Rosie

Even though the knock on his door was faint, Jack still jumped, flinging himself onto the bed- since his first thought was that he'd somehow been spotted stashing the pills, and that if he was blocking the access to their hiding place, they wouldn't be discovered. Then, when the inital panic faded, he pressed his back against the wall, very nearly simply for the support, because it had occured to him... it had to be a doctor out there, right? Someone about to poke intrusively into his head. Because that had to be all they wanted. He didn't even know why they cared. "What?" he asked, masking the fear in his voice well- but it came out sounding pissed off instead.

Attempt number five. Or, at least, that was what Jack was trying to tell himself he was doing. He knew the others might have been content with spending time inside their own heads- or, at least, he assumed that from what he'd seen of them, on the few times he'd left his room, often not by his own volition; but he needed a goal, he'd decided. Something to work towards, something he could get out of each day. Sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest, he balanced the two pills on his palm, staring moodily down at them. They were tiny things, really. Cheap little hunks of medication that he could damn well do without. He wasn't insane. He didn't even feel wrong in the head. He didn't even know what he felt, but it was insanity. But, he supposed, with all the rush with which he'd been moved from one asylum to another, the last hadn't passed on much information about him- how could they? The only doctor who knew anything about his habits or problems had had to go, after- No. Don't think about that, idiot. Closing his fingers around the pills, Jack sighed. Even himself, he knew they looked like a child's- all too small and pale, nails bitten down to the quick. Pathetic, like he was. But he could do at least something. Pushing himself off of the bed, he cringed as his bare feet hit the cold floor, but shuffled back a few steps, reaching down and tugging, with a grunt of effort, at the mattress- or what passed for one, since it certainly was far from comfortable- and his normally dejected expression brightened for a moment. The small cluster of identical pills were jammed down there, to which he added the two he'd been given that day, replacing the mattress hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder as though he expected someone to burst in and catch him. They really must have had no help from the previous asylum, he thought, to actually believe he would take any medication he was given. Well, not at the correct time, or for medicinal purposes, at least. He damn well planned on taking it, just not over a matter of weeks, months- however long it took to collect enough for them to kill him in one fell swoop.

Raiden looked to him in surprise, for a moment left speechless. Obviously, that was somewhat embarrassing for him when he recovered, but he hid it by dropping to his knees and reaching for Ruru. He didn't grab at her, just awkwardly attempted to get her attention, keeping his head low. "Um... thanks," he mumbled. Will rolled to his feet, picking himself up neatly off the floor and, with a sigh, brushing dirt off his clothes the best he could. "Explaining to my family about this will be an interesting experience," he grumbled.

Name: Jack Beech Age: 17 Patient or Doctor or Nurse?: Patient Personality: Jack, mostly because of his disorder, is very unstable- his mood swings come hard and fast, and very often. On a good day, he is an introverted, but still vaguely pleasant, seemingly normal teenaged boy. He might be quiet, and appear down, but he'll at least respond to attempts at conversation and react rationally to things. Sadly, these good days come few and far between the bad ones, where he is twitchy, violent, easily angered and upset. Also, he doesn't even begin to show his good side directly to anyone but the other patients- he has a deep-rooted distrust for doctors, and is completely unco-operative when it comes to needing medication or therapy sessions. Biography: When Jack was fifteen, he made his fourth suicide attempt in two years. Since he'd become a teenager, his symptoms had grown worse and worse, as he grew more and more depressed. Nobody knew why- he had a quiet, ordinary home life, and at school no one bullied him, even if he never did have many friends... He refused to talk about why, even when he was caught mutilating himself, and after patching up him a few times, his dad snapped, and said they couldn't deal with it anymore. With a lot of struggle on Jack's part, they eventually got him admitted to an asylum some miles from SunnyShore, that managed to be even more run down. But his problems weren't over, even when he started accepting treatment. He would never give a reasoning behind his initial depression, but the shrink assigned to his case ended up giving him one- sexually abusing him for months until another doctor discovered what was going on. Without much word about it, he was shipped off to SunnyShore, but his utter refusal to enter meant he had to be dragged in by force and sedated, and even once he was inside, he was desperate for them to let him leave. He just wanted to get away from it all. Appearance: He's just over 6ft, with dirty blond hair that, due to his refusal to cut it, is all over his face. He used to be tanned, but two years with no time for sunbathing means there is barely a tone there anymore. He has dark green eyes, which look a lot brighter after he's been crying. He's not well built, more of average- he's slim, but not underweight, with a more delicate bone structure to his face. Jack, like the others, wears the standard uniform, but insists he be allowed a baggy, threadbare grey sweater on top- the only piece of clothing he has from before he was sent to that first asylum. Involuntary or Voluntary Admission?: Involuntary. Time there: 2 weeks. Diagnosis: Emotionally unstable (borderline) personality disorder. Bridget Jones' Diary. All Jack knew was that he had to scream. His throat was raw, burning like hell, but he kept yelling, on and on, struggling wildly. It was probably all in vain, he knew that- he'd never broken their grip before, not even when he'd been stronger. He didn't even bother trying to form words, just kept screaming, a constant, repeated, wordless cry for help. The grip on his body was tough, two men much older than him, and no matter how much he tried to flail to get gree, it didn't relent. But suddenly his arm was tugged back, the muscle at his shoulder flaring painfully as they fought to push the needle into his skin. It finally broke the surface, but Jack still didn't stop screaming, even when the thick, heavy numb sensation started crawling up his arm. He only finally grew quiet when it took effect, and even then, as he slumped against their hold on him, his legs giving out, he was still muttering in his sleep, tiny sobs shuddering in and out of his chest. [/failure]

Both accepted. <3 Bahhhhh.

"Why would you want to stay here?" Will asked, voice turning scathing. "There's nothing on this stupid island besides the spirits. You can't honestly be that dumb. There's not even any reason for us to be here anymore, so why stick around this dump?" "Don't call it a dump," Raiden nearly interrupted him. Even though his voice was quiet, there was an edge to it. "It's the closest thing to the real world I've had in years."

Can I take Terra?

because it a roleplay about Rosario+Vampire and not harry potter about . You never directly mentioned that, though, which left the impression you were trying to plagarise without giving a reference. And it wasn't a character directly from Harry Potter, word for word, I believe. Unlike your character. Which was also pretty much a direct copy.

...So it's Rosario+Vampire, then? I love how you called someone's character sheet "not very original" and then used basically the main character of Rosario+Vampire for yours, sota9. It's wonderful irony.

DDD: I miss the old CN. Granted, I like Nick still, but that's only because I adore Drake and Josh and they show reruns of it quite a lot. But I remember watching Hi Hi Puffy Ami Yumi and Teen Titans like crazy. Damn. I miss Teen Titans. They never air it in the UK anymore... :<

"I can fight just fine without one-" Zeph snapped back, just about managing not to succumb to the urge to turn around and glare at his fellow Slasher. Instead, he just raised his voice and carried on facing forwards, but that meant he was practically yelling over his shoulder at her. Oh well. It was as though he thought there was any need to be discreet- as far as he was aware, there was only one Striker around, and it didn't even occur to him that she might get any backup. "I'm not entirely useless, you know, Luna," he continued his mini-rant, refusing to even think of accepting help. After all, he'd be able to fight just fine... Once he actually made contact with Rust.

Aww, it's actually kind of pretty~ [/shot]

"Damn it, damn it, damn it...!" Zeph thought, fumbling around in his pockets for something - anything - he might be able to use as a weapon. To his dismay, in the matter of seconds he had to find something, he didn't feel anything sharp pricking at his fingers like before- so instead, he made sure to step in front of Destiny before blindly fumbling around for a grip on the Striker girl. He usually took some kind of light source with him on missions at night, and he knew he'd been stupid not to bring anything save for that zippo lighter, which had been jammed in his pocket anyway. He'd rushed on the mission, he knew that- and, for the sake of annoying Luna a little sooner, had probably quite severely handicapped himself.

Raiden pulled a face. "Um. Well. That could be interesting. I don't think I can see them. I never saw anything when I was alive before, that's for sure. Think I could still see stuff like that, even when I'm not...?" "Ah, the spirits," Will grinned, sitting up again. "How I won't miss their eternal storytelling." (( Short post is short. ._______. ))

Zeph opened his eyes, just a fraction, during her speech, and was about to cut her off- before she did it herself. When she let go, the tension in his body dropped just a bit. But any hope he'd had of continuing that illusion was gone. He was stuck in the present, he knew that- and no amount of wishing for the past could ever really take him back. "Striker?!" he repeated, the word a snarl. "What?! Where?!" After all, it was hardly his fault he couldn't see anything. He considered grabbing the lighter again, but the light it gave was tiny, pathetic- he'd barely been able to see Destiny when he was right next to her, let alone seeing anything from a distance.

He gave a short burst of a laugh, but the sound was empty, hollow- faked. His whole tone was, when he next spoke. "How am I supposed to know what "normal" is? And how d'you know this isn't normal with me?" Almost as if from a distance, he heard a loud crack- and winced, surprised at the pain in his knuckle. He'd been clenching his fists so tightly, it sounded as if he'd broken something. He didn't open his eyes, though, despite the pain. Maybe he could let himself pretend for a moment, if she wouldn't let him go.

Zeph gave a short, sharp intake of breath, in surprise- but it caught, clinging rebelliously in his throat. He tensed, hands fisted at his sides. He was determined not to move them, whether to cling to her or shove her away would cause a reaction within him, a reaction he didn't want. Any break in the barrier he'd tried to put up would be the end of his emotional control. Any movement, no matter how small or how against the embrace, would crack his resolve. But he still allowed himself to close his eyes, just for a moment letting himself believe it was okay. Nothing had ever happened, and he was ten years old, and- "Please let go of me..." he tried to snap it at her, but it sounded like he was pleading.

"I'm not going back." The harsh tone he was using stunned even him, just a little bit. He didn't normally try to be assertive about missions. He knew that. But, then again, when he'd said the words, he hadn't been thinking about the mission at all. Hell, he hadn't been thinking about anything other than himself right then. He would have happily screwed the mission, but it worked as a nice safeguard, at least. "If we stop and waste our time waiting to be ready for things, we'll fall behind and we'll-" he choked on the words, for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, his grip tightening even more. Then he suddenly dropped his hands from her, head low. He would have looked defeated were it not for the fury in his eyes. "We have to keep moving forwards." he said, like it was a mantra. Like, if he repeated the words enough times, said it surely enough, it might really work.

Cracks in the Crystal Ball; "The future can't be changed. Live to fulfil your purpose, and don't outstep your bounds. The life you have is precious, and yours alone. So follow your path and never once stray from it, for there is no point in challenging fate." From their birth, a person's entire life is already mapped out for them. Set futures, determined by the prophecies pertaining to a small group of clairvoyant men and women stationed in each city. Their future is no longer a mystery- they know everything, and are expected to live out that one path. Taught that to conform and resign to whatever their future is set out to be is the only way, the public is chained to a set life. Everything is planned for, prepared for, and accepted. And no one strays from what their future is supposed to be. But some futures are hard to deal with, especially for the individual concerned. Every now and again, people can't stand to bear the thought of what is mapped out for them, and they break the pattern. Try and crack the faith, even just a little. If they attempt to avoid whatever it is in their future they don't wish to face, however, most of society isn't just going to sit back and let them change the future. Ripples make waves, and even trying to alter their own fates can cause terrible repercussions for others...

Hazel eyes glowered down at her from under the shadow of the hood. "I'm trying to psych myself up, so I don't get so affected by the Temple when we get closer," he retorted. "Besides. I think she'll patronize me more if I'm a weak, whimpering mess, won't she?" Zeph flinched at the thought of his own words, so slightly it would normally have been inperceptable, but, with her gripping onto his shoulders like that, he was sure Luna would notice. Even just using them had brought the image to mind. But he urged himself to snap out of it, to focus. The mission. That was what was important. He had to keep moving forwards, that way it couldn't catch up to him. "Luna, let go of me," he hissed, reaching up to grab at one of her wrists, knuckles straining at the tight grip. "Let go. Destiny, let go." Zeph hadn't really meant to, but he snarled her name like it was a horrible expletive.

"Like I could hide anything," he mumbled in response, voice muffled by the fingers in his mouth. He took them out and glanced sideways at her, expression cold- his eyes narrowed, lips a scowl. "You're all pushing your asses where they aren't wanted, so sooner or later any secrets I tried to keep would get out." Zeph abruptly glanced downwards, breaking the eye contact. He kept his pace, boots slapping hard against the damp stone, dark head down. He wanted to look lost in thought, even if thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. Then he sighed, huffing the breath out so quickly it was painful. "Sorry. I'm being outta line," he groaned, but he didn't look up, and upon closer inspection, his teeth were clenched, his shoulders tenser than ever. Sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I'm sorry. Hissing a curse, he reached back and tugged his hood up, hiding his face from her. All that was visible, and awkwardly so from the side, was the set of his mouth and his dark hair, curling messily against his face from under the hood.

"Er. Nothing. I mean it. Keep your nose out my business." He'd snapped his response at her, and very nearly went and apologised right away. After all, it wasn't her fault. But then he reminded himself that he was Zephyr, and he never apologised, not for anything. Not now. He was past that. So instead he stuck his injured fingers stubbornly in his mouth, and kept walking. He was nearly stalking up the street when he picked up the pace. "Come on. You want to mess with the Strikers or not?"

"You show your emotions perfectly well," he argued. "Everyone knows when you get pissed off with me, it's the other stuff we never see from you." And he fell silent for a change, not even humming. After a few minutes of awkwardly waiting to catch her, Zeph decided to take his chances with her falling and walk normally. As such, he shoved his hands as deep into his coat pockets as he could get them, wincing slightly when something sharp pricked painfully under his fingertips. He supposed it was his own damn fault for keeping sharp objects in there, but still lifted his injured hand into the air, all but flapping it around in front of his face. Tilting it, so that the blood trickled down to his wrist, he pretended to frown, but there was still an odd, weak glee in his eyes. "Oh crap, massive blood loss. Death could be imminent," he said, examining his hand with an almost clinical interest. And then his frown froze, his eyes widening, just a fraction. Then he blinked hard, and dropped the hand to his side. "Never mind."

Zeph rolled his eyes, and let go of her- although he didn't take more than a tiny step back, hands still hovering near to her in case she suddenly fell again. She looked a little better, he could tell that, but he still couldn't shake the feeling she might just suddenly keel over. Thinking of the worst, like she'd told him to. Since when did he follow orders? "Alright, fine. The news that you do have a heart and you can be hurt might be such a shock it could induce heart attacks. And don't let it be said I don't value my fellow Slashers' heart health. So long as we head back the way we came, we should bump into her. You all but dragged me half the way back."

As Evany threw a glare his way, Will grinned briefly, the genuine smile flitting across his face for only a moment before he realised, and quickly scowled back. "Urgh, I hate cats," he complained, crinkling his nose as though he expected Ruru to suddenly start smelling bad. Then again, maybe he was just being antagonistic, snapping the first thing that came to mind. It felt natural to him, not caring what he said. Not really caring at all. With a sigh, he lay back again, threading his fingers together and resting them behind his head. "I don't have anywhere to go," he stated. Rolling his eyes, he paused for a moment, before adding, "Maybe I'll just lie here till I rot. That sounds fun." Even though he wasn't sure whether Will was truly being serious, Raiden shrugged at the statement, mentally adding a "Me too". He didn't really feel like moaning about it, though, so he didn't, instead starting to get to his feet. "'Ruru'? So that's her name. You never actuLly told me," he pointed out, glancing to Eliza. "She didn't respond too well to being called "kitty". She blanked me whenever I did it."