Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Part 1 – 1983 to 1996 (age 0 to age 13)
1983 – Just after Thanksgiving. Intro at diner to set up relationship between Maya and Ciro; diner is run by Ciro’s parents (Isabella and Eddie); Theo has just started at the police academy but still works nights to keep Ciro company and keep up with the family; Maya is barely 18, Ciro is 20, Theo is 19.
1987 – February/March. Maya takes Miranda to an urgent-care clinic for a bad case of what turns out to be strep; Miranda’s first encounter with a hero is with the empathy healer on duty; during the exam, Miranda pushes back slightly with her mind and surprises the hero; the hero mentions this to Maya, who dismisses it gently and politely. If Miranda –does- have any abilities, she wants them to develop on their own and not with some crazy intervention.
1990 – June/July. Miranda is outside with her friends, playing near the front of the diner. Other kids come by and start making fun of her in Spanish, but she answers back rather quickly; they’re surprised that some little half-Japanese girl can match them word for word and begin to tease her about being a mutt of sorts; a few of her friends stick up for her.
1991 – April/May. Miranda is beginning to help out in the diner, running the register and bussing tables when it’s not too busy in the evenings; when she heads out to the alley to take out the trash, she sees some of the older kids dealing with a group of Skulls. After talking to them and being threatened, she ducks inside and says something to her father, who calls Theo before heading outside.
1994 – March/April – Similar altercation, except Miranda gets accosted on her way home from school the day after and one of the cops has to walk her home. Maya and Ciro are talking to her about homeschooling, and Theo disagrees on the grounds that she can’t be so sheltered because it would do her more harm than good. Miranda finally interrupts and says that she’s lived in the Row and therefore, it’s impossible to be sheltered when you walk in on drug deals in your backyard.
1996 – February – Miranda watches her mother do a tarot reading for a friend’s older brother and sees him blow off the advice. He winds up in the hospital, and Miranda begins to see that her mother has a special talent.
Part 2 – 1996 to 2000 (age 13 to age 16)
1997 – December . Miranda is working full-time in the diner doing cashier and waitress duty. She recognizes the regulars at the diner, especially the cops and detectives. This includes Officer Rayne, Theo’s partner Vince, and a few others. Not all of her friends still go to school, but she still keeps up with them during the day.
1998 – March. Miranda is outside the diner with her friends, talking and joking around. They walk past a group of Skulls who start to approach them, but one of them recognizes Mira and stops the group. Miranda is somewhat stunned, but keeps walking. The next day, her friend stops inside to let her know that she’s safe as long as she stays out of the way. Theo overhears the conversation and confronts her about the exchange.
1998 – August. Summer evening, air conditioning is broken, she and friends are out walking and they witness the robbery of the Leibowitz’ jewelry store; she yells out across the street and gets rushed by several Skulls who are about to beat them into a pulp, but she is spared a more severe beating when she hears a familiar voice telling the others to get out before the cops get there.
1998 – August, a few days later. Theo and Ciro confront her about the robbery and her friends’ involvement with the Skulls. Once Miranda leaves, Maya suggests that she begin to teach her some of the tarot stuff because it would be unfortunate for Miranda’s latent ability to be compromised by the Skulls. Theo and Ciro are confused, and Maya says nothing more about it.
1999 – February, before Valentine’s Day. Miranda is working in the diner while her parents are out for their wedding anniversary and is practicing her tarot during lulls in activity. One of her childhood friends meets her out back in the alley when she takes the trash out, the conversation leans towards him looking for a more romantic involvement with her, but she keeps him at a distance due to what her father and Theo have said.
1999 – October, her birthday. The conversations between her friends have been odd, but she’s still hanging out with them and casually seeing Skull-boy on the side because she figures that she can take care of herself and he was her friend before the whole gang thing. She gets a bouquet of flowers sent to her at the diner, with a small candy skull attached. A screaming fight commences with her parents over the incident. Later that night, while out on the fire escape, she witnesses the same boy (along with several other guys) savagely beat someone before yelling into the alley and confronting them. Theo intervenes and she’s relatively safe, but he gives her an even sterner talking-to (very cop-like).
1999 – December. Three weeks before Christmas. Miranda and her mother are decorating the diner, when Miranda’s friends come in and see her practicing her tarot stuff. They ask if she’ll do readings for them, and she agrees but lies on a few. Her mother later calls her on that, telling her that it’s not her job to hide the truth. Two weeks later, a high-ranking Skull comes in and demands a reading from Miranda, but Maya does it instead. He doesn’t like the interpretation and offers her money to do it again, but she declines the money and tells him to accept it and leave. The reading basically says that he’s terrible and will die before the next summer, which makes him pretty upset.
1999 – December 23. Miranda is cleaning up and taking the trash out late at night. In the alley, she’s distracted by the former boyfriend who’s all painted up and is talking trash to her. She hears gunshots and starts to run inside, but he catches her and holds her back. She breaks free and runs inside, hearing her father yelling for both her and her mother, as well as other people yelling and screaming.. Immediately, the front of the store goes up in flames and she’s thrown back under a counter where she can’t get out. Someone pulls her out, and the rescue squad has to hold her back from running in. Theo gets there to hold her just as they start pulling out bodies, including Maya, Ciro, and Officer Rayne.
2000 – February. A break in the case leads to an arrest; Miranda’s been numbly doing filing work at the precinct with Molly to fill her days. She takes a walk outside when she’s approached by some Skull’s girlfriend who threatens her if she testifies; some of Miranda’s magic surfaces and the girl abruptly leaves with a big ol’ headache.
2000 – August. Case goes to court and Miranda sees the few Skulls who were arrested; she hears “voices” in her head and finally leaves because it’s too disturbing. During the sentencing phase, Miranda tells the judge that she doesn’t want the state to seek the death penalty; her entire demeanor is very low-toned but passionate when she tells the judge how they don’t deserve the death penalty as a reward for their actions because it’s a sort of glory in that culture, and if the judge doesn’t understand that, then they shouldn’t be in the Row in the first place; after this, Miranda more or less retreats to the apartment above Theo’s where she’s been staying.
Part 3 – 2002 (age 18)
March - Miranda is still hearing voices in her head, while she walks through Kings Row to and from the precinct, and she begins to think that she’s crazy. She avoids the Skulls. Theo arranges an interview with the cop psychologist who tries to tell her that it’s PTSD, but Miranda begins to mindspeak with her without realizing it.
After a weekend spent holed up in her apartment sitting in the floor of her closet with her hands over her ears, she goes to the clinic expecting to be committed. Instead, they send her to MAGI for a diagnosis. She refuses training with Hero Corps, choosing instead to do the bare minimum to shield most of the voices. She declines registering with Hero Corps.
During the Rikti attack, she is knocked back with horrific migraines that finally send her into a sort of stasis. She is taken to Crowne Memorial for observation and wakes up a few weeks later to a very concerned but relieved Theo who’s been checking on her.
Miranda does her own tarot reading and she comes up as the Sun, finally decides to register.
1983 – Just after Thanksgiving. Intro at diner to set up relationship between Maya and Ciro; diner is run by Ciro’s parents (Isabella and Eddie); Theo has just started at the police academy but still works nights to keep Ciro company and keep up with the family; Maya is barely 18, Ciro is 20, Theo is 19.
1987 – February/March. Maya takes Miranda to an urgent-care clinic for a bad case of what turns out to be strep; Miranda’s first encounter with a hero is with the empathy healer on duty; during the exam, Miranda pushes back slightly with her mind and surprises the hero; the hero mentions this to Maya, who dismisses it gently and politely. If Miranda –does- have any abilities, she wants them to develop on their own and not with some crazy intervention.
1990 – June/July. Miranda is outside with her friends, playing near the front of the diner. Other kids come by and start making fun of her in Spanish, but she answers back rather quickly; they’re surprised that some little half-Japanese girl can match them word for word and begin to tease her about being a mutt of sorts; a few of her friends stick up for her.
1991 – April/May. Miranda is beginning to help out in the diner, running the register and bussing tables when it’s not too busy in the evenings; when she heads out to the alley to take out the trash, she sees some of the older kids dealing with a group of Skulls. After talking to them and being threatened, she ducks inside and says something to her father, who calls Theo before heading outside.
1994 – March/April – Similar altercation, except Miranda gets accosted on her way home from school the day after and one of the cops has to walk her home. Maya and Ciro are talking to her about homeschooling, and Theo disagrees on the grounds that she can’t be so sheltered because it would do her more harm than good. Miranda finally interrupts and says that she’s lived in the Row and therefore, it’s impossible to be sheltered when you walk in on drug deals in your backyard.
1996 – February – Miranda watches her mother do a tarot reading for a friend’s older brother and sees him blow off the advice. He winds up in the hospital, and Miranda begins to see that her mother has a special talent.
Part 2 – 1996 to 2000 (age 13 to age 16)
1997 – December . Miranda is working full-time in the diner doing cashier and waitress duty. She recognizes the regulars at the diner, especially the cops and detectives. This includes Officer Rayne, Theo’s partner Vince, and a few others. Not all of her friends still go to school, but she still keeps up with them during the day.
1998 – March. Miranda is outside the diner with her friends, talking and joking around. They walk past a group of Skulls who start to approach them, but one of them recognizes Mira and stops the group. Miranda is somewhat stunned, but keeps walking. The next day, her friend stops inside to let her know that she’s safe as long as she stays out of the way. Theo overhears the conversation and confronts her about the exchange.
1998 – August. Summer evening, air conditioning is broken, she and friends are out walking and they witness the robbery of the Leibowitz’ jewelry store; she yells out across the street and gets rushed by several Skulls who are about to beat them into a pulp, but she is spared a more severe beating when she hears a familiar voice telling the others to get out before the cops get there.
1998 – August, a few days later. Theo and Ciro confront her about the robbery and her friends’ involvement with the Skulls. Once Miranda leaves, Maya suggests that she begin to teach her some of the tarot stuff because it would be unfortunate for Miranda’s latent ability to be compromised by the Skulls. Theo and Ciro are confused, and Maya says nothing more about it.
1999 – February, before Valentine’s Day. Miranda is working in the diner while her parents are out for their wedding anniversary and is practicing her tarot during lulls in activity. One of her childhood friends meets her out back in the alley when she takes the trash out, the conversation leans towards him looking for a more romantic involvement with her, but she keeps him at a distance due to what her father and Theo have said.
1999 – October, her birthday. The conversations between her friends have been odd, but she’s still hanging out with them and casually seeing Skull-boy on the side because she figures that she can take care of herself and he was her friend before the whole gang thing. She gets a bouquet of flowers sent to her at the diner, with a small candy skull attached. A screaming fight commences with her parents over the incident. Later that night, while out on the fire escape, she witnesses the same boy (along with several other guys) savagely beat someone before yelling into the alley and confronting them. Theo intervenes and she’s relatively safe, but he gives her an even sterner talking-to (very cop-like).
1999 – December. Three weeks before Christmas. Miranda and her mother are decorating the diner, when Miranda’s friends come in and see her practicing her tarot stuff. They ask if she’ll do readings for them, and she agrees but lies on a few. Her mother later calls her on that, telling her that it’s not her job to hide the truth. Two weeks later, a high-ranking Skull comes in and demands a reading from Miranda, but Maya does it instead. He doesn’t like the interpretation and offers her money to do it again, but she declines the money and tells him to accept it and leave. The reading basically says that he’s terrible and will die before the next summer, which makes him pretty upset.
1999 – December 23. Miranda is cleaning up and taking the trash out late at night. In the alley, she’s distracted by the former boyfriend who’s all painted up and is talking trash to her. She hears gunshots and starts to run inside, but he catches her and holds her back. She breaks free and runs inside, hearing her father yelling for both her and her mother, as well as other people yelling and screaming.. Immediately, the front of the store goes up in flames and she’s thrown back under a counter where she can’t get out. Someone pulls her out, and the rescue squad has to hold her back from running in. Theo gets there to hold her just as they start pulling out bodies, including Maya, Ciro, and Officer Rayne.
2000 – February. A break in the case leads to an arrest; Miranda’s been numbly doing filing work at the precinct with Molly to fill her days. She takes a walk outside when she’s approached by some Skull’s girlfriend who threatens her if she testifies; some of Miranda’s magic surfaces and the girl abruptly leaves with a big ol’ headache.
2000 – August. Case goes to court and Miranda sees the few Skulls who were arrested; she hears “voices” in her head and finally leaves because it’s too disturbing. During the sentencing phase, Miranda tells the judge that she doesn’t want the state to seek the death penalty; her entire demeanor is very low-toned but passionate when she tells the judge how they don’t deserve the death penalty as a reward for their actions because it’s a sort of glory in that culture, and if the judge doesn’t understand that, then they shouldn’t be in the Row in the first place; after this, Miranda more or less retreats to the apartment above Theo’s where she’s been staying.
Part 3 – 2002 (age 18)
March - Miranda is still hearing voices in her head, while she walks through Kings Row to and from the precinct, and she begins to think that she’s crazy. She avoids the Skulls. Theo arranges an interview with the cop psychologist who tries to tell her that it’s PTSD, but Miranda begins to mindspeak with her without realizing it.
After a weekend spent holed up in her apartment sitting in the floor of her closet with her hands over her ears, she goes to the clinic expecting to be committed. Instead, they send her to MAGI for a diagnosis. She refuses training with Hero Corps, choosing instead to do the bare minimum to shield most of the voices. She declines registering with Hero Corps.
During the Rikti attack, she is knocked back with horrific migraines that finally send her into a sort of stasis. She is taken to Crowne Memorial for observation and wakes up a few weeks later to a very concerned but relieved Theo who’s been checking on her.
Miranda does her own tarot reading and she comes up as the Sun, finally decides to register.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Character: Rhikki Ryan, City of Villains
Intro post for new arc (?)
Lunchtime at St. Raven's was, as always, a solitary affair for Rhikki. Sitting atop the ledge of a brick wall, she somberly took another bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. In the distance, she watched with boredom as a pair of Arachnos' Fortunatas dealt their own brand of justice out on a group of protesting Luddites. The ragtag bunch crumpled under the mental strain while the red-robed women nodded approvingly at each other.
Rhikki set her sandwich aside and stood, balancing herself on the uneven bricks. As calmly as another child might consider the passing of a bird in the sky, the twelve year old blinked at one of the women and nodded once. Immediately, the Arachnos minion collasped to the pavement, hands at her temples as if she sought to rip the voices from her head. Her companion soon joined her, and the two were immediately set upon by one of the Luddites who savagely began to beat them with a wrench. His eyes were wide and glazed, his expression trancelike as the metal came down again and again.
The girl sighed and sat down again, considering whether or not the sandwich was worth finishing. The challenge posed by the headmaster had lost its appeal, as it had become less and less difficult to confuse the Arachnos. The Longbow officers presented no more of a challenge; just last week, she had convinced a lieutenant to turn on his brigade and roast a half dozen under his command with a flamethrower. And two nights before, she had managed to bring a fiery behemoth under her control to attack the Thorn Casters who had summoned it.
If an idle mind was the devil's playground, then the mind of Rhikki Ryan was comparable to Disney World. The newer programs at St. Raven's did not appeal to her; on the contrary, they simply confirmed the growing suspicion that she required a higher degree of instruction and mentorship. Rhikki found herself harboring a growing sense of disapproval and dislike fot the school's faculty. Were they so power-hungy that they never considered some might aspire to more than common thievery and the occassional quick and bloody disposal? Certainly, St. Raven's was awash with children and teenagers who would never be able to command others. Paula - Pale Walker - was proof enough of that. But among the students she had encountered, Rhikki had yet to find one who could match her in both stoic demeanor and raw talent.
[i]How profound,[/i] she thought. [i]And how disappointing.[/i]
Extracurricular activities had proven far more promising. More and more, Rhikki found herself accompanying a far more capable, if not exceptionally egotistical man by the name of Haruspex. The mage had tolerated her questions during their first few outings, often mistaking her blunt honesty for sarcasm. Rhikki realized this, pausing every so often to voice an unbiased yet carefully worded note of appreciation and genuine admiration for his abilities. In turn, Haruspex allowed her to accompany him on more dangerous outings. At times, he seemed to revel in the role of field professor, lecturing at length about their quarry and their surroundings.
In all of this, Rhikki never questioned his skill or prowess in the realms of magic. Instead, she would ask the man about the use of his minions, how they were controlled and why they followed their master blindly into any situation. Could anyone learn this sort of control? Was magic the only means available to achieve the permanent subservient state? Did the tactics require a certain amount of fear?
Was it necessary for them to be dead?
The last question had come up in recent days when she had accompanied a new professor and two of her classmates on an outing to seek out Circle mages. While Dr. Azur had expressed some concern as she had calmly approached a disgruntled Force mage, Rhikki had found little issue with reaching into the robed man's mind and giving it a good wrench. If it was becoming so simple for her to bend the minds of magicians, why couldn't she do the same thing with fellow students or even the wayward hero who wandered across her path?
Rhikki slid down from the wall and dusted off her hands. The bell had run, and it was time for the wicked little mentalist to hurry back to class.
Intro post for new arc (?)
Lunchtime at St. Raven's was, as always, a solitary affair for Rhikki. Sitting atop the ledge of a brick wall, she somberly took another bite of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. In the distance, she watched with boredom as a pair of Arachnos' Fortunatas dealt their own brand of justice out on a group of protesting Luddites. The ragtag bunch crumpled under the mental strain while the red-robed women nodded approvingly at each other.
Rhikki set her sandwich aside and stood, balancing herself on the uneven bricks. As calmly as another child might consider the passing of a bird in the sky, the twelve year old blinked at one of the women and nodded once. Immediately, the Arachnos minion collasped to the pavement, hands at her temples as if she sought to rip the voices from her head. Her companion soon joined her, and the two were immediately set upon by one of the Luddites who savagely began to beat them with a wrench. His eyes were wide and glazed, his expression trancelike as the metal came down again and again.
The girl sighed and sat down again, considering whether or not the sandwich was worth finishing. The challenge posed by the headmaster had lost its appeal, as it had become less and less difficult to confuse the Arachnos. The Longbow officers presented no more of a challenge; just last week, she had convinced a lieutenant to turn on his brigade and roast a half dozen under his command with a flamethrower. And two nights before, she had managed to bring a fiery behemoth under her control to attack the Thorn Casters who had summoned it.
If an idle mind was the devil's playground, then the mind of Rhikki Ryan was comparable to Disney World. The newer programs at St. Raven's did not appeal to her; on the contrary, they simply confirmed the growing suspicion that she required a higher degree of instruction and mentorship. Rhikki found herself harboring a growing sense of disapproval and dislike fot the school's faculty. Were they so power-hungy that they never considered some might aspire to more than common thievery and the occassional quick and bloody disposal? Certainly, St. Raven's was awash with children and teenagers who would never be able to command others. Paula - Pale Walker - was proof enough of that. But among the students she had encountered, Rhikki had yet to find one who could match her in both stoic demeanor and raw talent.
[i]How profound,[/i] she thought. [i]And how disappointing.[/i]
Extracurricular activities had proven far more promising. More and more, Rhikki found herself accompanying a far more capable, if not exceptionally egotistical man by the name of Haruspex. The mage had tolerated her questions during their first few outings, often mistaking her blunt honesty for sarcasm. Rhikki realized this, pausing every so often to voice an unbiased yet carefully worded note of appreciation and genuine admiration for his abilities. In turn, Haruspex allowed her to accompany him on more dangerous outings. At times, he seemed to revel in the role of field professor, lecturing at length about their quarry and their surroundings.
In all of this, Rhikki never questioned his skill or prowess in the realms of magic. Instead, she would ask the man about the use of his minions, how they were controlled and why they followed their master blindly into any situation. Could anyone learn this sort of control? Was magic the only means available to achieve the permanent subservient state? Did the tactics require a certain amount of fear?
Was it necessary for them to be dead?
The last question had come up in recent days when she had accompanied a new professor and two of her classmates on an outing to seek out Circle mages. While Dr. Azur had expressed some concern as she had calmly approached a disgruntled Force mage, Rhikki had found little issue with reaching into the robed man's mind and giving it a good wrench. If it was becoming so simple for her to bend the minds of magicians, why couldn't she do the same thing with fellow students or even the wayward hero who wandered across her path?
Rhikki slid down from the wall and dusted off her hands. The bell had run, and it was time for the wicked little mentalist to hurry back to class.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Her toothbrush lay in the sink, water dribbling over the handle. Mel splashed more water over her face, hoping the coolness would make the warm-clammy sensation go away. Two showers, face wash, clean hands, dental floss... she still felt dirty after all of it. An elbow nudged the tap, water finally slowing to an infrequent drip. Mel's forehead came to rest against the mirrored glass as a long breath escaped, the warmth fogging the already clouded surface.
It was too real, the quiet shuffle through the warehouses and the nimble-fingered search through boxes of unmarked pharmaceuticals. Raw stuff, raw 'dyne packets stuffed in neat plastic cases, sneakers crunching over used glass vials in a futile attempt to keep quiet on the way to the door... except this time she wasn't trying to pocket any of it, wasn't trying to keep anyone at bay for a few seconds to enjoy a second rush of euphoria before she felt invincible. Those days had gone, replaced by the almost-routine of a high school sophomore. By nights, she was with the others, incantations slipping off her tongue as she asked for strength to stay away from the familiar temptation lest she stumble back into almost-forgotten ways.
Pray for us sinners...
Mel wondered if any of them knew or would even care. More than once she'd thought about dipping her slender fingers into the crates, but she'd always stopped herself before. That girl had been left in Bridge City, huddled on the rusted cot as she sweated through weeks of withdrawl. Visions more horrific than anything she could dream to inflict had danced before her eyes for days as her body attempted to function alone. She'd asked them to light the candles once, just to give some hope to the inner spirit somewhere deep within.
The same candles burned on her desk, the flame warm and comforting behind thick red and blue glass. Raising her head, Mel glanced over to her discarded clothes. A small plastic packet peeked from one pocket, the contents seemingly innocent. Her lip twisted, her chest tightening in realization once again that it wasn't right and that she'd given in. On her knees she emptied the pockets, the packet held between her fingers in tearful contemplation. Thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...
Water swirled counterclockwise as she staggered to her feet, eyes redrimmed and body exhausted. Still damp, she fell into the unmade bed, content to drift into dreamless sleep and forget that the raid had ever actually happened.
It was too real, the quiet shuffle through the warehouses and the nimble-fingered search through boxes of unmarked pharmaceuticals. Raw stuff, raw 'dyne packets stuffed in neat plastic cases, sneakers crunching over used glass vials in a futile attempt to keep quiet on the way to the door... except this time she wasn't trying to pocket any of it, wasn't trying to keep anyone at bay for a few seconds to enjoy a second rush of euphoria before she felt invincible. Those days had gone, replaced by the almost-routine of a high school sophomore. By nights, she was with the others, incantations slipping off her tongue as she asked for strength to stay away from the familiar temptation lest she stumble back into almost-forgotten ways.
Pray for us sinners...
Mel wondered if any of them knew or would even care. More than once she'd thought about dipping her slender fingers into the crates, but she'd always stopped herself before. That girl had been left in Bridge City, huddled on the rusted cot as she sweated through weeks of withdrawl. Visions more horrific than anything she could dream to inflict had danced before her eyes for days as her body attempted to function alone. She'd asked them to light the candles once, just to give some hope to the inner spirit somewhere deep within.
The same candles burned on her desk, the flame warm and comforting behind thick red and blue glass. Raising her head, Mel glanced over to her discarded clothes. A small plastic packet peeked from one pocket, the contents seemingly innocent. Her lip twisted, her chest tightening in realization once again that it wasn't right and that she'd given in. On her knees she emptied the pockets, the packet held between her fingers in tearful contemplation. Thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil...
Water swirled counterclockwise as she staggered to her feet, eyes redrimmed and body exhausted. Still damp, she fell into the unmade bed, content to drift into dreamless sleep and forget that the raid had ever actually happened.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Someone would probably yell at her for using up a sizeable amount of the available hot water. The entire bathroom smelled of lavender and chamomile, steam billowing out as Mel nudged the door open. Toweling her wet hair, she sat cross-legged on her unmade bed and stared blankly at the floor.
She still felt dirty. She'd scrubbed every speck of mud and dust, the washcloth threatening to take off layers of pale cinnamon skin. Mel put a hand to her head, half-wondering if tiny nail marks crisscrossed her scalp from her furious shampooing. As the red numbers on the clock ticked over to 1:00 AM, the teenager sighed and punched her comforter.
A few hours of social research had made Mel physically and emotionally queasy. Upset with both their behavior and her own carelessness, she'd coughed up an excuse to leave the warehouse after the last ambush. A few well-placed comments and a lot of listening had confirmed some suspicions about another group of heroes running the streets of Paragon City. While she'd allowed herself to mouth off and entertain a few double entendres, Mel had simply scowled and noted the others' disapproval of Tharvia and other recent events. Loyalty to her fellow Champions had taken root fast and deep, and the Cajun had found it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue as the others poked fun at 'that alien chick.'
As for the recklessness... Mel pulled back the collar of her bathrobe to examine the spectacular trophy from her faceplant. How anyone could have missed the ambush from the left corridor was beyond comprehension. Verte wouldn't have let that sort of thing happen, she thought to herself bitterly. She shrugged the white terrycloth back over her shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain. It would fade enough to keep anyone from worrying too much. Besides, being invisible had its perks.
She still felt dirty. She'd scrubbed every speck of mud and dust, the washcloth threatening to take off layers of pale cinnamon skin. Mel put a hand to her head, half-wondering if tiny nail marks crisscrossed her scalp from her furious shampooing. As the red numbers on the clock ticked over to 1:00 AM, the teenager sighed and punched her comforter.
A few hours of social research had made Mel physically and emotionally queasy. Upset with both their behavior and her own carelessness, she'd coughed up an excuse to leave the warehouse after the last ambush. A few well-placed comments and a lot of listening had confirmed some suspicions about another group of heroes running the streets of Paragon City. While she'd allowed herself to mouth off and entertain a few double entendres, Mel had simply scowled and noted the others' disapproval of Tharvia and other recent events. Loyalty to her fellow Champions had taken root fast and deep, and the Cajun had found it increasingly difficult to bite her tongue as the others poked fun at 'that alien chick.'
As for the recklessness... Mel pulled back the collar of her bathrobe to examine the spectacular trophy from her faceplant. How anyone could have missed the ambush from the left corridor was beyond comprehension. Verte wouldn't have let that sort of thing happen, she thought to herself bitterly. She shrugged the white terrycloth back over her shoulder and winced at the twinge of pain. It would fade enough to keep anyone from worrying too much. Besides, being invisible had its perks.
Friday, June 24, 2005
"Ari? Margrave, you down here?" The shisper came just under teh sound of running water and who-knew-what trickling through the rusted pipes beneath Paragon City. Miranda put a hand over her mouth and tried not to gag. If the crazies running around the sewers didn't kill her, the stench probably would. She'd run out to Crey's Folly once to help Hardy in a tight spot; anything that ran water out of that toxic swamp couldn't be healthy.
To top it all, Margrave had gone missing. Miranda muttered the too-familiar incantation to make her a little less obvious and ducked under a broken pipe. 'Damn that girl,' she thought. When Hardy and Lukas had brought Ari to her, Miranda had agreed to give her a place to stay and a few meals to keep her bones from poking through her skin. She'd given the fifteen year old space, not asking toomanuy questions for the first few days. Hardy had let it slip one night ithat it had been Lukas who'd found her, a victim of a Hellion 'initiation' party who'd tried to mkae a run for it. Miranda was female, locla, and had a coucnh that was just comfy enough for a few nights' sleep. As far as the senior members of the Aegis Protectorate were concerned, Moriyaku could play den mother to the poor lost lamb.
As far as Miranda was concerned, she wasn't cut out to babysit some teenager who didn't want to be watched... or found. Her comm was hooked to her jeans, the scratched plastic box silent in the sewers. If she managed to find the surly little brat, Miranda swore that she would surgically attach a spare comm to her scrawny little arm. 'Maybe even a GPS chip,' she mused silently. 'Then I wouldn't be out here because someone's breaking curfew.'
She hadn't seen the boys for a week. Sure, they kept in touch, but they'd taken to working leads out in Founder's Falls. Old Man Proctor's business had become a cover for more research into Crey Industries, a high tech assault from an entreprenurial standpoint. If the guys weren't chasing down leads on the street, they were getting paid to engineer software and hack security protocols.
While they were holed up in some millionaire's office, she was hunting for a runaway in the sewer. Miranda turned a corner, taning the time to chalk a pink X on the wall for her journey back. The cavern widened, the tunnel sloping down into the inconstantly lit darkness. From where she stood, she could see a handful of ragtag figures sporting the punk-dumpster fashions of the Lost. Hoping to remain unseen, she crept along the sides fo the tunner, the cool slime of the walls wiped wet-slick along her arms and exposed torso.
To top it all, Margrave had gone missing. Miranda muttered the too-familiar incantation to make her a little less obvious and ducked under a broken pipe. 'Damn that girl,' she thought. When Hardy and Lukas had brought Ari to her, Miranda had agreed to give her a place to stay and a few meals to keep her bones from poking through her skin. She'd given the fifteen year old space, not asking toomanuy questions for the first few days. Hardy had let it slip one night ithat it had been Lukas who'd found her, a victim of a Hellion 'initiation' party who'd tried to mkae a run for it. Miranda was female, locla, and had a coucnh that was just comfy enough for a few nights' sleep. As far as the senior members of the Aegis Protectorate were concerned, Moriyaku could play den mother to the poor lost lamb.
As far as Miranda was concerned, she wasn't cut out to babysit some teenager who didn't want to be watched... or found. Her comm was hooked to her jeans, the scratched plastic box silent in the sewers. If she managed to find the surly little brat, Miranda swore that she would surgically attach a spare comm to her scrawny little arm. 'Maybe even a GPS chip,' she mused silently. 'Then I wouldn't be out here because someone's breaking curfew.'
She hadn't seen the boys for a week. Sure, they kept in touch, but they'd taken to working leads out in Founder's Falls. Old Man Proctor's business had become a cover for more research into Crey Industries, a high tech assault from an entreprenurial standpoint. If the guys weren't chasing down leads on the street, they were getting paid to engineer software and hack security protocols.
While they were holed up in some millionaire's office, she was hunting for a runaway in the sewer. Miranda turned a corner, taning the time to chalk a pink X on the wall for her journey back. The cavern widened, the tunnel sloping down into the inconstantly lit darkness. From where she stood, she could see a handful of ragtag figures sporting the punk-dumpster fashions of the Lost. Hoping to remain unseen, she crept along the sides fo the tunner, the cool slime of the walls wiped wet-slick along her arms and exposed torso.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Congratulations Are In Order
For Angels Never Came Down
(Thanks to Angie for the use of Rahab)
The expression in the polished glassed belonged to someone far older than a young amanuensis two months removed from active duty. As her stomach churned and rolled for the third time that morning, Leliel turned away from the mirror and vomited gracelessly into the washbasin. This routine had persisted for ten days, from sunrise until midmorning. In the evening, a lesser form of the nausea returned, long enough to make any thought of food turn her stomach. Leli spat, wiped her mouth with a wet cloth, and set about to cleaning up.
To visit Sandalphon would be both ridiculous and redundant, considering the obviousness of the situation. Any fool acquainted with symptoms and able to keep track of one’s own physical processes could come to the appropriate conclusion. With the end of her obligatory tour had come heartfelt congratulations and impromptu celebrations. Polite well-wishers had wondered why she would prefer a desk and papers for the glory and excitement of the outdoors, with comrades and superiors promising to have a good word for her should she want to return. After all of the verbal pleasantries, Leli had managed to slip away to find familiar conversation with a friend, familiar gestures one last time before she left the soldier’s life for good.
Leli rinsed out the earthenware bowl and turned it upside down to dry on a ledge. The cloth was wrung out and laid next to it, pitcher replaced on the table under the mirror. Hands damp from washing smoothed over her face, the coolness welcome. The wave of nausea ebbed, giving her the opportunity to slip into clean clothing. Simply dressed, she set out in the day’s only errand.
Leliel walked barefoot, the ground warm between her toes. She could tell the others once the worst of the sickness had finished. Her own father couldn’t be trusted to leave her alone, not with the prospect of a grandchild. Meriarijim would crow with paternal pride and immediately smother her with an embarrassing display of attention. Others in the Keep overly obsessed with procreation couldn’t be trusted to give her adequate space or spare her the unnecessary advice and unwanted litanies about motherhood.
She paused, swallowing back another episode and leaning against a low stone wall. The prospect of motherhood was hardly unwanted or unappreciated. Leli couldn’t deny the rush of excitement that had come with the first few mornings. In a way, she had left one enlistment for another. She absently brushed her still-unrounded belly. No shame, no regret. Privacy, though. The Angel of the Night felt the need to hold such a change close for as long as possible.
Selfish, perhaps? She continued her walk, the path so familiar whether by daylight or starlight. Not so selfish that she would keep the news from the other one who’d hand a hand in the blessed deed, she reasoned. Fingers tapped at the door, her expression pleasant and cool as her ‘accomplice’ appeared.
“Congratulations,” she offered in greeting, her tone sweet but efficient. “May I come in, or are you busy?”
Rahab grinned down at her, any confusion by her choice of words well-masked. “Not too busy for you, pet. C’mon in.” He waited until she’d taken a seat, her ankles primly crossed and hands folded in her lap. “What was that congratulations for, by the way?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Rahab’s expression shifted from rakish charm to slow disbelief, the corners of his mouth turning up and down as if he couldn’t decide upon the proper position of smile that would best fit the situation. “Really,” he finally managed, playful intrigue in his voice.
“And I would think that you would feel a certain sense of accomplishment with such things,” she added.
“Me? Why?”
Leliel blinked and leaned forward, as if she felt the need to further explain things to a man at least fifteen years her senior. “As I understand, there is a certain degree of success here with the ability to bring new life into this world.” She nodded once before sitting back, an airy wave of her hand accompanying the next words. “A fulfillment of sorts.”
The other angel threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head. “Then the congrats is to you, pet. None to me.” Chuckling, he reached out and patted her knee fondly. “Although, you probably ought to know that I’m pretty sure I’ve done this new-life thing a few times. Probably,” he added after a moment’s consideration.
“Probably is not assuredly,” she noted.
He shrugged. “Raz an’ me, we don’t bother checking until tykes with our eyes show up.”
Leliel nodded sagely, as if his reasoning had made perfect sense. “Then I have merely saved you the questioning process eight months from now,” she offered. She paused, giving the soldier a critical once-over before speaking again. “Although, I think I would prefer your hair coloring.”
Rahab answered with an amused smirk. “Yeah?”
“For a girl? Yes.”
“So you’re partial to girls, eh?”
“Perhaps,” she admitted with a shy and un-Leliel dimple to her cheek. “And you?”
“Me?”
She blinked at him. Were all potential fathers this uninvolved? “Yes, you. While I would hardly expect you to break tradition and offer to raise her, I would think that you would have at least some degree of opinion.”
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair and draping a hand over the back of it. “Not really, no.” Fingers mussed his blond hair as he waxed his own flavor of philosophy. “You have what you have, that’s it. Wanting a boy or girl more don’t make a difference.”
Leliel nodded thoughtfully, standing up. “In any case, I feel that you are owed as much congratulations as I am.” Bending at the waist, she bestowed a chaste kiss on a still-unshaven cheek. Rahab allowed the innocent gesture for a few seconds before turning his head to return the favor in a decidedly more appreciative form of a kiss. She reveled in it for a long moment before pulling back. “And now, I believe I am going to go and rest. If everything that I’ve read is true, I will be spending the next ten weeks nauseous and ill-tempered.”
He patted her gently on the cheek and laughed. “That mean you’ll gut me if I don’t visit?”
“No.” She placed a hand on the back of his chair, finger-combing his hair as she spoke. “It simply means that if I fail to answer the door, it is most likely due to the occasion of my head in a bucket.”
“Adorable,” he grinned. “I’ll see if Isda has muffins or something before I come over then. Like a peace offering,” Rahab joked.
“Peace?” She deliberately tapped her knuckle against his head, hard enough to make him wince. “I take it then that you have been blamed for such things in the past?”
“Never actually,” he replied, tilting his head back to smile up at her. “But you know me, Lel,” he offered roguishly. “Everyone seems to have it in for poor me.”
“Everyone minus one,” she laughed, patting him on the cheek. Leliel opened her mouth to say something else, but her complexion paled before she could manage another word. One hand pressed to her lips, sweat on her face as she stepped back. “Excuse me, but I think I-“
He waved her off towards the basin. “Go on, pet. I won’t hold it against you.”
Monday, March 28, 2005
Name: Heather Evangelina Ramsey
Meaning: heather = heather, evangelina = bringer of good news, ramsey = ram's land.
(Translated... Mother needed to name her after a grandmother, so the middle name worked, and Daddy picked the first name. No rhyme or reason.)
Age: 18. Legal.
Birthday: August 10
Zodiac: Leo sun, Capricorn moon, Scorpio ascending
Height: 5'9"
Likes
Wall Street Journal: She has her own subscription, and woe to the person who gets to the paper before she does. Heather reads the WSJ every day before classes, the pages tucked in her designer satchel so that she can reread the important things in study hall or when something gets dull in a lecture. The Journal is refined, mature, and a wealth of financial knowledge that Heather eats up like chocolate. It's as good as a copy of Cosmopolitan, and far more intelligent.
Old and expensive cars: Heather drives a 1967 Ford Mustang GTA convertible, a present from Mother and Daddy on her 17th birthday. She loves the cream exterior, the candied-apple interior, and the appreciative stares she receives from boys of all ages when out driving. She makes it a point to be well-informed about a handful of classic cars, and enjoys attending car shows with her father to buy or sell one of his 'projects' that he's restored. Cars mean status, and she loves the sensuality of a glossy classic car coupled with a purring engine.
Sunday brunch: It's relaxing, it's refined, and it's indulgent. Heather absolutely adores getting together with friends for brunch on the weekend, sipping mimosas and listening to the others gossip about what went on at the other parties the night before. Close friends and socially beneficial acquaintances are invited to the house at least once a month, and a 'good' date follows up by asking her to join him the following Sunday somewhere for omelets and strawberries. Among her friends, the term 'brunch-worthy' denotes a boy worthy of more than just paying for drinks.
Shopping: For Heather, shopping is a methodical practice that is not so much an acquisition of quantity as it is of quality. Since money is no object, she prefers to take her time and find the perfect outfit or accessory, and she doesn't think twice about doing the same for friends. She practices restraint out of concern for appearance, but she does have a weakness for online shopping, and does spend outrageously from the comfort of her laptop at home.
Her palm pilot/planner/all-in-one organizer: Heather loves her little organizer and takes extreme delight in making sure that every appointment and phone number is programmed and set with the appropriate timer. Take her schedule away, and she is out of her element, very flustered and nigh unable to function.
Dislikes
Haphazard planning/improvisation: Heather does not like being caught off guard, nor does she like to be party to incidents that are badly contrived. As a result, she is hesitant to be involved in group projects or outings unless everything is clearly delineated and preplanned.
Sycophants (yes-people): Yes, she has money and status, but Heather can not stand to be followed about and never contradicted by those who simply want her proximity to further their own social status. While she won't resort to mind games, Heather can be extremely direct and vocal when the situation presents itself. Thanks to this attitude, several of the cliques at St. Thomas' and elsewheres have branded her the town's 'rich bitch' and enjoy spreading rumours to bring about her social downfall. As of yet, it hasn't happened, due to a few fiercely loyal friends who come from varied social standings.
People with bad manners: Ugh. Sit up straight, chew with your mouth closed, don't put your elbows on the table, and don't you dare forget to hold the door open for a lady. Heather will be the first to snap at someone for horrid manners, and has been known to leave parties if a host or hostess doesn't meet her standards.
Being hurried: Heather is methodical and thorough, if not seemingly lazy at times. She is not to be rushed through any activity, physical or mental. Attempts to rush her will be met with a cool stare and a sharp word, and the task will take twice as long to complete out of sheer spite.
Hobbies:=
Pilates: Obsessive about how she appears, Heather goes to Pilates after school three times a week for an hour at a time. It's her secret to keeping lean and toned, and she enjoys the discipline. Plus, it's something that she gets to do with her mother... but Rosa's only in it for once a week.
Poker: Her father taught her how to play, and she quickly picked it up as a way to keep the boys guessing at school. She's been known to run a few games before classes, and a posh party at her parents' house nearly always involves a few hands. She has a fantastic poker face and a cool and detached attitude when she does play. Oh, and no one goes against the rules at her games. She's not afraid of throwing people out of the house for infractions resulting from bad manners and gross displays of poor sportsmanship.
Gardening (roses): There's something quiet and refined, yet terribly indulgent about roses. Her mother's affinity for the flowers meant that they were always around the house, and Heather begged her father one summer to let her try to keep a rose garden near the outdoor patio. The terrace is now lined with roses in all shades of reds and pinks, and Heather purposely plans her social brunches outside to show off her gardens and indulge in the squeals of friends and acquaintances.
Appearance: Heather is rather stunning, with long limbs and curves that keep her from appearing gangly. She wears a 34C and has hips that balance out her bust. Pilates and a strict diet keep her trim, while a highly involved skin care regimen keeps her Mediterranean complexion acne free. Weekly manicures and pedicures ensure that every last detail is done to perfection, while constant attention to her red-black hair keeps it silky-smooth and neatly trimmed just above her shoulder blades, with long layers framing her face such that the shortest barely brush her cheekbones. Charcoal grey eyes are hidden under dark lashes and framed by impeccably arched eyebrows, the gentle slant of her eyes lending her a near-constant 'bedroom' expression. Her heart-shaped face is complimented by a only-slightly decided chin, with one delicious little beauty mark underneath her left eye.
Heather carries herself with confidence, grace, and poise. She is deliberate in every movement and gesture, her gait rarely hurried and fluid. Shoulders back and chest out, Heather has got posture that would make some runway models wet themselves with envy. Her wardrobe is subtle yet trendy, with bold colors and tasteful accessories. She wears a modest amount of jewelry, her hair is nearly always worn loose, and she has an affinity for Chanel No. 5. She wears Manolo Blahnik ankle boots with her St. Thomas uniform... the girl has money to burn, and she spends it on what she likes and what looks good. Her voice is quiet steel, a soft just-above alto that bears a hint of her mother's Bronx accent. She is smooth and formal in her language, her insults rare yet cutting and direct.
Personality: A cool and cautious socialite, Heather exudes a calm yet regal air. Confident and utterly in control, she is a master of reading between the lines and diligently getting to the root of a problem or the real meaning behind a phrase or gesture. Genuine and quietly forthright, Heather neither minces words nor does she enjoy wordplay or doublespeak. She is a creature of action, allowing gestures of goodwill to communicate her appreciation of someone while using exclusion and efficient people-management skills to convey displeasure and disapproval. If Heather is upset, the offending party will be informed immediately and eloquently, and all social overtures will cease. Basically, you're just not worth her time.
Status and respect are extremely important to Heather, almost as important as her day planner and American Express card. Even as a small child, Heather understood that she was the reason for her mother's elevated status in her circle of friends, and that her parents doted upon her as a way to show off their wealth and privilege. In this vein, Heather has learned and understands that her appearance, behavior, and even choice of friends reflect on her parents. Part of her "inner code" to which she adheres involves a deep-seated need for parental approval, and doing something to embarrass Mother and Daddy might just very well kill her, if they ever found out.
Heather is hardly ashamed of her status as one of the richest teens in town, and she refuses to hide it. She understands that her father made his fortune though hard work, and she absolutely idolizes him for that. She indulges in expensive clothes and takes her close friends out for gourmet lunches because she can, and she wants to share the wealth, as it were. Heather loves to buy presents for friends and favorite teachers, and she becomes rather insulted when her gifts are not acknowledged. A firm believer in manners, she expects 'please' and 'thank you' out of courtesy, and she shows the same respect to peers and teachers.
Emotion is one of those things that Heather prefers to keep quietly tucked away, neatly boxed and categorized to avoid scrutiny and misapplication. Letting those feelings run amok scares Heather to no end, as she fears the effect such displays would have upon her social image and her effect upon the student masses at St. Thomas'. Giving in to one's anger or disappointment would show a weakness, providing enemies with ammunition for character attacks. Heather is the sort of person to clinically describe her feelings, and then casually dismiss them in favor of some social or intellectual distraction. Still, she does have a temper, and being pushed to the edge results in a brilliant direct display of anger and savage truths. Nothing is held back, and apologies are not given unless she firmly believes that she is in the wrong.
Despite her sometimes detached and formal demeanor, Heather is a devoted friend. Part of her would like to believe that acquaintances want to spend time with her because she's a nice girl who likes to dote upon her friends, but experience and savvy say that this is not always true. So, Heather has become rather cynical of 'new' people and generally assumes that the really nice ones only want to be near her because of the family's money. At the same time, she trusts you if you act genuine and appear to sympathize with her, because the girl does desperately want friends as opposed to social peers or business associates. Deep down, she wants to think that people are good and honest, but experience has proven time and time again that most 'nice' people are only nice long enough to get into your head, your wallet, or your pants.
While Heather takes advantage of her family's wealth, she refuses to have it be the vessel to carry her throughout her life. Blessed with intelligence and a fierce inner drive, Heather wants to prove her success by making it on her own; getting into a prestigious university on grades and gaining internships because she's earned them academically. She'll gladly take help in the form of tutors and SAT prep classes, but Heather wants to get into the fastpaced business world on her own and not endure anyone's claims that she's wealthy because of Daddy's money and that she couldn't make it on her own.
There is a darker wilder side to Heather, seen by Reba and one or two close friends. Intensely private, Heather refuses to let her grossly indulgent and impulsive self out to play unless she is absolutely certain that she is not in a situation that could be used against her. Shopping online, she can purchase designer clothes, shoes, bath soaps, perfume, and book elaborate weekend getaways without involving any unnecessary parties. Daddy's airtight network security let her play safely, and she is nigh-on neurotic about keeping track of her credit card. The weekend getaways she plans are often to New York to visit her grandparents, who luckily turn a convenient blind eye to the whirlwind of parties and clubs that her older cousins attend with Heather in tow.
Kept tucked away underneath her socially acceptable person, Heather harbors what she feels to be an incredibly hedonistic secret. For her, bisexuality is simply a character trait that is merely a facet of varied personality. For Heather, it is both shameful and thrilling, an attraction and desire that she cannot satisfy given her current living situation and social status. She loves earthy, solid, slightly older girls who reek of confidence, idol worship from a safe distance lest someone suspect Something's Up. A few weekend parties back up in NYC have led to stolen kisses and petting in the shadows, but a fear of letting go coupled with the knowledge that such escapades would reflect badly on her family have kept her from pursuing anything further. Caught between thrill and shame, Heather has yet to play as such in Grand Bend.
Neither a poor little rich girl nor the classic backstabbing rich bitch, Heather is simply a young lady of privilege who enjoys her living situation. While she is knowingly kept from complete indulgence by her social status, she sees it as a temporary situation until she is able to make her own wealth, fortune, and success and may be truly free to do as she pleases.
History - Present
Rosa Maria Gatti met John Patrick Ramsey at one of her father's impossibly lavish holiday dinners, immediately charmed by the self-made technology millionaire who teased her mercilessly about her good looks and her ability to wrap her father about her elegant little finger. A delightful courtship took place between the two teenagers, the massive Catholic wedding held at St. Patrick's in the Bronx and the two week honeymoon culminating in the realization that they'd be parents before they celebrated their first wedding anniversary.
And so, Heather was born into the lap of luxury, spoiled by her wealthy Italian grandparents and doted upon by her parents who saw her as a perfect little doll to dress and walk about the park and make all of Rosa's socialite friends green with envy. Rosa delighted in motherhood, doing most things right and deferring to her own mother when discipline became difficult. As a result, Heather was raised with want for nothing and the idea that one -always- had to be conscious of how she appeared and what she did and how it was perceived. Her parents told her 'no' when appropriate, but didn't see any harm in taking their daughter shopping for expensive clothes or on lavish vacations to Disney World. After all, Rosa had grown up with such things, and Jack didn't want to let down his wife or his darling little girl. So, he invested wisely and bought up the little struggling dot-coms and continued to build his internet technology empire.
But, how does one get from the bustling Bronx to Grand Bend? Why, through careful acquisition and the realization that one can have a fantastically opulent house in the suburbs for the cost of a modest penthouse in the city! So, after Jack bought up Apollo Web Solutions and paid its owner handsomely for both business and business location, he moved Rosa and eight year old Heather to Grand Bend and into a sprawling house in Deacon Hills. At the insistence of her mother, Heather was immediately enrolled at St. Thomas Aquinas school.
After the first few days, it became apparent that Heather's classmates knew of her because of a story in the local paper, and that the wealthier ones had been told by their mommies and daddies to make the new girl welcome. Heather treated most of her peers with impeccable manners and a certain degree of aloofness, careful to not give away too much about herself or her parents without gaining twice as much information about her classmates in the process. She would invite acquaintances to the house for playdates while her mother watched the invitees with a cautious eye and scrutinized their families to be sure that those with less-than-sincere intentions were only invited back out of social necessity. Heather soon picked up on this nuance, and it wasn't long before she'd managed to become a master of this game of necessary friendship and kicking the yes-men off of her personal rung on the social ladder. Hardly nasty, Heather played a game of polite exclusion and association throughout her elementary and middle school years, perfecting the cool demeanor and quiet but affectionate nature that follows her now.
Her father, having made his wealth based upon intelligence and learned business savvy, made certain to stress academics to Heather and took pains to ensure that just as much time was spent on her studies as on her social life. He indulged her want for books and tutors when a teacher didn't seem to be up to par, and she brought home rather good grades. They would have conversations about the financial programs that Jack watched at night, and he answered her questions as best as he could before pointing her in the direction of a newspaper or a book to learn more.
As she grew older, she realized that she could manage her friendships just fine, and that there could be a few other girls who actually wanted to be friends and didn't need to be kept at such a distance. Shopping trips were done with the usual amount of teenage giggling and cattiness, with Heather happily picking up the tabs for intimate lunches as a way to show friendship and confidences. Boys came and went, with very little happening due to Heather's want for control in such intimate situations. Boys were a distraction; while cute and able to kiss nicely, they couldn't give her anything that money couldn't.
She's pretended that she doesn't need the affection since ninth grade, when Mother delicately mentioned that dating boys from outside St. Thomas' wouldn't look good. Rather than argue, Heather sighed and nodded and returned to her circle of girls for consolation. Weekend vacations to New York acquainted Heather with some of her cousins, and they took it upon themselves to get her better acquainted with the 'scene' that young ladies of affluent lifestyles could afford.
Once she entered tenth grade, she realized that while she didn't have to worry about paying for school, it would be far better to earn a full scholarship to prove her academic prowess rather than take the lazy rich man's way out. Heather sweetly demanded tutors and SAT prep classes, filling her free time with scholastics and seeing her friends on the weekends. Bonding with her mother currently involves long trips to the spa for weekly manicures after Wednesday's Pilates class, and she manages a healthy relationship with her parents thanks to a streak of independence coupled with a love for her traditional role as Daddy's Little Girl. Currently, she quietly mixes in the higher social circles of Grand Bend while working her backside off to get into a prestigious university on her own merit, and not on money.
History – Past: Back in the olden days, Devil was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who made his money through irrigation systems, swindling the lower classes, and a fair amount of backstabbing to climb to the top of the family inheritance pile. Chosen to be a priestess as a child, she played the part with a certain degree of drama, pomp, and self-righteousness. It merely brought more status to the family, and she understood early on just how important the position was for her mother and father. She flitted between social groups, genuinely gracious and charming to most of the other girls and flirtatiously shrewd with the knights and pages. If anyone managed to get between the sheets with her, it was done with the utmost discretion and the threat of bodily harm by some family member with a wicked mind and numerous resources. Indulgent, she probably threw lavish parties on the family dime, because it made them look good and increased standing and trade. In Ain'ka's eyes, her homeworld was the absolute best, and she had a tendency to look down on the others (coughWandscoughswampysavagescough). Superior? Oh, yes.
Past Name: Ain'kamilah Abubukar Chuine Jibade
Soldier Information
Soldier/Knight/etc Name: Devil. No need to shorten!
Sphere of Power: Materialism and desire
Uniform Colours: Currency-copper, with platinum as secondary
Uniform: Devil wears a brass-coppery strapless sundress that hugs her figure from bust to hips, the skirt falling just past her knees. The hem of the skirt is decorated with small silver and copper coins, which clink and jingle as she moves.About her neck is a platinum collar that bears broken chains, with matching wristlets and similarly broken chains on each arm. She wears copper slippers, the toes rounded and 'dipped' in platinum. Two inches above the outer edges of each eyebrow, a black horn reminiscent of a goat curls back in a grotesque arc towards each ear. The spirals in the horns are flecked with silver and copper, calling to mind the image of pyrite (fool's gold) in dark hewn rock. The horns make an elongated C-shape, coming up in blunt edges just beneath her cheekbones. From her shoulderblades, a small pair of tattered black wings emerge, the skin stretched across them worn and tattered. Decidedly reptilian, they are of little use for flight but simply are there for show and false grandeur.
Team/Alignment: Death
Transformation: Arcananum mutatio, Devil!
Powers:
Indulgence (desire, defense)
This ability imbues the target for a base desire, loosely based upon Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Devil calls out, "Indulge thyself!" while pointing her left finger at the target. A coppery chain wraps about the target's neck, the spell causing the target to do anything to fulfill his or her base needs. The needs go as follows: thirst, hunger, sleep, sex, and safety. So, if you were just a little bit thirsty before the battle, you'll have insatiable thirst until you find a water fountain, and you'll abandon your teammates to get a drink. If you've been fed and watered, but lack a nap, then you'll suddenly do anything to take a nap. If you're fed, watered, and have sleep, but you've got a wicked sex drive, then you will... well, you get the idea. If all of those are met, then you'll just run, because safety is the last base need. The effects last for a maximum of two minutes, and cease once the need is met or once the target is convinced that their needs -are- met. The attack is short range (no more than ten feet) and does not need to be heard by the target. Those targets with a strong will do not suffer all effects, as one can overcome most desire with logic. Devil may cast this five times in a space of six hours with no harm to herself.
You Want It All (materialism, offense)
Devil's hands go into the folds of her skirt for a brief moment, pulling out two fistfuls brimming with gold and silver coins. Devil whispers the words, "You want it all," to begin the spell. These shiny disks are flung outwards at multiple targets, the result being that several people feel like they've been pelted with spare change. The coins fall on the ground, glittery and shiny. Those that the coins hit are immediately imbued with the need to pick up the coins, and they may get into fistfights over the last piece of loose change. The coins disappear as soon as they are palmed, further frustrating the targets. This is a once-per-transformation attack, and can be dodged (the coins must hit hard enough to be felt by the targets) and resisted by those who can overrule their desire with logic. The attack lasts for three minutes and does not discriminate against teammates.
Writing Test: Heather eliminated the last homework assignment from her to-do list with a flourish.
Guardian: Reba, the reincarnated Queen of Pentacles Merybahiti, who lurks about Grand Bend in the form of a sphynx cat. While some might see coming back as a feline a gross insult, Reba takes it as the highest compliment, as Pentacles' religions held the creatures in high esteem. She is cool and confident, relishing her reincarnated form as an excuse to lie about in the sun while Heather is at school. Pampered by the Ramseys, she is living the height of luxury and devotes much of her time to leafing through magazines and watching the pool boy that comes to the house once a week. She and Heather get along extremely well, although Reba would like to see her charge loosen up and indulge in the lifestyle afforded to her. Aside from that minor flaw, the former Queen of Pentacles figures that Heather could have made a perfect daughter-in-law, far more so than her catty and backstabbing counterpart from the past.
Reba is somewhat concerned with finding the other members of Death's team, if only to find the artifacts. Those not from Pentacles will be viewed as inferior, with Reba deferring to Heather before any of the other team members. She remembers much of the past, and was an insatiable gossip back in the day.
Meaning: heather = heather, evangelina = bringer of good news, ramsey = ram's land.
(Translated... Mother needed to name her after a grandmother, so the middle name worked, and Daddy picked the first name. No rhyme or reason.)
Age: 18. Legal.
Birthday: August 10
Zodiac: Leo sun, Capricorn moon, Scorpio ascending
Height: 5'9"
Likes
Wall Street Journal: She has her own subscription, and woe to the person who gets to the paper before she does. Heather reads the WSJ every day before classes, the pages tucked in her designer satchel so that she can reread the important things in study hall or when something gets dull in a lecture. The Journal is refined, mature, and a wealth of financial knowledge that Heather eats up like chocolate. It's as good as a copy of Cosmopolitan, and far more intelligent.
Old and expensive cars: Heather drives a 1967 Ford Mustang GTA convertible, a present from Mother and Daddy on her 17th birthday. She loves the cream exterior, the candied-apple interior, and the appreciative stares she receives from boys of all ages when out driving. She makes it a point to be well-informed about a handful of classic cars, and enjoys attending car shows with her father to buy or sell one of his 'projects' that he's restored. Cars mean status, and she loves the sensuality of a glossy classic car coupled with a purring engine.
Sunday brunch: It's relaxing, it's refined, and it's indulgent. Heather absolutely adores getting together with friends for brunch on the weekend, sipping mimosas and listening to the others gossip about what went on at the other parties the night before. Close friends and socially beneficial acquaintances are invited to the house at least once a month, and a 'good' date follows up by asking her to join him the following Sunday somewhere for omelets and strawberries. Among her friends, the term 'brunch-worthy' denotes a boy worthy of more than just paying for drinks.
Shopping: For Heather, shopping is a methodical practice that is not so much an acquisition of quantity as it is of quality. Since money is no object, she prefers to take her time and find the perfect outfit or accessory, and she doesn't think twice about doing the same for friends. She practices restraint out of concern for appearance, but she does have a weakness for online shopping, and does spend outrageously from the comfort of her laptop at home.
Her palm pilot/planner/all-in-one organizer: Heather loves her little organizer and takes extreme delight in making sure that every appointment and phone number is programmed and set with the appropriate timer. Take her schedule away, and she is out of her element, very flustered and nigh unable to function.
Dislikes
Haphazard planning/improvisation: Heather does not like being caught off guard, nor does she like to be party to incidents that are badly contrived. As a result, she is hesitant to be involved in group projects or outings unless everything is clearly delineated and preplanned.
Sycophants (yes-people): Yes, she has money and status, but Heather can not stand to be followed about and never contradicted by those who simply want her proximity to further their own social status. While she won't resort to mind games, Heather can be extremely direct and vocal when the situation presents itself. Thanks to this attitude, several of the cliques at St. Thomas' and elsewheres have branded her the town's 'rich bitch' and enjoy spreading rumours to bring about her social downfall. As of yet, it hasn't happened, due to a few fiercely loyal friends who come from varied social standings.
People with bad manners: Ugh. Sit up straight, chew with your mouth closed, don't put your elbows on the table, and don't you dare forget to hold the door open for a lady. Heather will be the first to snap at someone for horrid manners, and has been known to leave parties if a host or hostess doesn't meet her standards.
Being hurried: Heather is methodical and thorough, if not seemingly lazy at times. She is not to be rushed through any activity, physical or mental. Attempts to rush her will be met with a cool stare and a sharp word, and the task will take twice as long to complete out of sheer spite.
Hobbies:=
Pilates: Obsessive about how she appears, Heather goes to Pilates after school three times a week for an hour at a time. It's her secret to keeping lean and toned, and she enjoys the discipline. Plus, it's something that she gets to do with her mother... but Rosa's only in it for once a week.
Poker: Her father taught her how to play, and she quickly picked it up as a way to keep the boys guessing at school. She's been known to run a few games before classes, and a posh party at her parents' house nearly always involves a few hands. She has a fantastic poker face and a cool and detached attitude when she does play. Oh, and no one goes against the rules at her games. She's not afraid of throwing people out of the house for infractions resulting from bad manners and gross displays of poor sportsmanship.
Gardening (roses): There's something quiet and refined, yet terribly indulgent about roses. Her mother's affinity for the flowers meant that they were always around the house, and Heather begged her father one summer to let her try to keep a rose garden near the outdoor patio. The terrace is now lined with roses in all shades of reds and pinks, and Heather purposely plans her social brunches outside to show off her gardens and indulge in the squeals of friends and acquaintances.
Appearance: Heather is rather stunning, with long limbs and curves that keep her from appearing gangly. She wears a 34C and has hips that balance out her bust. Pilates and a strict diet keep her trim, while a highly involved skin care regimen keeps her Mediterranean complexion acne free. Weekly manicures and pedicures ensure that every last detail is done to perfection, while constant attention to her red-black hair keeps it silky-smooth and neatly trimmed just above her shoulder blades, with long layers framing her face such that the shortest barely brush her cheekbones. Charcoal grey eyes are hidden under dark lashes and framed by impeccably arched eyebrows, the gentle slant of her eyes lending her a near-constant 'bedroom' expression. Her heart-shaped face is complimented by a only-slightly decided chin, with one delicious little beauty mark underneath her left eye.
Heather carries herself with confidence, grace, and poise. She is deliberate in every movement and gesture, her gait rarely hurried and fluid. Shoulders back and chest out, Heather has got posture that would make some runway models wet themselves with envy. Her wardrobe is subtle yet trendy, with bold colors and tasteful accessories. She wears a modest amount of jewelry, her hair is nearly always worn loose, and she has an affinity for Chanel No. 5. She wears Manolo Blahnik ankle boots with her St. Thomas uniform... the girl has money to burn, and she spends it on what she likes and what looks good. Her voice is quiet steel, a soft just-above alto that bears a hint of her mother's Bronx accent. She is smooth and formal in her language, her insults rare yet cutting and direct.
Personality: A cool and cautious socialite, Heather exudes a calm yet regal air. Confident and utterly in control, she is a master of reading between the lines and diligently getting to the root of a problem or the real meaning behind a phrase or gesture. Genuine and quietly forthright, Heather neither minces words nor does she enjoy wordplay or doublespeak. She is a creature of action, allowing gestures of goodwill to communicate her appreciation of someone while using exclusion and efficient people-management skills to convey displeasure and disapproval. If Heather is upset, the offending party will be informed immediately and eloquently, and all social overtures will cease. Basically, you're just not worth her time.
Status and respect are extremely important to Heather, almost as important as her day planner and American Express card. Even as a small child, Heather understood that she was the reason for her mother's elevated status in her circle of friends, and that her parents doted upon her as a way to show off their wealth and privilege. In this vein, Heather has learned and understands that her appearance, behavior, and even choice of friends reflect on her parents. Part of her "inner code" to which she adheres involves a deep-seated need for parental approval, and doing something to embarrass Mother and Daddy might just very well kill her, if they ever found out.
Heather is hardly ashamed of her status as one of the richest teens in town, and she refuses to hide it. She understands that her father made his fortune though hard work, and she absolutely idolizes him for that. She indulges in expensive clothes and takes her close friends out for gourmet lunches because she can, and she wants to share the wealth, as it were. Heather loves to buy presents for friends and favorite teachers, and she becomes rather insulted when her gifts are not acknowledged. A firm believer in manners, she expects 'please' and 'thank you' out of courtesy, and she shows the same respect to peers and teachers.
Emotion is one of those things that Heather prefers to keep quietly tucked away, neatly boxed and categorized to avoid scrutiny and misapplication. Letting those feelings run amok scares Heather to no end, as she fears the effect such displays would have upon her social image and her effect upon the student masses at St. Thomas'. Giving in to one's anger or disappointment would show a weakness, providing enemies with ammunition for character attacks. Heather is the sort of person to clinically describe her feelings, and then casually dismiss them in favor of some social or intellectual distraction. Still, she does have a temper, and being pushed to the edge results in a brilliant direct display of anger and savage truths. Nothing is held back, and apologies are not given unless she firmly believes that she is in the wrong.
Despite her sometimes detached and formal demeanor, Heather is a devoted friend. Part of her would like to believe that acquaintances want to spend time with her because she's a nice girl who likes to dote upon her friends, but experience and savvy say that this is not always true. So, Heather has become rather cynical of 'new' people and generally assumes that the really nice ones only want to be near her because of the family's money. At the same time, she trusts you if you act genuine and appear to sympathize with her, because the girl does desperately want friends as opposed to social peers or business associates. Deep down, she wants to think that people are good and honest, but experience has proven time and time again that most 'nice' people are only nice long enough to get into your head, your wallet, or your pants.
While Heather takes advantage of her family's wealth, she refuses to have it be the vessel to carry her throughout her life. Blessed with intelligence and a fierce inner drive, Heather wants to prove her success by making it on her own; getting into a prestigious university on grades and gaining internships because she's earned them academically. She'll gladly take help in the form of tutors and SAT prep classes, but Heather wants to get into the fastpaced business world on her own and not endure anyone's claims that she's wealthy because of Daddy's money and that she couldn't make it on her own.
There is a darker wilder side to Heather, seen by Reba and one or two close friends. Intensely private, Heather refuses to let her grossly indulgent and impulsive self out to play unless she is absolutely certain that she is not in a situation that could be used against her. Shopping online, she can purchase designer clothes, shoes, bath soaps, perfume, and book elaborate weekend getaways without involving any unnecessary parties. Daddy's airtight network security let her play safely, and she is nigh-on neurotic about keeping track of her credit card. The weekend getaways she plans are often to New York to visit her grandparents, who luckily turn a convenient blind eye to the whirlwind of parties and clubs that her older cousins attend with Heather in tow.
Kept tucked away underneath her socially acceptable person, Heather harbors what she feels to be an incredibly hedonistic secret. For her, bisexuality is simply a character trait that is merely a facet of varied personality. For Heather, it is both shameful and thrilling, an attraction and desire that she cannot satisfy given her current living situation and social status. She loves earthy, solid, slightly older girls who reek of confidence, idol worship from a safe distance lest someone suspect Something's Up. A few weekend parties back up in NYC have led to stolen kisses and petting in the shadows, but a fear of letting go coupled with the knowledge that such escapades would reflect badly on her family have kept her from pursuing anything further. Caught between thrill and shame, Heather has yet to play as such in Grand Bend.
Neither a poor little rich girl nor the classic backstabbing rich bitch, Heather is simply a young lady of privilege who enjoys her living situation. While she is knowingly kept from complete indulgence by her social status, she sees it as a temporary situation until she is able to make her own wealth, fortune, and success and may be truly free to do as she pleases.
History - Present
Rosa Maria Gatti met John Patrick Ramsey at one of her father's impossibly lavish holiday dinners, immediately charmed by the self-made technology millionaire who teased her mercilessly about her good looks and her ability to wrap her father about her elegant little finger. A delightful courtship took place between the two teenagers, the massive Catholic wedding held at St. Patrick's in the Bronx and the two week honeymoon culminating in the realization that they'd be parents before they celebrated their first wedding anniversary.
And so, Heather was born into the lap of luxury, spoiled by her wealthy Italian grandparents and doted upon by her parents who saw her as a perfect little doll to dress and walk about the park and make all of Rosa's socialite friends green with envy. Rosa delighted in motherhood, doing most things right and deferring to her own mother when discipline became difficult. As a result, Heather was raised with want for nothing and the idea that one -always- had to be conscious of how she appeared and what she did and how it was perceived. Her parents told her 'no' when appropriate, but didn't see any harm in taking their daughter shopping for expensive clothes or on lavish vacations to Disney World. After all, Rosa had grown up with such things, and Jack didn't want to let down his wife or his darling little girl. So, he invested wisely and bought up the little struggling dot-coms and continued to build his internet technology empire.
But, how does one get from the bustling Bronx to Grand Bend? Why, through careful acquisition and the realization that one can have a fantastically opulent house in the suburbs for the cost of a modest penthouse in the city! So, after Jack bought up Apollo Web Solutions and paid its owner handsomely for both business and business location, he moved Rosa and eight year old Heather to Grand Bend and into a sprawling house in Deacon Hills. At the insistence of her mother, Heather was immediately enrolled at St. Thomas Aquinas school.
After the first few days, it became apparent that Heather's classmates knew of her because of a story in the local paper, and that the wealthier ones had been told by their mommies and daddies to make the new girl welcome. Heather treated most of her peers with impeccable manners and a certain degree of aloofness, careful to not give away too much about herself or her parents without gaining twice as much information about her classmates in the process. She would invite acquaintances to the house for playdates while her mother watched the invitees with a cautious eye and scrutinized their families to be sure that those with less-than-sincere intentions were only invited back out of social necessity. Heather soon picked up on this nuance, and it wasn't long before she'd managed to become a master of this game of necessary friendship and kicking the yes-men off of her personal rung on the social ladder. Hardly nasty, Heather played a game of polite exclusion and association throughout her elementary and middle school years, perfecting the cool demeanor and quiet but affectionate nature that follows her now.
Her father, having made his wealth based upon intelligence and learned business savvy, made certain to stress academics to Heather and took pains to ensure that just as much time was spent on her studies as on her social life. He indulged her want for books and tutors when a teacher didn't seem to be up to par, and she brought home rather good grades. They would have conversations about the financial programs that Jack watched at night, and he answered her questions as best as he could before pointing her in the direction of a newspaper or a book to learn more.
As she grew older, she realized that she could manage her friendships just fine, and that there could be a few other girls who actually wanted to be friends and didn't need to be kept at such a distance. Shopping trips were done with the usual amount of teenage giggling and cattiness, with Heather happily picking up the tabs for intimate lunches as a way to show friendship and confidences. Boys came and went, with very little happening due to Heather's want for control in such intimate situations. Boys were a distraction; while cute and able to kiss nicely, they couldn't give her anything that money couldn't.
She's pretended that she doesn't need the affection since ninth grade, when Mother delicately mentioned that dating boys from outside St. Thomas' wouldn't look good. Rather than argue, Heather sighed and nodded and returned to her circle of girls for consolation. Weekend vacations to New York acquainted Heather with some of her cousins, and they took it upon themselves to get her better acquainted with the 'scene' that young ladies of affluent lifestyles could afford.
Once she entered tenth grade, she realized that while she didn't have to worry about paying for school, it would be far better to earn a full scholarship to prove her academic prowess rather than take the lazy rich man's way out. Heather sweetly demanded tutors and SAT prep classes, filling her free time with scholastics and seeing her friends on the weekends. Bonding with her mother currently involves long trips to the spa for weekly manicures after Wednesday's Pilates class, and she manages a healthy relationship with her parents thanks to a streak of independence coupled with a love for her traditional role as Daddy's Little Girl. Currently, she quietly mixes in the higher social circles of Grand Bend while working her backside off to get into a prestigious university on her own merit, and not on money.
History – Past: Back in the olden days, Devil was the daughter of a wealthy merchant who made his money through irrigation systems, swindling the lower classes, and a fair amount of backstabbing to climb to the top of the family inheritance pile. Chosen to be a priestess as a child, she played the part with a certain degree of drama, pomp, and self-righteousness. It merely brought more status to the family, and she understood early on just how important the position was for her mother and father. She flitted between social groups, genuinely gracious and charming to most of the other girls and flirtatiously shrewd with the knights and pages. If anyone managed to get between the sheets with her, it was done with the utmost discretion and the threat of bodily harm by some family member with a wicked mind and numerous resources. Indulgent, she probably threw lavish parties on the family dime, because it made them look good and increased standing and trade. In Ain'ka's eyes, her homeworld was the absolute best, and she had a tendency to look down on the others (coughWandscoughswampysavagescough). Superior? Oh, yes.
Past Name: Ain'kamilah Abubukar Chuine Jibade
Soldier Information
Soldier/Knight/etc Name: Devil. No need to shorten!
Sphere of Power: Materialism and desire
Uniform Colours: Currency-copper, with platinum as secondary
Uniform: Devil wears a brass-coppery strapless sundress that hugs her figure from bust to hips, the skirt falling just past her knees. The hem of the skirt is decorated with small silver and copper coins, which clink and jingle as she moves.About her neck is a platinum collar that bears broken chains, with matching wristlets and similarly broken chains on each arm. She wears copper slippers, the toes rounded and 'dipped' in platinum. Two inches above the outer edges of each eyebrow, a black horn reminiscent of a goat curls back in a grotesque arc towards each ear. The spirals in the horns are flecked with silver and copper, calling to mind the image of pyrite (fool's gold) in dark hewn rock. The horns make an elongated C-shape, coming up in blunt edges just beneath her cheekbones. From her shoulderblades, a small pair of tattered black wings emerge, the skin stretched across them worn and tattered. Decidedly reptilian, they are of little use for flight but simply are there for show and false grandeur.
Team/Alignment: Death
Transformation: Arcananum mutatio, Devil!
Powers:
Indulgence (desire, defense)
This ability imbues the target for a base desire, loosely based upon Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Devil calls out, "Indulge thyself!" while pointing her left finger at the target. A coppery chain wraps about the target's neck, the spell causing the target to do anything to fulfill his or her base needs. The needs go as follows: thirst, hunger, sleep, sex, and safety. So, if you were just a little bit thirsty before the battle, you'll have insatiable thirst until you find a water fountain, and you'll abandon your teammates to get a drink. If you've been fed and watered, but lack a nap, then you'll suddenly do anything to take a nap. If you're fed, watered, and have sleep, but you've got a wicked sex drive, then you will... well, you get the idea. If all of those are met, then you'll just run, because safety is the last base need. The effects last for a maximum of two minutes, and cease once the need is met or once the target is convinced that their needs -are- met. The attack is short range (no more than ten feet) and does not need to be heard by the target. Those targets with a strong will do not suffer all effects, as one can overcome most desire with logic. Devil may cast this five times in a space of six hours with no harm to herself.
You Want It All (materialism, offense)
Devil's hands go into the folds of her skirt for a brief moment, pulling out two fistfuls brimming with gold and silver coins. Devil whispers the words, "You want it all," to begin the spell. These shiny disks are flung outwards at multiple targets, the result being that several people feel like they've been pelted with spare change. The coins fall on the ground, glittery and shiny. Those that the coins hit are immediately imbued with the need to pick up the coins, and they may get into fistfights over the last piece of loose change. The coins disappear as soon as they are palmed, further frustrating the targets. This is a once-per-transformation attack, and can be dodged (the coins must hit hard enough to be felt by the targets) and resisted by those who can overrule their desire with logic. The attack lasts for three minutes and does not discriminate against teammates.
Writing Test: Heather eliminated the last homework assignment from her to-do list with a flourish.
Guardian: Reba, the reincarnated Queen of Pentacles Merybahiti, who lurks about Grand Bend in the form of a sphynx cat. While some might see coming back as a feline a gross insult, Reba takes it as the highest compliment, as Pentacles' religions held the creatures in high esteem. She is cool and confident, relishing her reincarnated form as an excuse to lie about in the sun while Heather is at school. Pampered by the Ramseys, she is living the height of luxury and devotes much of her time to leafing through magazines and watching the pool boy that comes to the house once a week. She and Heather get along extremely well, although Reba would like to see her charge loosen up and indulge in the lifestyle afforded to her. Aside from that minor flaw, the former Queen of Pentacles figures that Heather could have made a perfect daughter-in-law, far more so than her catty and backstabbing counterpart from the past.
Reba is somewhat concerned with finding the other members of Death's team, if only to find the artifacts. Those not from Pentacles will be viewed as inferior, with Reba deferring to Heather before any of the other team members. She remembers much of the past, and was an insatiable gossip back in the day.
