade of him consistently losing matches in the Obsidian Room, anyway— not like it took a detective to declare Nine as an unabashed loser.

After all, Nine struggled to truly harness his power on the battlefield. His power was useful with crowds as it has a very large range— enough to cover an entire football stadium. However, he had difficulty minimizing his attacks, and one on one battles hit his ego where it hurt the most. Bringing influence to a gun fight is kind of ridiculous, he supposed.

Will I ever get the hang of this?— he asked himself as he stared longingly at the harsh ceiling lights.

As the nurse quickly shot him a confused stare, Nine just shook his head in defeat. She was clearly judging him. Or not. Nine felt very insecure at the moment.

"Oh, forget it. Just sew my tongue back on, please?", Nine hoarsley said, incoherent all the same. Even then, the doctors could understand his exasperated gestures as Nine's arms fell to his sides, his eyebrows furrowing as his nose flared. He was then sedated. For the lab workers, sewing his tongue back on was a rather tedious process as they made sure not to damage too many of his nerveendings. The final stitches were neat yet noticeable in the end.

It was not long after until he was transferred to continue resting in the nursing room. Fluids and medication were already being given to him through an IV, and a blood transfusion was also underway. And as Nine's body tried its best to recover from Nine's foolish decision, the battles in the Obsidian Room carried on.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖𖤐♱𖤐.𖥔 ݁ ˖​

coded by archangel_