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For lack of a better name idea, helix, referring to double helix, referring to the geometric structure of DNA. This is a work in progress and I'm not sure what it'll turn into or how it'll fit with other threads. If it works, great. As such, there's plenty of room to figure things out as we go along, so I'll allow OOC discussion in parenthesis, within reason.

This takes place only a few years in the future, so we're limited to modern or slightly post modern tech, clothing and architectural styles, businesses and occupations etc. For most people life goes on much as it always has with a few exceptions. We didn't just pull out of Iraq, though that's what the news initially reported. We got our rears whipped and ran with our tails tucked between our legs. The rumors are now out that we actually lost the wars in the Middle East. As a result, the economy worsened.

Commerce still happens, but things here in the U.S. look more like we'd expect in Eastern Europe in terms of availability of goods and services vs. price. Bartering has come back into style for some people as a result. Maybe because of distrust of our government and military: militias, domestic terrorism, and mercenary groups have become far more popular than they were. There's at least someone "in-charge" in each major city, and it's probably not an elected official.

In reaction to the rising crime and militias and such, the police presence has been ramped up, and they routinely dress in riot gear, carry around machine guns and shotguns, and use their power whenever and however they feel like it. Corruption is rampant among those who were dully elected or appointed. They enforce the law but whether they follow it or not is anyone's guess.

I'd like to do three things with this that I saw they did in the show, "Dark Angel." First, and the most obvious purpose for this RPS, is playing people who aren't supers, but are as good/bad as we can envision h***-sapien-sapiens being with things like genetic engineering, selective breeding, training and minor mutations. We have many of these kinds of PCs in other threads. Let's try to create original ones, just as an exercise of our minds. I won't require that. I'd kind of like to see Grace in here, for instance. Marlena would also fit.

Second, I want to see these people interacting with Normals (for lack of a better term), people who were simply born the old fashioned way.

Third, I'd like to see these people dealing with their lives. They MIGHT be professional soldiers or whatever, but what are the chances? I liked how, in the show, the PCs have normal jobs and they have to keep those jobs in a bad economy, while dealing with their "mission," or whatever.

Same rules as usual for my stories and games. No God-modding without approval from the other writers. Try to keep it realistic and believable. No profanity for any reason. Use asterisks or something. No sex, though romantic relationships are okay. Think 50s movies (some of which were VERY sexual, BTW.) Blood is okay, but I'd prefer minimal guts.

Oh, I should say that I'm okay with were-creatures being in here, as long as there's either no explanation of their nature, or the explanation is plausible given the setting. They shouldn't be uber powerful, though. More like Buffy's vampires than like Anne Rice's.That's the idea. Like I said, we'll have to work out the details as we go.

12/17/2011 . Edited by Fleur-de-lis Evans, 12/21/2011 #1
~The mortars were coming in hard and fast. Their sounds were unmistakable. It didn't take conscious thought anymore to calculate where they were headed, how much time he had before they hit, what the blast radius would be. It would be tight, getting to his fallen team mate, but he had to do it. Wasn't it always tight, anyway? Someone said once that's why they chose him for these missions. Alpha had no idea what they were talking about.

He leaped across about ten feet, landing on his hand on a small hillock, springing from his hands while his body remained upright and bringing his legs forward to land another ten feet beyond. From there into a flat dive, landing on his front in a ditch fifteen feet beyond. Boom! The dirt, heat, and impact washed over his tensed back muscles, but no damage was done.

A short sprint at right angles to the direction he was going to avoid the mortar, and he was there.

Charlie was in bad shape. He needed to stabilize him before he moved him, but another mortar was coming in. He had to take the chance. He picked up his subordinate, and rose to run. That's when fire tore through his leg, and he toppled. . .~

Roger bolted upright, holding his leg. Sweat soaked sheets were tangled around him. A blink or two and he noticed he was in his room in the cheap apartment. Really cheap. He could barely afford it, but the landlord let him stay in exchange for services provided. It was better than many places he'd slept. Certainly larger. Empty. It was empty like that place in his mind that begged for a co-occupant. But what did he need? Even the bed had questionable value in terms of keeping him alive. And what more was there than keeping alive?

There was, of course, staying away from people who he'd figured out wanted to either use him or experiment on him. He had to maintain his cover, as it were. Then there was that search for someone who could understand and identify with him. Roger was really lonely. Yes, there were his co-workers, but they often seemed like sub-par aliens to him. Barely sentient apes. He felt somewhat responsible for them, like, he imagined, some of the more benevolent nobility in the Renaissance. Maybe if he could find some others like him. There had to be a few, somewhere. A scientist wouldn't use just one individual for an experiment and that's what he was, he knew. Roger was an experiment that decided to walk out of the lab when the petri dish exploded around him.

He sighed and scrambled from the sheets. The mirror that was there when he moved in showed his body to be perfect. It didn't even have very many of the scars that a normal's body would bear after the life he lived. The bullet wound in his leg looked more like a pebble hit him back in the day. He regarded the image pensively, wondering what the point was. There was a symmetry there. Good proportions in terms of muscle mass vs. weight vs. height. But so what? Fat people got girls as easily as he did, it seemed, if their personalities were right. Roger's personality left something to be desired so he could never get a girl for more than a few nights, and what was the point in that?

There was no point in that. Getting a girl for a night did nothing to fill that void. But the looks did serve a purpose. People forgot about him quickly and couldn't really describe him very well. He was able to stay hidden from those that would like to kill or capture him, as a result.

A ten minute cold shower took care of the sweat and finished waking him up. Five minutes later he was finished dressing; business casual. The office manager insisted that they act like the economy was going to pick up soon, even though they'd just let five more people go. So be it. The clothes were cut loose and allowed freedom of movement; as much as he'd need at his desk.

He stepped out onto the balcony/fire escape, locked the door behind him, and looked out on the dingy alley way. Maybe he'd clean it up some time, but that would attract notice.

12/17/2011 . Edited 12/17/2011 #2

((Alright, then I will give this one a go, as I have not participated in too many rpg's lately and miss writing with you in particular. No introductory "chart" I suppose. I'll start mine out dramatic, as always, if you don't mind... And since you did not specify the season, I'd like to propose one of cold weather, because I'll use that in my introduction. If you would like to choose another then I'll gladly edit.))

The alley was dark. Dreary. Dirty... and silent. Aimee shuddered and immediately winced in pain, gripping her middle. She didn't need to look down to tell she was bleeding. Her heightened sense of smell alerted her of the blood now spilling from her side long before she glanced down at the wound. She had spent the night there, huddled in the back of the alley, her blue eyes wildly searching for movement at the slightest sound.

Bending her knees to her chest she lowered her head as a tear slipped down her cheek. Athletic and fit, beautiful was an understatement. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this? She had been lucky enough to escape that madman who did this to her. Bruises of blue and purple hues marked her bare arms and her legs below the black shorts she was wearing, as well as on her face. A light grey, short-sleeved shirt was all that covered the upper half of her body, and the lower section of it was ripped, allowing her pale white skin to be seen, covered in the dark red stain. That was the last night she'd have of HIM. That was the last draw. And now they were after her.

Running all night, evading, avoiding - how she'd ended up in this alley she didn't remember. Moving her right hand down she felt something cold grace her fingers, and wrapped her hand around the black gun. A 9mm. One she'd taken from a guard she dispatched during her escape. But it had come at a price. One of the bullets was now embedded in her middle. She winced again, brushing dark brown locks from her eyes. Suddenly she froze. A sound... a presence. She could sense it. Tuning out everything else around her she listened closely to the gentle sound of breath passing from its lips. It came from somewhere above her. Running was no longer an option, she was too weak despite her extra abilities. Gripping the gun tightly in a trembling hand she suddenly remembered with a sickening realization that there was only one bullet left. Heart falling and hopelessness setting in she held the gun close to her chest and waited for the person to enter the alley. Maybe if she was silent they wouldn't find her... but just as luck would have it, she felt a cough rising in her chest, and as much as she tried to stifle it, she couldn't help but hear it escape her lips...

12/17/2011 . Edited by Fleur-de-lis Evans, 12/21/2011 #3

(Alright, might not be the longest post, but here it goes)

Grace walked silently down an almost seemingly empty street, which was by all means fine with him. The locket/wedding ring combination necklace clinked lighty underneath his coat. It was slowly becoming a problem for him as he'd been catching more than one person gawking greedily at it, as if they'd ever had the chance to lay their hands on it. It was something that tortured him day after day, but he refused to let go of the memory of his wife and child, so perfect inside that locket, so perfect in his mind.

But all that was a long time ago, thanks to...Grace stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a few passerbys brushing past him. He shivered, despite his coat, but he felt the heat of anger swell inside him. He never asked to be...close to immortal, he never asked to become, unintentionally a super-soldier. He should be old by now, but no. He was stuck at the nice age of twenty-nine, been stuck like this since....the beginning of the second world war. His appearance had only changed in the color of his hair, which was white, and his eyes, which were red, but that was part of becoming a super-soldier.

He started walking again, trying to forget everthing that had just come up in his mind. Lighting up a cigarette and deeply inhaling brought little comfort, but he took what he could. Then there was Valentine. It had been a long time since Grace had killed anyone, but he had killed to save Valentine from a life filled with experimentation and whatever else those brutes had in mind. He had rescued the kid about four years ago, when Valentine was ten. Grace never made it official, but he took care of the kid. Valentine even called him dad, which did and didn't bother him. His abilities weren't quite known yet, but Valentine had this unnerving ability to be able to track anyone down, even if he didn't know them. It was like he was a living satellite or radar. Then there was the problem of his distinguishing marks and features....

Grace sighed heavily. So much on his mind, and that was nothing compared to..nevermind. Dropping the cigarette butt, and crushing it under his foot, he casually walked over to the other side of the street.

12/19/2011 #4
A cough. Female. Injured. Not a large person (I'm guessing here). Almost directly below him. Roger glanced down. He was phasing into mission mode already. Couldn't really help it. This was what they instilled in him before.

He was right in his guess and that brought up a slew of questions. The foremost was whether or not to do anything at all relative to the subject.

Con: He had work to go to. He'd already been late once. Traffic. He didn't realize at the time how seriously the boss took such offenses or he might have hoofed it. Two more strikes and he was out. One more if he didn't get moving in the next two minutes.

Con 2: He didn't know her from Eve. For all he knew she could be bait for a trap. He wouldn't put it past them to shoot someone and dump her in the hopes that he would reveal himself.

Con 3: She had a gun, and that made her a hostile.

But then you had the pros:

Pro 1: He wanted to be a good guy, and that meant helping people

Pro 2: As much as they hated to admit it, soldiers were in short supply as compared to demand. They needed someone to patch people up. So they trained him to do it. That was one of the things that he thought helped him to keep his soul.

Pro 3: He didn't like his job anyway. Just kept it as part of his cover. Maybe he could get another one, beg for mercy, something.

It took him all of half a second to process and make the decision. In that time he'd bent the railing of the fire-escape; he'd been gripping it so tightly. He made a conscious effort to relax his hands and shoulders, and then the rest of his body.

"Hello," he said, keeping his voice conversational. A Normal wouldn't be able to hear him from this distance. He wondered -- always wondered -- if she might be one of them. "My name is Roger. Do you need help?"

12/19/2011 #5
She froze. It was a man, older than younger.... And she could tell by the way that he spoke that he was testing her. He was one of them.... She winced, her head beginning to spin. He sounded convincing. Quiet. Nice.. But it could be a trap. They were after her! Yes, the could send somone like her to trick her. They wanted her cold, dead body or a kicking an screaming experiment! One or the other... But unless she had help, there was no way she would make it through the morning. Raising her head to look weakly for the source of the voice her vision blurred. "H....hello," she replied quietly. "If... If you're going to kill me then get it over with. Otherwise... Please.... Help me..." Suddenly she collapsed back against the alley wall, the gun dropping at her side (though her fingers still rested on it). This was probably the end for her. Either way, she was about to find out....
12/19/2011 . Edited 12/19/2011 #6

Grace continued walking down the rather depressing street, smoking yet another cigarette, loose pony taii swinging behind him. Like it would kill him; he'd just regrow new lungs like any other body part. Like...like...what was that character? Some animal...Ah, Wolverine!, like Wolverine from that movie, X-men. Except that was fake, and this was real. And 'dying' hurt like ***. He had 'died'...

Grace grit his teeth, stepping off just into a side street, and began punching a grey-bricked wall with his left hand, over and over and over. He didn't stop as his hand bloodied, didn't stop as he heard the crack of bones breaking, no. After a few minutes, he stopped, panting and holding his bloody, broken hand to his dull green coat. He hated his thoughts. He hated what had happened...And he couldn't change the past. Why...

Cradling his broken hand, Grace, giving up, at least for now, leaned back against the cold brick and slid down until he sat. He held his head with his good and tried hard not to weep. What was the date today? He needed that...so he could write. Write before he slipped away from himself

12/20/2011 #7
Roger sighed. So the decision was made. He would help her. He turned and jogged down the steps; no faster than any man. He didn't want to show off and break cover. She looked comatose. He really should stabilize her right here, but the alley wasn't a good place to be with an open wound. He had to try to move her without causing further damage. But he could do a little. He took off his outer shirt and tied it around her middle, covering the wound. It was a clean shirt and might stop the transmission of fluids a little.

Being as gentle as he could he slid his arms under her, one under her knees and one behind her back, and lifted her up. She was light and he strong, so carrying her wasn't a problem. But getting back up to the fire escape would be. He'd have to walk around to the front door.

Looking down the alley toward the nearest exit that would take them around the apartment building Roger noticed a man sitting against the wall. Bloody, broken hand. Depressed look to the face. Something on a chain under the shirt. Not an immediate threat, but that could change very quickly.

Roger chided himself. Why would it change? He wasn't a spy behind enemy lines. They were looking for him, yes, but this man wasn't one of them. His bearing didn't match. And Roger hadn't done anything to bring their attention to him. He'd be fine. He began the walk down the alley, allowing himself to make brief eye contact with the man sitting against the wall if the man chose to look up at him.

12/20/2011 . Edited 12/20/2011 #8
Aimee was too weak to fight the arms that wrapped around her. Last night she'd pushed herself far beyond her body's limits to escape, and it might cost her. Unable to do much of anything else she leaned her head back against his chest and exhaled shakily through her slightly chapped lips and glanced up at him. Her eyes were an astonishing sapphire blue, not necessarily unusual to most. What WAS unusual was the presence of little purple flecks amidst the blue. After watching him for a short moment she closed her eyes and started to fade, unsure of what fate lay ahead of her...
12/20/2011 #9

Already his hand was healing, and he lowered his head, listening to the crackle of bones as they repaired. Then his ears picked up the footsteps before they came as close as they did. One of his many senses that had been drastically increased; the classic super-soldier if you will: heightened senses, faster, smarter....Yes, it was classic. The thoughts were bitter. He was nearly immortal, yet extremely vulnerable if his weakness was exposed. So when the footsteps came closer, Grace smelt the blood. Smelt it, and nearly lost it. But if this was trouble, then he couldn't afford to lose it.

Grace looked up, his eyes tired but they drilled into the male's eyes for that brief second. Then his gaze fell immdiately to the woman in his arms. The one that was wounded....Memories came bursting forth, but he suppressed them. A wounded woman made all this worse, unless she was an enemy. And even then it was hard. He didn't know the situation, but the scent of blood was overwhelming; it wasn't just some scape or minor cut...closer to a stab wound or gun. He pushed himself up, the man already a few steps ahead.

"Did you do that to her? So help me if you did..."

His German accent thickened slightly, but it was better than usual. When he got upset, he'd usually revert to his home language. But nonetheless, his tone came out cold, and he was prepared to carry out his threat of action. He sighed mentally. He was supposed to be picking up Valentine from a tutor.

12/20/2011 #10
What was this? Another vigilante? Do gooder? Roger despised such people, as a rule. It was because of them that the police militarized, or the military took over police work. However you wanted to think of it. But there was something in his eyes. He wasn't just a wannabe super hero. And was that the sound of bones healing at an accelerated rate?

Roger stopped, took a breath, and let it out slowly, calming his nerves. "No," he said, "But if I don't treat her in five minutes she will die. This is a stomach wound. What will you do?"

Granted, she was special, more or less like him, and might hold out a few minutes longer. But stomach wounds were hard to treat and it had to be done quickly regardless of your genetic makeup.

12/21/2011 #11

Grace shifted, gaze more on the female than on the male, although he noted the man had become tense. What would he do excatly? He should mind his own business like everyone else would, turn the cold shoulder to the people in need and carry on with his life. Unfortunately for him, that was something he couldn't do, and the sight of the injured female sparked the need to step in. On the other hand, the male seemed to have this under control and knew what he was dealing with. But....why not offer to help? Although the man would probably refuse it.

"Do you need help?"

Not exactly an answer; answering a question with a question, but it was good enough. Grace slowly clenched his healing hand, offering only the slightest wince. His hand was no longer bloody, and close to having the bones repaired. Good enough.

He'd be late picking up Valentine, but he wasn't worried about him getting home too much. It was people that he worried about, since Valentine was...different.

12/21/2011 #12
Moving her head up slightly Aimee looked towards the other man with a broken gaze. Not sad, or lined with pain, or hopeful - simply an unfathomable, silent gaze...
12/21/2011 . Edited 12/21/2011 #13
Fleur-de-lis Evans

[Since you are mostly used to ialics denoting thoughts or flashbacks, I will refrain from using italics to denote dreams. Instead, all the text appearing underlined will be dream sequences, since I think bold text looks somewhat abrasive. That being said, if you read my posts just know that if a flashback is occurring it will be in italics only, if it is a though it will be surrounded by single quotations 'thought', and if she is picking up fragments of another person's thoughts those will be in bold. However, I will ask you directly if it's okay to have her read your character's thoughts before I do so.]


A migraine pounded through her head, making it feel as if something were attempting to eat through her brain while she tried to work. Chloe groaned, setting down the file she just compiled and labeled. She lifted her head feeling the muscles in her neck stretch and relax from finally being moved. The mirror above the desk caught her reflection - and Chloe found herself laughing hoarsely at the woman reflected there.

Deep purple circles ringed her oval eyes, which despite the weariness that seeped into her bones, still held a bright lazurite luster. There were gentle outlines of wings beneath the circles, in a shade of light pink - almost the color of her bowed lips. Her cheek bones inclined steeply, filled in by her rounded, often flushed and freckled cheeks. Her hair, an uncommon shade of silver, fell in elegant curls to her shoulders. The colour of her hair, and the markings around her eyes, were aspects of her appearance Chloe had never been able to explain. That, and the intense ache she often experienced in her shoulders around fall, when feathers randomly appeared on her mattress.

A shrill ringing cut Chloe from her introspection. All she was positive of, besides her inheritance of the family business, was that she was some sort of 'special case,' and it was her job to protect the information her family had been amassing over the centuries. She reached down disconnection her cell phone from her belt buckle.


"Is this Chloe Omegarius?"

The voice sent a sharp chill through Chloe's system. She felt a twitching in her shoulder blades and back muscles. Quite suddenly, and with no previous indication, wings burst forth from her shoulder blades knocking over several vases and inkwells. A glow surrounded her, and if it weren't for the reflection in the mirror Chloe would be attributing the moment to hallucinations brought on by severe sleep deprivation.

Some instinct in her prompted her to respond to the strange voice, "No, you must have dialed the incorrect number."

In response she received the dial tone. Once the feeling subsided, the wings seemed to phase back into her body, but they left behind purse white feathers. Chloe stumbled backward sinking to floor by the wall. Her arm dropped to the ground the phone falling out of her hand as her eyes fluttered shut.

Her brain kicked into gear, but for some reason her perception seemed to be removed, as if she were experiencing this from a long way off. A great citadel rose above her, pale pink and white marble glittering behind thin-sheet crystal windows. The room was rounded closed off from the horizon from a polished silver dome. Ringing the room were solid wooden benches. Many beings sat on the perimeter while a young woman spoke from the center of the room.

"The next Guardian is born to heal and protect the innocents that have been forced to become super-weapons. She is coming into contact with the information that will make clear to her what her purpose is. However, we must keep her safe from the Insidious, the ones who now seek her in order to use her DNA to further their super-weapon research.

The room seemed to spin, to fade. That's when she felt a pressure against her shoulder. A voice was insistantly calling her back to reality, "Chloe. Chloe."

With an effort, she forced her eyes to open. It took a few minutes for them to focused on the concerned face hovering over her. "Thor?" she whispered.

The young man smiled, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead in wisps. "You had my worried." His eyes flicked around the room settling on the few feathers and the upset items around the desk. He pulled her to her feet letting her lean on him. "What happened?"

"One minuted I'm on the phone, a strange man called me, and then I," she shook her head. "It's going to sound crazy...,"

"Your wings extended."

"Yes, but...,wait, how did you know?" She started unable to finish any of her thoughts."

"I have a lot to explain," he answered. "I suppose I'll start from the beginning."

12/21/2011 #14
It was unusual to be asked if he could use help, but help was welcome with any procedure. Roger paused for less than a full second.

"Yes please. Can you get the fire escape ladder down? Quickest way to a good place to operate."

He turned to the other special, for lack of a better term, and waited for him to comply.

12/21/2011 #15
(Well, I'm going to go with that it's a pull down ladder. If I'm wrong, I can just correct it afterwards)

Grace nodded absently, chewing on the end of his cigarette before realizing that it probably wasn't healthy to be smoking around an injured person. Cursing himself for not being aware of this earlier, Grace dropped it and stamped it out.

"Ja, it's not a problem. Ah...."

He felt the urge to apologize for smoking, but he pushed that aside, and breifly skimmed for the ladder. Walking over to the ladder, Grace reached up and gathered a good grip on it. Then it troubled him. The male was going to operate on her...and if he required assistance in doing so, then that might be an issue for himself. He hadn't treated a wound in years. He'd do what he could when it came down to it. He'd ask questions later.

He pulled down the ladder with a tug, and glanced over at the male, and stood aside so as not to get in the way.

12/22/2011 #16
Fleur-de-lis Evans

Chloe felt her head spinning from the information Thor shared with her in the four hours since he found her on the floor of her study. She felt somewhat comforted to know her dreams weren't random occurrences, but rather odd flashbacks to events of which her guardian nature had been apart. But, it was still a lot to take in.

"H-how do I control the wings?" She asked hoping there was an easy answer.

Thor looked her in the eyes, his showing concern, "You don't control them," he said patiently. "You can learn how to camouflage them, though." He rose from the couch walking to a bag he dropped near the desk. He extracted a few items.

"What are those?"

"This," Thor replied lifting a necklace, the pendant of which was half of a Peace symbol, "is what connects you to me. The necklace will warm when you are in danger." He then showed her a linked metal bracelet he wore, the centre of which was the other half of the symbol, "In response my gauntlet will glow."

He walked behind her pulling the chain around her neck and fastening it. When he rounded the table he took the remaining bracelets, matching white-gold sheaths, that interlocked with clasps that were finely crafted vines, and pushed them toward her. Chloe lifted them securing them to her wrists. She felt and immediate safety, as if she couldn't mess up while wearing them.

"Those are your gauntlets. In a previous incarnation you forged them, and they hold the key to your past. Each of your incarnations has worn them, through all the work you've done to reach this point."

Chloe was about to respond when an alarm went off. She quickly silenced it, looking apologetically at Thor. "I'm sorry... I have to go. I only have a half hour to get to the tutoring center."

A smile crossed Thor's face. "That's fine, Chlo," he said. He winked at her playfully. "I'll be seeing you for coffee later tonight." With those words he rose allowing Chloe to walk him out.

Once he was gone, Chloe showered sliding into her fresh clothes for her morning shift. By the time she looked over the information for her test, which she'd take around 9 pm that night, and reviewed her plans for her tutoring session, she had ten minutes to get to work.

12/22/2011 . Edited 12/24/2011 #17
"Thanks," Roger said, walking back to the ladder. He paused for a moment. "Name's Roger, BTW."

He made his way up the ladder. It was steep, and bearing a load as he was normals might have had trouble with it. He decided against trying to look awkward, though. He needed to get this lady to safety. Striking eyes she had.

Reaching the top he stepped aside to let Grace get the door. "I'll need a clean table top in the dinning room, lots of light, clean rags, water, foreceps and clamps, a place to put things . . . Sorry, you can find the first aid kit on the side of the cupboards in the kitchen. That'll be a good start."

It didn't occur to him that he was giving orders based on the assumption that Grace would obey. He was fully in mission mode now, and this was what he would do on the battle field.

12/22/2011 #18
Leaning the side of her head against his arm she looked around at the room, more as a distraction than a curiosity. The pain was beginning to dull her senses. A blackout was imminent unless somebody did something, and they had better do it fast. Another wave of dizzying pain washed over her, and features on her pale face tightened for a moment as she gritted her teeth and winced. "Am I going to die," she whispered weakly, moving her eyes back up to her rescuer...
12/23/2011 #19
Fleur-de-lis Evans

Chloe took the corner fast smoothly sliding into her marked spot at Grayson's Tutoring and Education Centre. She took a few moments to make sure the storage unit on the back of her bike was firmly in place before dismounting. She pulled the helmet off untying the bandannas that held her hair up. Thankfully, today her hair was cooperating with her and fell in soft waves to her shoulders. She hitched the bag on her back to a more comfortable level, and with one arm looped around her helmet, and the other holding a clipboard she moved toward the side entrance of the building.

She managed to push through the door on her own, and the scene that met her was one of shrill chaos. Her eyes flicked to the side of the two embattled employees landing on a boy, who seemed to be trying to disappear, or at least to block out the fight. Before she could brush it off, Chloe felt a strong pull toward the boy, and suddenly the gauntlets around her wrists tightened. All her instinct told her to resolve this situation, that maybe she might be able to help more than anyone else could.

"What is going on?" she said in a soft commanding voice. Instantly, the two employees paused in their argument turning toward her. Chloe passed the boy, laying her helmet and clip board down at the other end of the table from where he was standing. One of the employees, a boy with gray eyes and hair dyed blue, tried to open his mouth but Chloe cut him off, "David, be quiet. Rachael explain."

Rachael's eyes narrowed, clearly she wasn't happy that Chloe was taking control of the situation, although Chloe was the senior employee present. She began using clipped tones, "I have been trying to organize the schedules," she said pointedly glaring at David, "so that someone would be available to teach him," she said seeming to take her anger out on the presence of the boy.

Chloe bit her lip silencing the retort, "Rachael," she said calmly, "it is the position of myself and Taylor to schedule sessions. If there was a problem you or David should have contacted me or Taylor."

Rachael was about to throw a comment in her direction when Chloe held up her hand effectively silencing the other girl. She turned to David, one of the most reliable young tutors on the shift. "David, can you please explain your side?"

David nodded, handing Chloe the file he'd been holding in his clenched fist. "Valentine is new," he explained indicating the boy with a more gentle tilt of his head. "His file was faxed from another tutoring centre."

Chloe nodded, "I see. And, he was told to show up here after school or other lessons?"

"Yes," David replied. "I called Taylor last night, when the file came in. She attached a memo instructing me to fill any empty slots on the chart, for three times a week, with sessions for Valentine. But," he began.

"It's his first day here, and he hasn't had a consultation with a tutor, nor have there been discussions with the parent bout private tutoring options." It took her less than a few minutes to deduce what needed to be done. She flicked through the file locating a small sheet of paper with a number on it. "I will call his parent or guardian and see what I can do."

She turned to Rachael, "You have a session in ten minutes you should be preparing in room three," she said. She watched David walk toward the information desk placing himself in the chair behind it. Relative peace was restored, except for Rachael's immature storming out of the room. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to Valentine, extending her hand. "Hello, I'm Chloe," she said.

12/23/2011 . Edited 12/24/2011 #20
(Fleur, please be careful. Your PC's powers/anatomy are okay for this thread, but be sure to have an explanation ready for how she got to be that way. Keep in mind that if she does anything overt I'll send the mad scientists with their tactical goons to grab and experiment upon her. >;-)= )

WOULD she live? The reality was in doubt but that was beside the point. The point was that he had to heal both her body and mind, or at least try.

"No," Roger said, with far more conviction than he felt.

(At this point I'll wait for Valentine)

12/23/2011 . Edited 12/23/2011 #21

(I gave Fleur a heads up on the time)

Grace had followed Roger up the stairs, noting the ease he had carrying the woman. Either he had done this so many times that he was used to doing the action easily, or he was...different. He slightly snorted at his own term; different! that could describe so many things. Nevermind that now. Grace supposed he should introduce himself as well, but he'd wait until this situation was under control.

Grace opened the door, allowing Roger to go inside with the wounded woman, listening to the order and list of things that he would need. Not too complicated.

"Ja. I'll get the first aid. You've got disinfectant for the table? Tell me where to find what you need and I'll have them done quickly."

Any distracting worries about Valentine had been pushed aside to allow him to focus at the task at hand. He hadn't been picking him up in the first place as it was way too early...he just wanted an excuse to check on him, and he had a good reason to. Whoever was in charge of the experimentations would not be happy after he had stolen an experiment plus killing most of their scientists.


Valentine had stood there awkwardly, listening to the two employees argue amongst themselves. This was an unfamiliar environment and the smell bothered him. He couldn't quite tell what it was....dusty? He wasn't sure. Valentine lowered a plain black backpack to the floor, allowing it to lean against loose, faded-blue jeans. His abnormally colored eyes and hair were covered by the shadow of a black hoodie, as well as the shadow extended to cover the unusual tattoos he had been given by them. They said that the barcode was there because his ability was special and was useful to them. Niether tattoo would fade or be removed. Valentine, in his early years while with those scientists, had discovered what all his abilities were.

Closing his eyes, he quickly located the exact spot where his father was, and shook his head slightly. He had been coming in this direction undoubtly to check on him. A soft smile played on his face. Valentine looked up to see a woman with silverish hair approach him. She greeted herself as Chloe and had extended her hand for him to shake. Standing there, quiet and a bit shy, he stared at her hand not wanting to take it with his right hand; his right arm was not human flesh....

12/23/2011 #22
"Under the sink," Roger said in response to the question about disinfectant.

As the other man fetched the needed items, Roger used an elbow to shove things off the table. They clattered onto the floor and he kicked them out of the way. Nothing broke. He was in the habit of keeping sturdy things in the house, just because. There wasn't much else he could do until the other man had the things ready, so he stepped to the side and waited.

12/23/2011 #23
The clatter sent A shudder of terror through Aimee's body, and she struggled at the blackness trying to overtake her... She slowly began to lose...
12/23/2011 . Edited by Fleur-de-lis Evans, 12/24/2011 #24

Grace nodded, then went off quickly to retrieve what was needed. A quick rummage around, and he returned with the disinfectant and first aid. Moving as fast as possible, he quickly disinfected the table so that the wounded woman could be laid down. Then he set the first aid on the corner of the table, and opened it so it was easy access for Roger. What else?...Bright lights, water, rags....Shrugging off his coat, and tossing it to the side, revealing a lighter jacket which he also discarded. That left him wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, and on the upper left arm was the very noticable burnt red sash with the broken swastika. He didn't care whether there was comments made on it at the moment; Grace rolled up his sleeves and gathered whatever else was needed, his gold locket, wedding ring necklace clinking as he moved.

12/23/2011 #25

Roger noticed, and ignored, every aspect of Grace's appearance and behavior. At least he was fairly confident that he noticed everything. People often commented on that ability of his.

As soon as the table was ready he laid Aimee down on it as gently as he could.

(I'm gonna godmod a little here. Tell me if I need to edit.)

"Hand sanitizer." It was more of a command than a request, but he put out his hands and waited for Grace to squirt them. Rubbed them together until the sanitizer evaporated or was brushed off.

"gloves." He put his hands into the offered gloves.

"Scalpel." He used it to slice the bullet hole open a little farther, enough that he could see in if he tried hard enough.

He continued to call for various implements as he needed them, efficiently using them as soon as he felt them in his hands.

(Addison, I need to know what he sees when he looks into the wound. Is the bullet in one piece? Is it mangled? Did it fragment? Are there bone fragments? I understand it was an abdominal wound. Are any vital organs torn? Were any major blood vessels hit? These things will determine Roger's process. Thanks.)

12/23/2011 . Edited 12/23/2011 #26
Fleur-de-lis Evans

[Time of day has been fixed in my previous post about Chloe's job to keep the time stream the same. Sorry about that tiny mistake.]

Chloe lifted her eyebrow a slight smile crossing her face. So, he was shy. 'Not to mention wearing a hood indoors, when he could easily take it off,' a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Normally, she would have brushed it off, most kids these days wore hats or hoods, or some kind of clothing that obscured their faces to look 'rad' or to mimic the dress style of the younger rap or pop artists. Her instinct told her to offer her office as a place to talk and work things out. She was glad the idea presented itself quickly, because she was beginning to get that icy feeling down her spine, as if there were some mysterious danger lurking around the corner.

"We could move to my office," she said. "It will be quieter once the morning rush comes in." 'And less in the open,' she thought. She didn't attempt to make physical contact with Valentine, he was obviously shy and preferred his personal space, which she could understand. That's how she'd been when she was his age, a loner type. "It's up to you, though," she said leaving any decision making up to him. After all, if she were to be his tutor it would be nice to form some basis of trust and comfort.

12/24/2011 . Edited 12/24/2011 #27

"EW." That was all Roger said upon assessing the damage in the wound. At least at first.

"Gauze." He used forceps to hold a wad of gauze and dab at the blood within the wound. That's when he found the leaking blood vessel.

"I have to repair this blood vessel," he said, his voice slightly grim. "Clamps please."

He used those to pinch the vessel just above the tear, mopped up some more loose blood.

"Needle and thread. As small as you can find. And a magnifying glass."

Once the magnifying glass was positioned between Roger's face, and his hands, which were in the wound, he was ready to sew. He took the needle and thread and went to work. His hands were very steady and precise considering their size, and did minimal additional damage to the flesh. Once he finished sewing and tied off, he applied tape, very carefully, over the tear.

"Now I'll remove the bullet and bone fragments. This will be tricky."

None-the-less he did so, bit by bit, until everything that wasn't supposed to be there was removed. He had no idea whether or not she would live through this, but it had to be done or she would die.

"Good thing bullet missed the intestines and vitals," he said when he had a moment.

He removed the clamp to let the blood resume its flow through the vessel and stood up straight, stretching, and waited to make sure there was no further hemorrhaging.

"Am I missing anything?" he asked.

(To all readers, PLEASE just call the paramedics if this happens. Don't try to do what I've written about. I don't know how these things are done. I've only watched shows like the Unit and Firefly. If you know something different, please let me know and I'll edit, because this PC is supposed to be cross-trained as a field EMT. Thanks.)

12/24/2011 #28


Grace had watched, etching every detail into his mind. The procedure hadn't phased him, but it was stirring up some unwelcome emotions. He hoped that they had acted fast enough to save her; he'd breakdown if she died. Strange as it was, because he had no idea who she was, but seeing someone innocent die sickened him; he had killed too many innocents himself in the name of attempting to halt a monstosity. Though, how would he know if she was innocent? Time would tell.

"I don't think so."

Grace stepped back slightly from the table, and let his gaze wander elsewhere. His mind was elsewhere as well. How had she gotten that wound and why? Then his mind focused on the image of the wound, causing him to close his eyes and softly shudder. It wasn't her wound that bothered him, but memories of the past that were being painfully dragged out. He never wanted them to die, but it had been part of his cover...His fists clenched, and his eyes opened, full of self-anger and hurt. This wasn't the time for him to have a breakdown.


Valentine watched Chloe's expression from underneath the shadow of his hood, his blood-red hair somewhat hanging in his face. Her suggestion to going to her office was fine with him; he was actually relieved when she suggested so. But he was wary; the scientists wanted their 'property' back no doubt, which was why Grace was probably concerned about his whereabouts, and he was aware of that. His father had outright said that he wasn't concerned about himself, but he'd do anything to protect the child he had stolen. Valentine nearly laughed at the thought; whoever thought that stealing children would be good?

Leaning down, and shouldering his backpack, he nodded to Chloe, and gave a quiet,"Okay."

He wasn't normally this quiet, but he had learned a long time ago, that if you kept your mouth shut, people tended to leave you alone, but then prodded for information when they did notice. But, on the other hand, people didn't like the silence and took it as a defiance to leadership. So, there was no winning. He'd probably open up to this tutor with time, and he was open with Grace. Besides, if she was with them, he had all the abilities to get away.

12/24/2011 #29
"Okay. I think we're just about done here," Roger said.

He was about to ask for the needle and thread again, to close the wound, when his hand started to tremble a little. He tensed and relaxed the muscles, grimacing, but the tremble increased and spread.

"You . . . have to . . . close." he managed to say as he stumbled backward and into the wall.

He slumped down against it, his entire body shaking now. He pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket, managed to remove the lid and dump one down his throat. He then sat there, curled up, shaking, feeling totally mortified. Would Grace understand? Did it even matter? There was nothing for Roger to do but wait for the shakes to pass and hope the Triptifan worked.

12/27/2011 . Edited 12/27/2011 #30
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