I'm Waking Up: Origin Stories.

[geistnet]

You’re an old man who had a nasty run-in with Something That Went Bump in the Night, and once believed that the only way to make sure that you never had another problem like that again was to pick up a gun and shoot supes in the face before they killed you or hurt your family – and then some government shitheads called you up and told you that they’re your friends, you all have to get along. They took your weapons, sent you to some fucking program that felt too much like Alcoholics Anonymous. You hang up on them every time they check on you, but they still know exactly what you’re doing, every second of every day.

You’re a house wife in a quiet little town, accustomed to turning a blind eye towards the strange things that happened to people after dark because the local police either didn’t have a clue or were letting those things happen in the first place – and then some nice people in coats came in from God Knows Where, arrested some crooked cops, and made it all go away.

You make a new batch of cookies every Sunday, to give to the coated fellows who still hang around at the street corners downtown; some of them are young, so very young, and remind you of your younger brother. Your little ones want to be just like them someday.

You’re the kid who learns Judo rather than Track and Field after Math every day (Teacher Felipe says that you have to know how to defend yourself), then takes a quiz all about vampires, fairies and werewolves in Occult Studies. Every Wednesday, you tumble around with your classmates, and get mad whenever your best friend does his Superman thing and beats everyone to the top of the hill by flying there. Every Friday, a guy with more guns than you have teeth comes to school, takes over PE classes, and talks to everyone about what he does for a living. Sometimes, he takes “special kids” with him to another school, for special people like them. You hope that he won’t take your best friend away.

You’re the manager of one of the biggest call centers in the country. You’re happy because life’s been great ever since you opened your doors to the local vampire community. They’re damned good at their jobs, and you don’t have to deal with the HR nightmare of overtime, of medical bills and lawsuits anymore. And you feel safe, because you know that if one of them ever steps out of line, you know exactly who to call.

You’re the girl who leapt through time, who met a handsome stranger who took you to a fantastic place full of talking trees and flying fish, the girl who was loved and fucked and tossed aside when you started getting boring.

You came home and found that your house wasn’t your house anymore, that your parents have been dead for decades and all of your friends were old and gray while you haven’t aged at all.

They found you crying on a swing. They told you what happened, and helped you set things right.

You’re the drunkard at the local bar who sees monsters in every face, and still remembers what it was like years ago, when you didn’t have to be afraid of the dark, or wonder what’s beneath all the human skin and human smiles of every person you meet. The Truth fucked you up, you see. You wish that once upon a time, you had the better sense not to listen.

Whoever you are, if you were born between 1999 and 2066, you know about Hunters. You know about the conspiracies and compacts they are a part of, and the Vigil they keep between Day and Night, Light and Shadow. You know that some of them are human, and some of them aren’t, and some of them are somewhere in between. You know about why they’re here, and what they do while nobody’s looking. Hate them, love them, worship them, or revile them: it doesn’t matter. The World of Light and the World of Darkness have blended together, and that means that Hunters are around to stay.

o r i g i n  s t o r i e s.

This post is devoted to threading out the stories of player characters of Waking the Dead prior to their arrival at the Falner Estate. Tag in and tell us yours. We have a feeling it's a good one.

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March 10th, 2066

[outstanding]

White light pierces her eyelids, the fluorescent in her hospital room giving everything a more intense and sharp look; the empty chair by the corner, the closed curtains by the window, her bloodied clothes piled up on a chair next to her, even the white gown she's been forced on and the strands of golden hair that get in her eyes now and then. Ella lies there, although lying is starting to sound like a lie; whenever she's not twisting in agony she's too tired to do anything but pant, sweat and wonder why is taking so long, why death can't just get over with it. It's like a knife being twisted in her insides, although the doctors already explained to her in pained tones that what she was feeling was how her innards were slowly turning into frostbitten matter. The bullet itself had done less damage than what they had initially thought, and the place the Coldshadow had started to disseminate didn't kill her right away, but it all meant the agony would be lengthier. Not for too long though, Ella can feel it as life slowly slips away.

Although she has never been a keen believer of karma or irony (two terms that at times had seemed interchangeable to her), now she is questioning both of them whenever her mind isn't reduced to the simple expression of excruciating pain; does she deserve this? Is she paying off some horrible sin she has committed without knowing? Or maybe this is the universe mocking her and her luck, or even worse, mocking her father and his ways. He killed me, she thinks for the millionth time, but then she bites her cheek and blinks hard. That's not true. Maybe the man had been slowly trying to undermine her own self confidence, but what happened had nothing to do with him. At least Ella could manage to get some dark delight at the thought of her parents learning about this, of knowing she got killed while attending the university her father had most likely bribed and paid her way into, or even worse, bribed and paid her then girlfriend out of.

It's all senseless now, though. She's dying and nothing can do a thing about it. The vampires that brought her have apparently left or don't want to do anything with her now that they know she's at her last moments, and she can't blame them. What pains Ella (other than the slow death she's suffering, of course) is that she never managed to learn their names and thank them properly. But that, she thinks, doesn't matter either now.

April 15, 2066

[anteayer]

He was surprised at first by where he needed to go, but whatever concerns that filled his mind seemed to fade the closer he got to his destination.

That he was doing so in the small hours of the morning didn't make it hard for him in the slightest. He'd gone down this route so many times that it was impossible for him to get lost. Hence, he was making good time in his trek.

It was still strange to Gray, though, that this part of his initiation would be here of all places. Granted, he was fine with having it anywhere in the estate, but why did he keep thinking that this was more than coincidence?

Considering the fact that I'm Acanthus, it just might be the case.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the one King he was going to meet had chosen the lake precisely because of how often he frequented it. While he would go to the Arcanum to immerse himself in his own research, Gray went to the Dragon's Pool whenever he needed some time alone. He loved how quiet and peaceful it was, how it was easy there for him to pass the time in moments of self-reflection. Here, he could find the calm he needed whenever he was troubled, whether it was as simple as the stress of his classes and training, or something worse... like his nightmares of that day.

Feeling something nudging his leg, Gray looked down to find Temeraire staring up at him. The normally upbeat dragon had an anxious look on his face, and he could feel his concern through the bond they shared. "... Are you alright?"

He was quiet for a moment, before he replied. "Yeah..."

"You don't look fine", Temeraire pressed, giving him a serious stare. "You've got that look on your face, again".

"It's nothing", Gray asserted, before glancing to the side with a thoughtful frown. "There's just... a lot on my mind, right now, Temo".

He expected his companion of eight years to keep pushing the issue as usual. But all he got instead was a dismissive snort. "Well, it has been a long day, considering what we did a while back" he said, with a little of his usual cheer this time.

That drew a faint smile from Gray as he nodded in agreement. "You're probably right. Still, we've come this far. It would be a shame to leave it off, here and now...". Glancing forward, he squinted slightly as he made out a faint glow in the distance. "We're almost there. Just a little further".

Rearing up, now, the expression on Temeraire's face was one of excitement. "Shall we, then?"

Gray nodded at that, before turning to walk towards the light, a determined look on his face.

Sometime during Hikaru Shinta's trip to Arcadia from January 10-17, 2066.

[lyall]

[ She distantly remembers what it is, the moon. She remembers it in that way that you know you are breathing, that your heart is beating, that bruised knuckles and skinned knees mean you must get up and fight to live another day. You don't need the words or the names for things like that. They just are. They really just are.

She pries her gaze away from the bright circle in the sky to look around her. She does not know that the word she is looking for is 'displacement'. She sees the others who are like her milling about ( except no, not all of them were thrown into the Pit to fight and to kill in order to eat, to hide away beneath the floorboards and be allowed another opportunity to sleep ) and she lifts a hand to the center of her chest where it feels like a fist is wringing her dry.

It is strange, this 'liberation'. One of the boys -- the scrawny one who can no longer walk right -- said that they will be taken to the Lightless Lands as tributes by the command of the King. He had said the words with wet eyes and an uncomfortable expression of joy that made her shy away and slip out, past the gates to where she is standing now.

He has not been long among them, that one. Not as long as she, or the others who have had multiple turns fighting in the Pit. What could he possibly know about the cruelty of the Masters, or how promises are meaningless no matter how well-meant.

It is not that she is ungrateful. The Masters were harsh and she is not sorry that all that is left of them are the pools on the floor where the blood has yet to dry. It is just that she knows not what to expect of a monarch who names himself a weapon. ]

June 10, 2066

[interceptive]

[ Okay. So. Metro Manila? It was kind of really amazing to look at from the plane (and the plane in itself was holy shit cool), but now that she's at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, trolling down to the Departures area with her suitcase...

Segan Brooke has no words. None. Absolutely none. Redtree and Big Rock were her worlds, and they were both significantly smaller and quieter than this.

Excuse the Canadian girl, then, who's kind of gawking at everything as she heads for her destination. She's still dressed in her old uniform from Big Rock; Inquisitor Brea had told her to wear something that made her stand out. It helps, of course, that Big Rock was a school affiliated with Netsach, so the conspiracy's crest is on the shoulders of its blazer.

'Was' being the operative word. Thank you for that, Inquisitor.

Clearance doesn't take all that long, so before she knows it, she's sitting outside in the smoking area by the bustling road that cuts beside the airport, rummaging around her satchel for her pack.

Her entire life is about to start again in a place that she never dreamed she'd end up in. This merits nicotine. ]

April 7, 2066

[magicmissile]

It's weird to think that just this morning, he'd left to go look for a part time job, lost Ma, Pa, and the House this afternoon then subsequently became a Mage--holy fuck that was some acid trip or something (but it wasn't, there's a dragon sitting on his head that proves it)-- and now...

Now that he's done crying and getting angry at the local authorities, he's parked himself at an alleyway between what was left of the House and the police station, his battered laptop out and running various programs. Madge, his dragon-- he still can't believe he has a fucking dragon of his own, holy shit this is cool-- is flopped on his head, looking down at his quick fingers tap-tap-tapping away at his keyboard as he breaks into the police's systems, as well as the fire station's.

He's looking for the reports of the Faolain House fire. Only two bodies were found-- Ma's and Pa's. The other orphans were rescued from the fire, they were sent off to the hospital for treatment, and will probably be sent off to other orphanages in the surrounding cities. All except four who were missing. His siblings-- he counted them as his siblings, even though they were never blood-related. Aari wouldn't have left Ma's side, she would have helped the other orphans escape. Freyj would have done the same, and Ea and May should have been at school when the fire happened... But none of them have checked in. Their phones never rang, and he couldn't find their GPS positions, either.

So he's hacking into the system. He needs to find his siblings. He just wants to know if they're safe. Or if they've died in the fire, too, he just-- he needs to know. He has to know. They were--are his family. He has to find out what happened to them.

"Wossat, Erin?" Madge asks from on top of his head. Rin could feel his tail swish along his back; he's not as annoyed as he thought he would be about it. (Let's face it, how can he? This is a dragon. A DRAGON, holy crap, it's like, the closest connection he has with Aidan Clayce.)

"I told you, it's a fu--it's a computer, a laptop," he says, just a little irritated that it's the third time Madge asked the question. "Just-- shut up and let me work? Please?"

"But I'm bored, Erin," Madge complains. Rin huffs.

"Give me a few more minutes. I'll be done soon." He hopes he would be. He doesn't want to have to storm in the station again, demanding answers.

May 4, 2066

[duralexsedlex]

Clouds of smoke fill this fifteen-by-fifteen-foot glass room-slash-cubicle, and at the center of it all is a man working through his lunch hour. Friedrich Weiss is flipping through court transcripts at a rather superhuman pace, and consuming a cigarette every twenty pages. All of his contemporaries in this Themis department have long since gone down to have some food, but it's pretty much a given that he always forgoes lunch anyway. Inquisitor Profaci has tried, repeatedly, to get him to interact with his coworkers, but other than the cursory, necessary office chatter, he really has no patience for it.

This case, though... this case is a doozy. What does take precedence, a deceased person's will, or that deceased person's word when he comes back up as a geist? It's not such an easy question to answer. There are objective reasons why someone would write a will like they do in articulo mortis, and objective reasons why that intent might change after that person comes back as a geist. The laws struggle to catch up with the realities of a new world, even after all this time, but perhaps such is the nature of institutions: they budge, but a glacial rate, and mostly to their own behest.

Friedrich is the right person for the job, though, or so he thinks. To him, clearly, the will supersedes the geist's word, for one simple reason: a will has legal personality as a public document, whereas a geist, sentient though it may be, is still dead, and shorn of all legal personality. The laws of the World of Light must remain strong. It is one of the only things mere mortals have over supernaturals. Besides, they have their own laws, he thinks. Pleased with himself, he lights up yet another cigarette after a long pull of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (nobility has some perks), then fires up the computer to write his case memoranda. With luck, he'd be finished before the lunch hour ends, and so he can head down to the training halls and get some swordplay done. His last engagement... his bladework, he thinks, could have used some more work.