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IC:

 

Tera was quiet a long minute, listening to Aella speak. And then she was quiet a bit longer trying to decide how best to respond. What do you say to that? A year in Hydra's clutches, a year taken, and she couldn't even remember the rest of her life. Horrible didn't begin to describe it, and there wasn't much that could be said to properly reassure her.

 

"I'm sorry. You won't have to go back." A pause. "Say, Aella. Any idea what size clothes you wear?"

 

OOC: The next post is an introduction, done in the first person. While I would love for people to read it, I know it's long, and it doesn't pertain to most characters, so you don't really need to. :P

 

IC

 

 

Yesterday, the first of January, a near tragic accident in the London Underground was only narrowly prevented. A fault in the track nearly caused the train to derail, an accident that would have cost several dozn people their lives. Eyewitnesses reported a dark figure in the tunnel, mere moments before a jarring bump caused the vehicle to stop. Inspection by engineers later that day revealed that the train had been stopped mere meters from derailment...

 

******

 

Police are still searching for a woman described by eyewitnesses to have had a hand in the aversion of a traffic accident in Cardiff Monday morning, following reports indicating that the woman in question was an unregistered mutant. The figure was seen limping away from the scene following their intervention...

 

Leg hurts. I have not had time to check, but I suspect that it is sprained. Maybe broken. Cannot stop to check, not yet. The UK has strict registration policies, and I didn't come here legally. Cannot go to the hospital. Just have to keep moving.

 

******

Investigators in Berlin are still baffled regarding the events that occurred on February 11th at a local bank. An armd robbery was attempted at ten o'clock in the morning by a group of men in assorted masks, each one armed with an automatic weapon. The clients and workers were all forced to the ground, and ordered out of the way of the main lobby. One patron managed to call the police, but when the police arrived, the bandits were already incapacitated. Two were taken to the city's primary hospital for treatment of broken bones, one for a gunshot wound to the shoulder.

 

Reports on the series of events are mixed, but all of the reports agree that an unknown hooded woman arrived at the bank moments after the robbery began. Reports indicate that she possessed heterochromatic eyes, only visible when her mutant powers activated. The woman supposely exited the bank through a back door two minutes before police arrived. Any information regarding her whereabouts can be reported to...

 

"Alright, all of you, on the ground, now!"

 

The masked man, probably the leader, yelled as he aimed his wapon into the air and fired a shot. The patrons hurriedly complied, getting to the floor and sliding thir phones away when instructed to discard them. The man's assistants went to secure the money. It seemed to be going to plan, until a patron was dragged out of the restroom, phon still in hand.

 

"Boss, this one called the cops."

 

The leader sighed, and tapped his gun in his hand thoughtfully. "See, this didn't have to be messy. But if we let you get away with such defiance, who knows what ideas they'll get. Nothing personal."

 

His pistol is raised, aiming for the man who had called the police.

 

I fire first.

 

The gun is dropped as a loud, loud scream rends the air, and the henchmen turn to deal with the new threat. They expect the police, but I am not the police. And I am not there anymore. The man with the assault rifle, wearing a Mickey Mouse mask of all things, I take down with a swift twist of the wrist, just enough to break it. He drops the gun out of pain, and I put him down with a well placed punch to the kidney. One down.

 

Th second, armed with a Glock nine millimeter, is more alert. He has already taken aim. I disrupt his shot with a blow to his arm, causing the shot to fly wildly off course, while I plant a sidekick in his ribs. One, maybe two, give way with a crack. He's down. The last is the leader, already incapacitated by his shoulder wound. Knocking him out is easy. A moment later I gather the weapon I dropped, and stow it once more.

 

Sirens are in the distance. Time to go.

 

******

 

Memo to all SHIELD offices;

 

A SHIELD agent reported today that the instigator of the brief conflict on the North Korean border was a mutant already on their radar for multiple events across Europe and America, including two averted accidents in the UK, a bank robbery in Berlin, and several foiled murders in Moscow. She is described as fairly tall with waist length black hair and heterochromatic eyes. The suspect is not considered to be hostile, but should be treated with extreme caution.

 

******

SHIELD Field Office, New York;

 

Subject of case number three oh two has been spotted again. An airport in South America, boarding a plane bound for the United States. Police reports a day later uncovered a body in one of the local cartels' dumping grounds. Identification is tentative, but he seems to have been a Weapon X operative prior to his current employment.

 

"W-Who are you?"

 

He asks, the quiver in his voice pronounced. Pathetic. I crouch down slightly, remaining just above his level, pressing the barrel of the gun to his left knee.

 

"That's a stupid question."

 

"N-No, you're supposed to be dead. And y-you're not supposed to look like that. They wiped your mind, you shouldn't remember anything!"

 

"So you do remember."

 

The former captor flinches at the cold edge in my voice. Fascinating how they act, once their power is gone. People just like this one used to rule and ruin the lives of people just like me. Now he's just a coward.

 

"Tell me where the remaining outposts are."

 

"I don't know! And even if I did, I can't tell ou! They'll kill me!"

 

"Who will?"

 

"The people looking for them."

 

"Who is looking for Weapon X's old bases, and why?"

 

"I don't know!"

 

"Fine." I stand, and I walk away. I didn't expect to learn anything new from him, he was too low-ranking to know. But he did confirm what I already knew. For a moment, I thought about taking the time to scare him into silence. But there's no need. His employers would silence him for me when they found him again.

 

And I have a plane to catch.

 

*****

 

United States, Present Day

 

I've seen my end.

 

I've seen it so many times that one would think I would lose count. But I don't. The others, what's left of them, they don't talk about it much. About the universes we crossed to find this one. Maybe they don't want to, maybe they don't care, maybe they can't. I can't fathom their reasoning.

 

Rebekah, X-322, Shadow, Spectre. I am all of them, and yet, I am none of them. Such detachment is distinctly unnatural, this I am aware of, even now. Humans cherish their identity, cherish what makes them unique, cherish it because it is them, and at the end of the day, they believe that no matter what, that is the one thing that cannot be taken from them. They bristle at the very thought. Their identity is the one thing they cling to, during peace, during war, during bad, during good. Even with their last dying breath, they cling to their identity, wondering if they lived their life as they should have. The truly lucky don't wonder. They know.

 

I've seen Rebekah die. A runaway car, a freak accident... I saw her succumb to the dangers of Weapon X's experimentation. I've seen 322 fall, in the arena and in an escape attempt doomed to fail. Shadow fell in Washington, cursing the Enforcers with her last breath. Another one fell in New York, succumbing to the weaknesses of her own mortal frame. I've seen Spectre fall in battle, not knowing who or what she really was.

 

I am all of them, and yet, none of them.

 

Or am I?

 

My memories tell me that I am Rebekah Fell, but who is to say that they are real? Do I have all of them? Is that record, stored within an unbelievably fragile organic computer, complete? Am I Shadow, the amnesiac who awoke on the Institute's grounds? Am I X-322, the pride of Weapon Series Three? Spectre, Weapon X's greatest soldier? Weapon X tried to wipe out my identity, scrub it from existence, and they believed they failed. In a way, they did. In the end, I destroyed my identity in my quest to get it back. Time after time my mind was tampered with, fixed, and then broken again. I've seen worlds fall, I've seen empires crumble, I've seen myself in a dozen different mirrors, and the face looking back is never the same one.

 

When I move, is it Rebekah taking the step? Or is it Spectre? When I get angry, is that X-322 railing against the world, or is it Shadow lashing out in fear?

 

My feet, their feet, our feet have carried us across the globe this past year. I've set foot in every major country, and some minor ones too, trying to find a trace, a scrap, of the truth. And in a way, I suppose I found it. I am no one. When I cannot pick what identity is true, is real, in the end, I have to cast them all aside. And when I do that, what is left?

 

A weapon. A weapon with a code, with a set of shaky, ill defined morals, a shotgun without a wielder. A soldier without orders. I walked the world for three hundred and sixty five days. In those days, I've stopped two robberies, ten murders, fought three dictatorships, halted thirty separate accidents, and saved two hundred and six lives, all with one thousand two hundred and eleven bullets.

 

The number of lives was about to become two hundred and seven.

 

My feet blitz forward, the speed activated without much of a thought. I don't have to think about it anymore. I feel my heart start to pump faster, the biological time limit on how long I can maintain this. But I won't need the whole time. My target is only a few yards away. I sprint past the people rushing towards the scene, overtaking them in a blur of colors, a blur careening in from the corner of their eye. The target has been on fire for a few minutes now, three minutes and sicxteen seconds by my count, and the danger of it reaching the fuel tank was imminent. No time to waste.

 

I have seen my end. But I've seen the others' too. And I will not allow it to be seen again.

 

The door has been crushed by the collision, so I grip the metal, muscles straining as I tear it out of my way. This results in a cut on my palm, and what feels like it might be a burn, but they are irrelevant. Time for medical attention is after mission is accomlished. The next portion is the hard part. A violet glow heralds the arrival of gloves on my hand, and a hood over my head, the items selected from my inventory with ease. The target is in what was the driver's seat; estimated three feet ahead. Visibility not clean. To rectify that, I move through the flames as quickly as I can manage, ignoring the warnings my nerves send. The target is visible now, and the faint hum of music audible. "Those About to Rock". AC/DC. Fitting.

 

Target appears to be unimpeded, a quick check of vitals show no irreparable damage. Provided I evacuate him, he will live. After guaranteeing that such an action will not cause harm, I grab the target under the armpits, and drag him out of the former seat so I can lift him into a fireman's carry. No indication of consciousness, not clear enough to see. The smoke is beginning to sting my throat, best evacuate quickly. Tucking the rescuee under my jacket to shield him from the fire, I exit the same way I entered; through the fire and the flames.

 

I take a deep breath once I'm outside, moving quickly to get to a safe distance from the bus.

 

"You're not allowed to clock out yet, Mr. Green."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Aella

 

Size? Clothes? I pondered this for a moment, that was something that had never come up, back at the lab they simply gave me what I was suppose to wear, and I wore it. It was either that or wear nothing at all. Something I had almost considered at times, but that would have been cold.

 

"I don't know..." I finally admitted. "They didn't give me a lot of options when it came to clothing, and they never seemed to fit quite right." The legs on my jumpsuit were obviously too short, and the shirt itself was a bit loose...not to mention torn in certain places. (Though that was mostly my fault.) My shoes however were surprisingly snug.

 

"Is there a way to figure it out?" I was liking the idea of wearing something else other than the awful green jumpsuit I'd worn for the past year. As soon as I got out these rags I was going to burn it.

Edited by Yoko Littner

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IC:

 

Red. Not solid, but translucent like Jello. That's the first thing I was aware of in years. The good me, that is. As much as I was tempted to deny it, she was also part of my person. Not a demon with the power of possession, not another mutant who could control minds, just a twisted figment of the past. That's by far the worst part of her, knowing that everything she does is my own fault.

 

We're basically the same anyway, only she's honest.

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IC:

 

Trinity thought silently as Aella and Tera continued with their conversation. She was doing mental math, and the numbers didn't add up.

 

"Tera, I am... Puzzled," Trinity declared, borrowing a word she heard a guard said once, "I remember going to sleep exactly sixty-one times... And I do not think that is as much as a year."

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IC: Mikhail

 

Mikhail stumbled slightly, before quickly righting himself and swirling around to face Trinity. His expression was unreadable, but there was an underlying current of shock and anger that could be found in his steel-grey eyes. His mouth opened, as if to say something, but closed mere seconds after. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and opened them once again, his body slowly composing itself.

 

"You were created from scratch," said the SHIELD agent quietly. "There were only scientists."

 

It explained why the little girl in front of her was so ignorant. It explained why she possessed no navel. It explained why HYDRA would take such an interest in her.

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IC Tokiomi

"What a mess."

 

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and that phrase couldn't be more accurate than at a time like this. Standing at the edge of the blast zone, the agent surveyed the area. He had heard the reports, he had seen the smoke, but this? This was a whole new level. And despite the fact that the agent was no stranger to death and destruction, scenes like these hit just as hard everytime.

 

But, unlike probably everybody else in the world, Tokiomi simply shrugged. Rather than shock or anger, he simply wore an expression of mild disinterest. Something deep inside him told that he should care, but he just didn't. "City maintenence is going to have a heart attack," he muttured, and that was that.

 

Now, what he did care about was two things. One: where did the mech come from? It rose out of the sea, but before that, it had to have come from somewhere, and unless the thing was traveling at the very bottom of the sea, it should have been noticed at some point or another. If enough evidence could be gathered, SHIELD or some other organization could follow the trail and find where the mech came from, at the very least.

 

The second thing that Tokiomi cared about was the lack of response from the military. Surely, the thing had come and gone in less than an hour, but they could have at least sent in a few assault helicopters, or bombers, or artillery strikes, or maybe even an artillery strike. However, opposition to the mech was lackluster at best, with the only resistance coming from the NYPD and several brave volunteers. This truly concerned Tokiomi; if the country's infrastructure was falling apart, dark times were ahead.

 

Walking further into the wreckage, Tokiomi thought hard about possible plans of action. In his mind, this was not the time to mourn or to just sit still in sorrow; this was the time to react. If HYDRA was truly as large a threat as they were being played up to be, drastic measures were needed. Tokiomi took out a safe phone to make an important phone call.

 

HYDRA had declared war against the whole world, but there was an organization they couldn't account for. They had declared war against governments and countries, but did they know of the existence of those who hid in the shadows? While Tokiomi needed the approval of the higher ups for this, he could still lay the groundwork. After, they didn't exist.

 

"Zdravo?"

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IC:

 

"Excuse me,"

 

A voice calmly intoned from behind a nearby bookcase, tinged with a faint British accent. A moment later, the speaker stepped out from the aisle with a few leisurely strides, regarding the two over a pair of reading glasses. The speaker was, by most standards, the exact sort of person you'd see in a library. Dressed in what could best be compared to academic casual, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and a book held loosely open in his right hand.

 

"While I know there is a historical precedent for big game hunters being fond of libraries, may mister Roosevelt rest in peace, I don't think there's one for the hunting to be in the library."

 

"I believe the contemporary query at this point would be 'what's up?'"

 

IC:

 

Tera paused in her own stride, gaze sliding down to look at the girl carefully. After a moment's contemplation of the facts, she arrived at the same conclusion as Mikhail.

 

"It means, Trin, that you weren't born the normal way." She said softly. "You were more than likely created in a lab."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Sierra

 

A sharp jolt of pain from the beast's shoulder traveled like lightning through the web of nerves spanning the empty space between us. I focused on those in my eyes and looked out. The door had broken, but the bookshelf was only cracked. I reached out in my mind, feeling the wolflike head and limbs become my own. It leaned forward and braced its head against the shelf. It pushed hard.

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IC:

 

"Ah, the usual." Alistair said with a cheery calm, snapping his book shut with a loud crack. He glanced behind him, back down the aisle. "Morrison, we've got company. Please bring the Oxford dictionary and your cheeriest expression, I'm likely to need to hit something, and you need to be polite."

 

Glancing back towards the two at the door, he spoke again, more brightly and his accent a bit more pronounced. "Well, I'm Alistair. Pleasure to meet you."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Lynae

 

"Lynae Rosewood, it's a pleasure to meet you as well." She said, pressing more forcefully against the door, her heels slipping a bit.

 

"You know I told myself this morning, 'Lynae do not wear those black heels of yours today! You'll regret it!'" She said as she stared at her feet for a moment. "Ah well! C'est la vie!"

 

She then smiled at the newcomer, "so Alistair, I cannot help but notice your accent comes from the old country. Where exactly are you from?"

Edited by Rawrmouse
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IC:

 

"..."

 

"Well, I suppose that's half accurate, and that's close enough." Alistair commented, regarding Morrison as he hefted the nice, heavy, several thousand page dictionary. After a pause, he looked back to Lynae.

 

"Regrettably, for the past few years I have lived in California. I was born and raised, however, in the United Kingdom. My family lived not far from London but we traveled quite often, so I didn't spend as much time there as you would think."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"Truthfully, the west coast is truly ridiculous. Not a bad place, but it tends to attract all the strange people from the country. Likely why we ended up having to contend with Hollywood." A test swing of the dictionary.

 

"Do we actually know what's on the other side of the bookcase?"

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Aella

 

Born? Created? What?

 

My mind spun for a moment, memory loss or no...I knew I hadn't been...created by HYDRA, that didn't sit right with my gut. No, I knew I had been born...how exactly one was born? I....I couldn't remember exactly...it felt...fuzzy...

 

Just being created didn't seem natural for some reason...though here Trinity was. I remained oddly silent.

 

IC: Ashley

 

For whatever reason, Dallas hadn't answered his phone, Ashley remembered he'd been preparing for the big party he was planning, so he had to be somewhere around...

 

For the life of her she just couldn't remember where! She was going to leave him a text when she heard what sounded like growling from the ventilation.

 

"Hmm....that's weird." It didn't sound like a cat, that was for sure. With a wave of her powers a nearby Tree that was potted in the hallway began to sprout vines, the vines grew and spread toward the vent...twisting around it more and more. With a hard yank the vent was pried off, leaving it wide open.

 

Thankfully the ventilation shaft was wide enough for a person like Ashley to crawl through, which was what she proceeded to do. The further down she went the louder the growling became...along with other voices.

 

"Hellllooooo?"

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IC:

 

"I can te-" He started it reply, cut off by the loud sound of an impact against the shelf with tremendous force. His mouth hung open a moment, then closed again. "Hrm. Sounds like the dictionary might not be quite adequate. Just a moment."

 

The scholar vanished back downed the aisle a moment after setting the dictionary on the table, accompanied by the sound of rummaging around, before returning with a wooden broom in hand. A deft twist removed the broom head which was promptly set aside. Alistair hefted the boom handle appraisingly, testing the weight. Grimacing, he brought it into what looked suspiciously like a duelist's ready stance, before relaxing again.

 

"Horrible weight, but I suppose there's no better option. Of all the times not to have access to something heavier."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Lynae

 

"Or... We could use one of the dozen of shelves to help this one stay up? Honestly... Here you help him keep this up while I get another shelf."

 

With that she quickly walked up to the nearest shelf, pushing it toward the door with ease. "Now then... This should help."

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IC:

 

"While I hate to be pessimistic, while we're fine in the short term, we've still got a long term issue." Alistair noted, leaning the pole against a table and picking up a book again, seemingly out of habit. "We've got a finite number of bookshelves, and worst of all, it's got a number of ways to get in. It could try going through the wall, or breaking a window."

 

"Plus, we're all stuck in here, while it waits out there. Unless it gives up, it'll get in sooner or later."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"Somehow, I doubt strength is an issue. Why, pray tell, are you able to move a fully loaded bookcase easily?" Alistair queried, shifting the book to his other hand. "Empowered being, or another cause?"

Edited by Simon the Digger

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Ashley

 

Ashley didn't hear a response to her query, but as she continued to crawl through the ventilation, little did she know she was now right above the library. The noises got louder, she could make out different voices.

 

She could see light up ahead, there was a vent on the shaft's floor. Ashley tried to look through the vent, she could see a lot of books! She could understand the voices now!

 

"Hey! Down there! Hello!" She called from the libraries' ceiling.

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

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IC:

 

"No, not particularly. But you are a bit older than most students." Alistair noted, chuckling slightly, before looking up at the ceiling. "Ah, hello, Ashley. Been a while."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC:

 

"Please keep it down out there!" Alistair called through the bookcase. "It's very distracting."

 

"Yes, you could be an alumni." He conceded, settling into a chair. "In fact, that's the likely explanation. But considering what tends to happen when I show up in a region, I've learned that the simple explanation isn't always true. And either way, you didn't answer the question."

fK5oqYf.jpg

 

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

 

 

  Breaking Point: An OTC Mecha RPG

 

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IC: Ashley

 

Ashley yelped at the sudden howling, she pushed on the vent until it snapped off the shaft and hung loosely off the ceiling. Then her shoes came into view.

 

"Coming down!" She called, before dropping. She landed without too much trouble.

 

"So...is there some kind of puppy outside?"

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My Bzprpg ProfilesGhosts of Bara Magna

Skyra | Hakari | Oceanna | Taleen | Arisaka | Zanakra | Kaminari | Drakkar

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IC: Nero stared down the hall he sat in as sounds rained back against his senses, raised voices of concern, and what sounded like howling. That brought a tingle to the base of Nero's neck, but he ignored that, preferring to focus on the voices. Knowing exactly what was going on seemed to be the way to be at the moment.

~Totally like a boomerang. I always come back. Just never when you want me to.~

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IC:

 

It's times like this that make me wish I could speak the human language while still in my true form, Morrison lamented, from where he sat near Alistair. If he could speak, he'd tell them to stop the smalltalk, and let him out to deal with whatever creature had decided to be such an annoyance today. Though, that might not be the best idea...he might get yelled at for harming somebody going to the school.

 

Uggh.

 

Scampering off for a moment, Morrison found some paper and a jar of ink - somebody likes doing things the old way around here...probably Alistair's - though he ignored the pen. Dipping a claw into the ink, he started to write a simple message on the paper, before carrying it back in his mouth. After a moment, Alistair noticed him, grabbed the paper, and read the message:

 

"Can anybody here make a flame?"

profiles i guess

i'm a south american giant otter now

 

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