Enter Galactic (Sign up/OOC)

[Urbane]

This is gonna be shweet.

this roleplay's gonna make our lives complete~

 

[Eva]

So like when do we like start???

 

[Urbane]

So like when do we like start???

I think Scribbles said he was aiming for Saturday, about a page back.

I think that's nice and... well, reasonable.

 

[Zeph]

And Alien? Do ittttttt!

Heh, I plan to! But without further ado, my Genetic temp!

To infinity…AND BEYOND!!!

Spoiler Show

Name: Emilie Ducan

Age: 20

Hometown/Homeplanet: Seattle, Washington/Earth

Appearance:
Emilie stands, barefoot, at an average height of 5’5’’. Her retiring disposition, however, makes her seem smaller than she is in actuality. Her hair is a silken mass of dark—nearly black—chestnut hair that might be more accurately described as a mane. The wavy tresses fall, devoid of layers, just below her waistline. Thick bangs cover her forehead and thin eyebrows, and are constantly being pushed aside and out of her eyes. Large and bright, Emilie’s eyes are the exact shade a violet takes on after a rainstorm; every emotion known to mankind is capable of being put on display through those eyes, but more often than not, they appear simply frightened. They are appropriately framed by a thick set of eyelashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks when she looks down. Unfortunately though, her face has no need for extra shadowing under her eyes, for the long years spent in hiding from the GC have etched dark circles under those pretty violet eyes that are hard to cover—even with makeup. The rest of her features are small in comparison to her eyes; her nose is a small curve on her face, while her delicate, but expressive mouth seems to be forever set in a thin, apprehensive line. Her skin is a smooth, milky white—so colorless as to be almost translucent, courtesy of her days spent indoors. The only time her skin ever colors is when she blushes, or gets very mad.
Though Emilie dresses completely in black, she is not, by any means, considered by any mainstream stereotypical standards. On the contrary, she wears black for its simplicity, unassuming color, and elegance. On the upper half of her body, she wears a ribbed, sleeveless turtle-neck sweater. The neck is virtually twice the normal length, so as it folds over to provide a thick, scarf-like layer, it partially covers her face and comes up and over her chin and finally ends somewhere around her mouth. The back of the shirt, instead of being plain as the front, has a huge silken bow gathered on the lower half—and by huge, I do mean huge; this satisfies Emilie’s need to have something charming on her person. To keep herself warm, and thus warding off any potential illnesses, Emilie also wears a pair of arm-warmers that span from her wrist to nearly her shoulder, made of the same knit fabric as the sweater. Covering her lower body, is a pair of trousers of a silk/cashmere blend; they’re soft, they’re surprisingly durable, and they’re cut straight-legged for a classical, ever-stylish picture—what could be more luxurious? Her feet are protected by a simple pair of black flats.
Since the combination of clothes and hair tend to run together in one dark mass, Emilie doesn’t wear a lot of dark makeup. After all, she does like to keep things simple and elegant. The most makeup she is ever usually seen wearing is mascara and a slightly pink-tinted chapstick. As her skin is already perfectly smooth, she has no use for any type of base makeup, but does attempt to cover the dark circles under her eyes with a concealer.
[Picture=[URL="http://i1193.photobucket.com/albums/aa351/zephyzeph/emilie.jpg"]Emilie[/URL]]

Personality:
“Who knows? What if none of this is even real? What if this is all just a nightmare, and our real selves are asleep in our beds, with nothing extraordinary about us at all?”

If only one word was allowed to describe Emilie, paranoid would be that word. When outside her apartment, she is constantly glancing nervously from side to side to ensure herself that there is no immediate danger. She scares easily, and has been known to be startled by nothing more than the wind. That is not to say, however, that she is simply neurotic; for, though one might use that word to describe her, it is simply the result of having been on the run from the GC for the past several years. She is in actuality, extremely alert to her surroundings. Her senses have been honed to their utmost abilities—a necessity for someone in her precarious situation. She keeps away from people, for the most part. The only time she ever socializes is when she’s working or paying her rent—other than that, she stays inside her apartment, with the locks bolted. Due to the years of anti-Genetic propaganda being hammered into her head, and her own status of ‘wanted’, Emilie has something of an inferiority complex; she hates anything to do with violence, and even disdains her own natural abilities. She doesn’t smile very much at all—nearly the only time she can ever be seen smiling is when she is reading the stack of letters she keeps always bound together with a black ribbon so as to not lose a single one. She is not a recluse by nature, however, and does long for some sort of companionship; she sometimes finds herself inadvertently standing on her small, floral-covered balcony gazing down at people in the crowd below and wishing she were normal, like them.
Emilie is also an avid collector of ball-jointed dolls. She finds in their exquisite craftsmanship the companionship she requires in order to stay sane—though many might question her mental state for that reason exactly. She treats her dolls as if they, too, were human, and finds great pleasure in sewing different sets of clothes for them and making all the different arrangements for them as if they were alive. For one with many enemies and no friends to speak of, her dolls provide her the friendship, the distraction, she wants and needs.

Genetic Ability: Water manipulation. Emilie can do anything with water, from heating it to the boiling point, to cooling it to the point of ice—she can even make raindrops turn into snow, or vice versa. Thanks in part to her previous training, she is even able to nullify small bits of flame if she so desires, or pull moisture from the air.

Weapon: Laser gun.

Bio:
Emilie was born in Seattle, Washington in the year 1990. Her parents were both seemingly normal; however, what none of them ever knew is that her mother, Estelle Ducan, was a Genetic. The gene had been passed down through the female side of her mother’s family for several generations, ever since Emilie’s great-great grandmother (who was a Genetic from Saturn) married a man from Earth. None of the offspring from that marriage ever recognized the gene, until Emilie. She was five when she first displayed her ability to manipulate the elements. It was an unusually sunny day in Seattle, and her parents took her and her older brother (who was seven at the time) camping on Mt. Rainier. That night while they all sat around the campfire making smores, her brother, Jonnis, accidentally sent his toy plane into the fire. Rather than listen to her dear brother cry, Emilie reached her hand into the fire. Her horrified parents watched as, instead of being burnt by the fire, the flames shrank and disappeared wherever her hand moved. Horrified by the fact that their daughter possessed the cursed gene, they contacted the GC the next day. And thus it was arranged that when Emilie reached the proper age, she would be enrolled in the military academy. Growing up, she didn’t think much about one day serving the world as part of the illustrious GC Armed Forces. After all, who wouldn’t want to serve their great and powerful nation? All through her years at school it had been repeatedly hammered into her head that Genetics were bad, and only those that chose to serve the GC had any hope of becoming respectable citizens. Though she herself was a Genetic, she never questioned what she was taught—after all, she would one day serve in the army, they weren’t saying she was bad. Nevertheless, her parents never treated her with quite the same loving devotion they had always shown before. She never attributed this to the fact that she was a Genetic until she was sent off to a boarding school designated by the GC once the time came for her to enter first grade. Johnis got to stay at home, why couldn’t she? She had cried and begged to be allowed to stay home, but to no avail. She and her brother had always been particularly close; his devotion more than made up for the lack of parental affection. He had been old enough at the time to see and understand the difference between how he and his sister were treated.
The years passed, and regardless of the distance that grew between parents and child, the affection between brother and sister remained the same. At first, Johnis had only been allowed to see his dear little sister whenever she was allowed home—which only amounted to once or twice a year. However, they wrote to each other constantly; yes, there may have been more advanced methods of communicating, but both preferred the more intimate postal method. Then, when Emilie was twelve, she was enrolled in the same military academy as her brother. Here, it was becoming increasingly more apparent that Genetics were viewed as threats to the government…and even the world. It was the same doctrine she had been fed throughout her primary school years, only intensified tenfold. Genetics were bad, there was nothing good about them, the only Genetics that were acceptable were the ones serving the GC. And still Emilie did not question. She and her brother were finally together, and she was serving the GC, at least, she would be when she came of age. She was receiving training to increase her control over the elements, and besides, Johnis didn’t treat her any differently, so why should she care what anyone else thought?
The unfortunate answer to that question came when she was fourteen, six months before she was scheduled to enter the high-school division of the Global Conglomerate Military Academy. She was out walking with friends from the Academy on their way to town when they were caught in the middle of a sudden fray. A lone man came dashing out of the woods towards them, leaping and bounding over bushes and boulders, when suddenly several gunshots rang out. The man, a young man, fell to the ground wounded, but not dead. The young girls hardly knew what to do, and were still standing paralyzed when a group of four soldiers marched out of the woods. Upon finally reaching the obvious fugitive, one of the soldiers put his gun to the man’s head, turned to the three girls (for they were only twenty feet away), and spoke. “This,” he said before blowing the renegade’s head off, “is what happens to Genetics who refuse to serve their country.” That scene remains burned into Emilie’s memory to this day. It was a shocking reality-call for the girl, for she was quite certain now of what her fate would be if she refused to enter the military when she graduated. A few months later, the night after her fifteenth birthday celebration, Emilie disappeared, leaving only a single note for Johnis. Upon her disappearance being discovered, she was immediately added to the government’s list of wanted Genetics.
In the years that passed, she somehow managed to elude the GC. One of the major factors in that success, however, was her brother. After her escape, he had found her out in a dank, rat-infested hole calling itself ‘Hotel Royalle’. As a mere senior in the Academy, he had no income aside from his part-time job and his allowance, but it was enough to allow him the means to rent a small but respectable room in a small but respectable boarding house for his sister to live in until the hunt for her died down and she was able to find some means of supporting herself.
In the past five years, she has moved about considerably, never staying in one place longer than five or six months. And now she’s back in Seattle for the first time in years. She recently received a letter from her brother, in which was included a ticket to the commemorative festival for the 50th anniversary of mankind’s contact with ‘alien-life’. Along with warnings to be careful, her brother encouraged her to go, saying he would be there as well, and the prolonged exposure to fresh air and people would do her good.

Miscellaneous:
Emilie has a small black star tattooed on the underside of her left wrist.
The majority of her income comes from the work she does in regards to dolls; painting faces, sewing clothes, and making repairs.
She always carries her most treasured doll with her, she’s named him ‘Shimeji’.
She has a thing for health-food, but can’t seem to conquer her sweet-tooth, no matter how hard she tries.
Her favorite music is classical. She has a particular affinity for the old masters, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, etc.
Theme: Still Alive—Lisa Miskovsky
Alt. Theme: All That I Am—Parachute

And here's my alien~
I can't think of a theme song for him...this is a first.




To infinity...and... ... ...beyond? Beyond what? What could possibly be beyond infinity? Such a thing is clearly not possible!

Spoiler Show

WIP!
Name: Ephraim Baalei Aquarelle

Age: 22

Species: Eldarian

Hometown/Homeplanet: Eldar

Appearance:
Ephraim is unusually short for an Eldarian male, and stands just north of 5’6’’. A veritable waterfall of lavender-tinted silver tops his head, the back of which is cropped fairly short. The front of his hair, however, cascades over his shoulders with the left side flowing unchecked to an area just above his shoulder, and the right side flows even longer, to a length just around his elbow. The right length of hair is tied at the half-way mark with a sort of electronic-looking hair thimble. Asymmetrical bangs cover Ephraim’s forehead, just grazing his right eyebrow, and sloping to where they blend with the length of hair on his left side. Light skin marks a thin, almost girlish heart-shaped face with big, almond-shaped, amethyst colored eyes fringed with eyelashes so dense that they provide natural eyeliner. Eldarians are, for the most part, indistinguishable from the average human being. The only physical difference that is ever noted is their ears, which appear to be rather like the elves of earthen yore. This, however, is not so. Eldarian custom dictates that an ornamental covering be worn over their ears (no one quite remembers the reason). The coverings act as a communications device and are made from a highly durable and lightweight metal that varies in decoration based on the owner’s individual taste. Ephraim’s ornament is a bright, sky blue trimmed in silver and lined in gold. His clothing is the standard Eldarian military attire, and his shoes, as well, are standard issue for his unit; however, in order to add height to his rather diminutive form, he has added 4’’ platform soles to his boots.
Along his left and right wrists, and spanning roughly halfway up each forearm, are blue, almost tribal-like tattoos; these are actually some of symbols that allow Ephraim to use symbology. They consist merely of vertical lines of alternating lengths. Hidden beneath his clothing a more extensive collection of symbols are tattooed onto his body.
[Eldarian military uniform]
[Photo=[URL="http://i1193.photobucket.com/albums/aa351/zephyzeph/EphraimBaalieAquarelle.jpg"]Ephraim[/URL]]

Personality:
Ephraim’s personality is one which leads people to think they know exactly what he is thinking without them really having any idea. His young age and innocent expression give the impression that his outlook on life is dewy and naïve. This couldn’t be more wrong. Peace, harmony, and respect are deeply ingrained in the Eldarian way of life—anything else is simply not acceptable. So growing up on Eldar, Ephraim learned at a young age to keep a firm guard on his expression, tone, and mannerisms. He has been practicing this form of deceit for so long that it has become second nature and half the time he doesn’t even realize his true feelings himself. He is always careful to be extremely polite and respectful, no matter who he is talking to… His reasoning, as well, is cool and calculating, which makes it rather difficult for him when it comes to people who are blatantly rude or unreasonable—they irritate him! His mind is slavishly logical—a result of the genetic modification all Eldarians undergo which allows them to live as efficiently as possible in Eldar’s extreme conditions; this also serves to make the unreasonable actions of others all the more irksome. However, he is not without his good points. Ephraim is, in fact, easily surprised and emotionally swayed—which can make him very amusing to watch. He is basically pure and sweet-natured, which makes one wonder where, exactly, he got his current cynical attitude—and if that cynicism isn’t the real act, rather than the opposite. When it comes to new symbols, and various other technological discoveries, Ephraim tends to get very excited—almost giddy—and for this he tends to get flak from his superiors and co-workers, and this makes him retreat even further into his shell of cynicism. After all, he is only twenty-two—why should he have to constantly act the part of a man double his age, without respite? This is part of the reason he is so looking forward to attending the festival on Gaea; he will be without escort, and free to act as he himself would act—rather than the Assistant Director.


Mana-Drive: None. Eldarians use the art of symbology.

Skills (Symbological Abilities):
Stone Rain—An earth-based symbological attack. Innumerable boulders rain down onto enemies.
Tornado—A wind-based symbological attack. Ephraim slashes the air once with his rapier, sending an enemy-seeking tornado that sweeps up any foe it touches.
Arctic Impact—A water-based symbological attack. Encases the enemy in a giant pillar of ice, then shatters it to pieces.
Explosion—A fire-based symbological attack. Ephraim sets off an explosion centered around one enemy.
Thunder Flare—A thunder-based symbological attack. Ephraim summons a ball of lightning that envelops and damages the enemy.
Dark Devourer—Ephraim summons a creature from the netherworld and sends it to feast on the enemy.

Gear: Sol [WIP]

Weapon:
Energy Rapier—A thin, high-quality rapier with a blade formed of pure energy. When sheathed, the blade is nonexistent; the unsheathing of the sword activates the blade. Symbols are etched over the surface of the sheath, further aiding Ephraim in casting symbols.

Bio:
Ephraim Baalei Aquarelle was born on the planet Eldar, the fifth planet in the Eldar system. The planet has a particularly harsh environment, and the Eldar system’s sun has grown to be a massive giant on the brink of destruction. Because of the punishing conditions on Eldar, normal physical acclimation and evolution are too slow to be effective; the Eldarians, with their technologically advanced skills, have thus been made to find a new way to ensure the survival of their race. Instead of natural pregnancy and childbirth, young Eldarians are born through DNA management and carefully raised under government care. Though this does not lead to, perhaps, the most idyllic childhood, the children are well looked-after, and lead relatively happy lives that are in reality not all that different from what an Earth child may experience in a boarding school.
From a young age, Ephraim showed promising mental capabilities, and far exceeded the bounds of other young Eldarians. This, along with his slight stature sometimes led to minor bullying by the larger, stronger Eldarian boys, but nothing was ever allowed to get out of hand—nor would it have, had the caregivers allowed it, for regardless of his thin form, Ephraim was no pushover, even then. For the most part, however, his interactions with the other children were pleasant and he made a great many friends. But there was always something of a distinction between himself and his peers. Whereas the children were allowed a certain amount of free-time a day, Ephraim was constantly being taken aside for developmental exams and meetings with important people. It wasn’t as if the Eldarian children used their free-time for frivolous games and nonsensical activities, but Ephraim felt the lack just as keenly as any other child might. No matter how logical the Eldarian brain, children are children and enjoy having even a moment dedicated to their own pleasure.
The years passed in the abovementioned manner, with Ephraim being schooled in the Eldarian arts of combat and symbology, along with the basics of mathematics, Eldarian history and the history of the universe, geology, astronomy, technology, literature, and everything else one could possibly imagine. The courses for learning different languages were optional and neither encouraged nor discouraged; for the Eldarians, along with some of the other ultra-advanced civilizations, possess ‘communicators’, which instantaneously translate any and all of the known languages. Ephraim, however, opted to learn a few of the wider-used alien-languages; such as the earthen languages.
His twentieth year found him, though still rather diminutive in figure, a master at fencing and unrivaled in the art of symbology. He had, three years previously, been accepted into the Technological Division of the Eldarian military; now he was reaping the fruits of his years of hard work. Gifted to him upon its completion, was a GEAR designed solely by Ephraim, and along with the GEAR came a promotion to Assistant Director of Technological Design—a position coveted by many men who were many years his senior. This did, and still does, foster some discontent in some of the elder Eldarians, but Ephraim bears his title admirably and not one argument had ever been sounded against his commitment or competence.
Now he has received a letter from his superiors, requesting his presence on Gaea, Earth, on July of this year for the festivities celebrating the 50th anniversary of Earth’s joining the intergalactic community. Ephraim wouldn’t dream of passing up such an invitation, and is even rather excited—if for no other reason than to finally be able to try out his language skills on the natives, though that isn’t the only reason he is excited—and he knows it.

Miscellaneous:
A notable quirk of his altered DNA is his eye color, which changes as he tries to suppress moments of extreme stress or emotion.

 

[Urbane]

Awesome! The real party gets started when Shelby arrives!

 

[Eva]

Awesome! The real party gets started when Shelby arrives!

...Shelby? Is that Scribbles? *is not used to using real names on forums*

 

[Urbane]

Shelby is Luppi... You know, Zephyr?

 

[Eva]

Shelby is Luppi... You know, Zephyr?

I didn't know Zeph's name was Shelby either. .__.

 

[Urbane]

Oh.

...

Well, now you know. And knowibg is half... Ah, forget about it. *slinks off*

 

[Scribbles]

I'm so lost right now xD

Anyway doe. Luppi, you're gladly accepted. Welcome aboard our humble crew!

So like when do we like start???

I think Scribbles said he was aiming for Saturday, about a page back.

I think that's nice and... well, reasonable.

Yerp, Saturday. Maybe late Friday if it's looking like one of those nights.

 

[Zeph]

Awesome! The real party gets started when Shelby arrives!

Aww, I love you. <3 *Edit* Haah! Acceptance! This'll be fun~

 

[Eva]

I'm so lost right now xD

Anyway doe. Luppi, you're gladly accepted. Welcome aboard our humble crew!

Yerp, Saturday. Maybe late Friday if it's looking like one of those nights.

Humble? Crew? I thought we were gonna try to kill each other D:!

JK.

But...

*raises eyebrow* What kind of night?

 

[Urbane]

Aww, I love you. <3

It might just be my massive ego talking, but I totally knew it! ^^

 

[Scribbles]

Typing the intro post as we speak--right between bites of chinese food. /suspense

 

[Eva]

Omg I just had Chinese too. Wavelength~

 

[Scribbles]

Omg I just had Chinese too. Wavelength~

:O Win! Twin Telepathy Powerz Activate!

But yeah... I've got the intro typed up...but for some reason I can't post it. T_T I'm gonna try my momma's laptop to see if it's just my failure of a computer.

 

[Urbane]

OH EM GEE IT EEZ STARTIN!

 

[Scribbles]

Mehhhh. I can't post a new thread on the laptop either. -_O

Here's the intro post guys, so you can at least think up a post until I can get the thread up.

Spoiler Show

Sado, Japan Saturday, July 13th 2010


Changing Seasons




“And that’s that class. I guess I won’t see you all for a whole month, you all be safe now, and make sure to study your—“




The sound of a bell resounded through the halls of two floor, wooden school building. It was now seventh period—The final class before the students of Sado Middle were free for an entire month, the last class they had to sit through before summer break.




The old man sucked his teeth and smiled regretfully, looks like he wouldn’t be able to finish his sermon. With a sheepish grin he bent over his desk to grab his books, waving at the seated children as he made his way for the sliding doors. Most returned the old man’s wave, he wasn’t such a bad guy—at least he genuinely cared for them. There was one boy in particular who didn’t move an inch as the fellow made his reluctant exit. Instead, he was more fixated on the different scenes outside. They were on the second floor, and the way the classroom was positioned, right on the front wall of the school, a student with a window seat (such as he) could easily get lost in the hubbub going on below. –Not that little Sado had much going on anyway.


Normally, the last class before summer break tended to be a joke. Sit around, watch a movie and laugh with some friends. This boy, unlike his peers, was set on staring right outside of the window, watching as this spotted Dalmatian left its mark on a red fire hydrant that was conveniently placed inconspicuously, and not at all close to his direct field of vision. This boy had been fascinated by the ritual in which the puppy proceeded to relieve himself. First, it sniffed the red monument, developing a trust with it. Second, it circled the object, checking it for defects. Lastly, it stopped, right at the spot from which it began its circling around the thing in the first place; and finally…it let itself go.




Despite this enthralling saga unfolding before him, the student was pulled away from it by the unanimous silence among his classmates. The violet eyed, mocha skinned middle-schooler turned his head away from the window, and towards the front of the room, where all of the other student’s attention was also directed. It was then that he realized what they were all so startled about: it was a substitute.


The man was as tall as he was frightening looking, at least by the boy’s standards. He was built like a hero of myth, tall and muscular with dark skin, and a body covered by beige colored tattoos. The substitute’s hair was cut into a buzz, with platinum blonde hair, giant sideburns, and a goatee for facial hair. His eyes were an icy blue, and he dressed neatly in a dress-shirt [rolled up sleeves] and black vest, with matching slacks. He looked like he was about to rip out of the undershirt however.


With extreme prejudice the boy flipped his hood halfway over his head, just enough so that it covered the back end of his head, up to just past his ears, and not too much so that his bangs couldn’t flow freely [he liked it that way, especially when he felt threatened].




The newcomer gripped a single sheet of paper, looking over the article closely, he began to rifle off names of those in the class.


“Seto?” The students stared blankly at the giant of a man as read their names, his voice shaking the whole time. One by one, the students raised their hands to identify their presence. Finally, the man came to the name of our particular child. “Murakami?” He looked around frantically for the student’s hand, only to see nothing there. So with a shrug, he continued on, “Mochi—“


“He’s back there!” One of the girls pointed, prompting everyone in the class to turn their bodies towards the back of the class, directly in front the menu. Lo and behold, there was the boy, hood on his head, violet orbs staring dully into the distance, to his dismay, the dog was long gone, leaving only a dark puddle around the object of its previous obsession.


“Oh, there you are. Taaa-ro,” The man chuckled at his difficulty in pronouncing the name, however his amusement was not shared. “Well then, that’s everyone. So, let’s get on to the lesson today. Your teacher Ms. Satonaka left me a movie for you all to watch, but you all wouldn’t be interested in that, now would you?” A mumble traveled through the classroom. Just who was this guy? “Instead, I’m going to tell you all a story my parents passed down to me,” He grinned, “The story of the Goddess—by the way, you can call me Mr. Villiers.” ‘Mr. Villiers’ quickly turned around to the board, writing his name in some type of illegible chicken scratch of symbols.


Taro had heard a decent amount of the story of the Goddess, his caretaker Elizabeth had told him about it briefly when she mentioned her travels to Saturn. This fellow, Villiers, appeared to have held some serious respect for the Goddess as his eyes lit up with excitement as he relayed the story to the children, who were all devoid of any and all interest.




The Goddess






The Goddess is the source of all life and aspects of the galaxy, from the planets, to the air, to the rushing waters and the suns. The Goddess was the only thing in the galaxy, and from the sorrow of loneliness created the stars from her tears and the planets and people from her blood. Back then, everyone was a Genetic, and they all followed the Goddess. However, there was group of life forms that sought out to gain even more power, by killing the Goddess and being their own rulers.


That group, known now as the Humans cut down the Goddess. Their—our selfish deeds served to ignite a Galaxy wide war. Out numbered, the humans lost the battle and were banished to the far reaches of the Galaxy.


It is said, that before the Goddess passed on, she left us with this final message:


She warned of a time when the people had to repent for their bloodthirsty, selfish acts. A time when 'The Great Star' would fall, and all life in the Galaxy would be taken down in its wake. We don't know what the Great Star is, or when it is supposed to fall, but the Goddess said that her true descendants will be able to feel her cries as the time neared.





Changing Seasons


As Villiers finished his story, he leaned up against the wall, letting out a dreamy sigh as he did so. The man was so overcome with his recent flight on cloud nine that he failed to realize the trail of chalk on his back from this endeavor.


“So kids any questi—“


At that moment, the bell rang, dismissing the students to officially bask in their summer. A wave of joyous excitement rushed through the student body [in every room, all at once] and the halls erupted with chats about what to partake in over the summertime. As usual though, Taro was the last of the kids to leave out, but as he made his way for the door the odd Mr. Villiers called out to him.


“It’s Taro right? Murakami? You wouldn’t happen to know someone by the name of Elizabeth Gains do you?” The man’s shaky demeanor melted away, and his air immediately became much more calculating. The hooded boy turned slowly to the man with and with a sour look on his face nodded. “You don’t say…you reckon she’s in this town now? Or…” Taro watched Villiers blankly as he stroked his facial hair carefully.


“Y-yeah. Why?” Taro gulped, a bit put off by the man’s somewhat erratic behavior.


“Oh, no reason,” He grinned wide and chuckled, “Carry on then. Enjoy your summer Taro-kun!” The man even went so far as to put an honorific to his name. Taro did not like him. Should this man ever be his substitute teacher again…which he hoped he wouldn’t, Taro was sure to have an unpleasant experience. With a final wary gaze at the giant substitute, Taro exited the room, and quickly made his way out of the building—ready to head home.




“I wonder where that dog went…”






* * *










July 14th, 2010 – New York, New York – Time Square 11:00 P.M.




TANK!





He went this way!


Down this alleyway, hurry!


I see him!





A torrent of shots echoed down the three-way alley. The trio of soldiers all gritted their teeth in disappointment as they quickly realized their attacks hit no type of target. These weren’t ordinary, every day G.C. soldiers either, they weren’t just the regular, everyday ones dispatched to watch over the town, these were full blown-PiNG equipped soldiers, decked out in armor (albeit light) and helmets with flashlights turned on high to see in the dense of the night.


Not only did they have to contend with the darkness, which the target seemed to blend in with oh so well (even with his different clothing habit), they also had to discriminate their shots from the seemingly endless droves of citizens that clustered through the city streets [even in the alleys sometimes]. It was one hell of a job for these foot soldiers to partake in.





Which way do we go from here sir?


We’ll split up; he has to be down one of these streets!


Aye! Let’s move! We’ll catch the Genetic and bring him to the Brigadier General in time to get ready for the festival!


Hoorah!


The men all saluted to their invisible superior officer, and took off down their respective paths.





Meanwhile, a certain fellow stood above, on the rooftops, watching the scene with a devilish grin. As soon as he read that the close was clear, he let his feet dangle over the edge, letting himself lean back across the cool steel surface.
“That reminds me, I need to find a way to that island.” He twisted the green piercing in his left ear, attempting to come up with a plan. It wasn’t like he could simply hop onto one of the freights headed there [Many common folk in more of the major towns were being granted passage to the island, they couldn’t come inside, however they could partake in games outside], he had been branded long ago. The man lifted his left arm into the view of his hazel orbs, staring with contempt at the barcode brand on his wrist.





Any sight of the Genetic?


No, sir, perhaps he’s already long gone?


There’s still the scanner we could use, it detects the branded ones within a 100 mile—ack!





The soldier let out a muffled scream as his now limp body fell to the ground below. Crimson liquid seeping out from under his chest armor, he twitched involuntarily as the life quickly exited his person.


“Henderson, you—gah!”


In no time, a thin framed, well-dressed individual was hovering in front of one of the soldiers, he fumbled for his rifle, but to no avail, as the attacker was too quick. The man in the red glasses slipped out his tongue, and a green orb gathered around the tip.


There was flash, and what was left of the man was little than a heap of gray ash.


“You monster! Damn Genetic I’ll—“


“Relax! I just wanted some alone time, I think you and I could work out an interesting agreement…you see, my name’s not on the guest list for that little shindig…”




* * *




July 15th, 2010 – Gaea – Ballroom 4:37 P.M.


Space Cowboys


Everything from the gold adorned floors the wood of the island’s boardwalk was glistening. The men and women of the Global Conglomerate were having one hell of a time making sure things were in order. Food had to be made, booths had to be sturdy, checkpoints had to be secured, docks had to be monitored, and all ‘classified’ documents had to be safely tucked away. It was a military base after all, but when the boys and girls of the GC came together it looked more like a resort.


Each and every General of each and every branch was in attendance, not to mention a number of the branch Presidents. No expense, whether it be in defense or aesthetics, was spared today. After all; today was The Festival of First Contact! The fiftieth anniversary of humanity’s first encounter with alien life. The space-ports were prepped for the extreme influx of alien and interplanetary visitors, as were the island it self’s docks.


A special ‘party-planning’ committee was put together for this occasion alone. Headed by General Xavier Wallace of the American Branch and his men. The group’s job was to take care of defenses, planning, and over-all operation of the event. Officially, Wallace’s Branch was chosen as the head because it acted as a ‘Beacon of Light’ for the Conglomerate. Really though, they were selected because the American Branch held some of the toughest mothers the planet had ever seen.


Soldiers from all over were specially selected by their superiors to make up Wallace’s crack team. For the first time the branches mixed their soldiers to create a universal unit. This was seen by some as an experiment for future operations.


Regardless. General Wallace was working any and every soldier under his command to the bone. For some, it was a considerable change to grow accustomed too, but for one soldier in particular, this was what he had been used to for years.


That soldier was Colonel Demetri Maverick.


With a Rolling 7’s Cigarette in his mouth, the soldier kicked his feet up on a single wooden crate. He was hidden amongst a number of crates that had just arrived to the Main Complex [which held the ballroom where the main party was to be held]. Golden headphones fastened tightly over his dome, he drowned out any and everything happening around him. He was dressed in a tight white V-neck and khaki’s, non-regulation of course. Thankfully, uniform wasn’t required for the simple task all Soldiers on deck were given. That task was tend to ANY unfinished preparations.


The party was set to begin at eight sharp, and the GC boys and gals had a lot to do before then…

Also, I can't decide whether it would be better to time-skip to the party, or to just RP the time until then. If we don't do the timeskip we could fall into that 'slow start' trap. I'll let you all decide though. Because i'm an indecisive bastard.

 

[Eva]

We could do intro posts, then after a bit do some time skip.

Go half and half. xD

 

[Urbane]

This... hasn't had the most... active group RPing it. I say, don't risk a slow start. We need action, and we need to foster interest through said action!