Eximius Grygla Story There are some people who are special, there always have been, and there always will be. There was never an experiment or natural occurrence to cause this phenomena, some people are just gifted. In earlier times these gifts were regarded as witchcraft and devilry, and many were rounded up, tortured, and slain. For hundreds of years people have been killed for their abilities. Nowadays, the killings are more subtle: a missing persons case, an unsolvable murder, or even framed murder. Two years ago, a group of Exceptional people in Coventry came close to uncovering a grim organization that was slaughtering people with abilities. Dirk, and his fellow members of an underground group known as Eximius, broke into the enemy's base, in an attempt to put an end to the organization, and rescue their fellow trapped Exceptionals. Then, suddenly, they vanished. Dirk, Eximius Coventry, and the lab they had entered. All gone without a trace. Across the ocean in a small town in Grygla, Minnesota, one of Dirk's Eximius groups receives a message within a small leather-bound book. One that could give them all a fighting chance. All Exceptionals will need to band together, if they are to survive. You are an Exceptional, and reside in Grygla, Minnesota. Most of you have learned to live quietly with your powers, but there are some who have no control over them. Your powers are each unique to you and could be anything from telepathy to manipulating cloth. Your powers come with their own set of side effects, but (most of) you have learned to live with them. Note: To new players unfamiliar with the "lore" of Eximius, or if the story summary is unsatisfactory or confusing, please PM me, or perhaps a previous player, and we should be able to get you the answers you need. Landscape Grygla is a small town, to the far North-West of Minnesota. For the sake of story, it's layout will be fabricated. Farmland surrounds a medium-sized residential area, that houses a bustling town center in the middle. The center is lined with shops, inns, and restaurants, the most popular of which is Bev's Grille. Cutting through the middle is West State Street. The only fast way in or out of Grygla is by State Highway 89. While crime is on average very low, Grygla seems to have hit a spike. There seem to be a lot more visitors than usual, flooding all the inns, and more importantly, the town center parking spots. Something that hasn't gone unnoticed by wary residents. Note: To players who choose to have teen characters, the school is located in the North-East side of town, just past the residential area. Rules 1. No controlling others' characters, unless given special permission. 2. No god-modding. 3. Only join if you intend to write. If you have to leave, or if you fail to write, I can kill off your character, or turn it into an NPC. 4. Communicate with one another. If you're going to do something unexpected, PM me first. 5. Don't spam with posts, or make them too long. Roughly 100-500 words will do per post. 6. Please stay up to date with posts, and read the discussion thread. 7. My word is law. 8. Teaming is not required, but highly encouraged. Having multiple writers collaborating helps the story and the characters to develop so much more! 9. Most importantly, have fun. This is a game, so have fun with it. Character As stated above, your character will have an ability that has its set of side effects. Your character's powers must be sent along with the template to me via PM before posting for approval. Characters posted before approval will not be acknowledged. While the power will be submitted to me for approval, don't add it to the public template. Make people guess as to what your character's powers are. Approved character templates should be posted in the discussion thread, so as not to disrupt the story, and for easy reference. Your characters will start just going about their daily lives. They have no knowledge of Eximius, but they probably will know about the recent rise in crime in the town. Note: To previous players who know about indievidfx, the site has been taken down, and is no longer accessible. Template Name: Age: Sex: Appearance: Aura (This ties into your character's powers. Questions regarding this can be PMed to me.): Short Bio: Personality: Miscellaneous info: Again, please PM me the template/powers before posting.
Ina Holt The early afternoon sun, and pleasant Summer breeze were lost upon Ina Holt. She was too busy sneaking through the back alleys of Grygla's town center, and ducking whenever she caught glimpse of a passerby, to stop and enjoy nature. Being only twelve years old, she would have some explaining to do if she were caught alone and out during school hours. As far as Ina was concerned, school was done. Her mother was at work, and her father was hung over in bed. She had woken up at twelve, and made herself an omelette. That was all the education she needed for the day! She glowered as she was forced to duck behind a dumpster, while one of the town's more gossipy middle-aged women passed by the alley entrance, ladden with her shopping. Ina had learned early on to avoid the women. They tended to care more about a child being out and about than the men. Ina peered out around the side of the dumpster to make sure the coast was clear. It was. She got up, and resumed her slow trek through the alley. She wasn't far now. Her heart leapt as one of the doors behind her slammed open. She ducked and whirled around, creeping behind a pile of garbage bags. It was just one of the busers from Bev's Grille taking out the trash. Ina grimaced as the sweaty man hurled the bag into the open bin by the door, then scratched his crotch before returning to work. Another reason to never go there. Ina thought to herself. Starting her walk again, she crept closer to her destination: the back entrance to the wood shop Carving & Crafts. If only it were after school and she could simply walk into the shop. She needed some carving tools, and nicking them from the displays was so much easier than rummaging through the trash for damaged ones to repair. Occasionally she would luck out and find new tools thrown back here. The store owner -an elderly man by the name of Gustav- was fast losing his sight, and often mistook a stain in a wood handle for a crack or a hole. As she reached the bin, it became apparent that today was not her lucky day. There was only one small garbage bag full of nothing but wood shavings, and one of Gustav's half-eaten sardine sandwiches. Ina shuddered at the sinful stench, and placed the bag back in the bin. Though she was often forced to eat it, Ina hated fish with a passion. "Maybe next time." She muttered to herself, turning to go back the way she had come.
Liriope Vangeorge Liriope slumped down the town streets of Grygla, scowling at passersby. This town had scarcely any nightlife and he hadn't spotted another grunge rocker all day. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his tatty black shirt, red-and-black pinstripe pants and punk boots. "This place is stupid to the max", Liriope grumbled. He was in a foul mood ever since his band abandoned him here, in this godforsaken dullsville, just 'cause he was too lazy to learn songs. "I'll show them", he said aloud, although he was probably too lazy to actually do anything about it. He stopped in front of some sort of wood shop and patted his pocket. A large wad of hundred dollar bills was in his front pocket, the dregs of what Undive (the female lead singer of his old band) had gifted him so he could support himself until he got a job. "Like I need a job", Liriope snarked to no one in particular. Aimlessly, Liriope wandere dinto an alley and spotted a little girl darting between trashcans. "You lost, chickadee?" Liriope called in his deep voice. He half-hoped the girl would not respond--he wasn't sure he wanted to get involved.
Gabriel Reeve Gabe walked with a long, smooth stride that dared anyone to try and stop him from getting wherever he needed to go. His dark brown bangs sheilded his eyes -which seemed to glow with a strange light. Occasionally he would feel a woman's -or a man's- gaze rake over his physique with either envy or open lust, but he ignored them. He had no time to deal with those kinds of things. Turning a corner, he quickly glanced up at the light to cross the street, and mistakenly locked eyes with a young woman. She instantly blushed, but her eyes were wide with a hint of fear. Quickly tearing his gaze from her, a bit of sweat beading his forhead, Gabe crossed the road in three bounds. A newspaper was clenched in his hand, and he was heading back to his apartment when he spied a man turning into an alley in the corner of his eye. "You lost, chickadee?" he was asking someone further in. Gabe halted and turned back, his body tensing. If this was one of those regular muggers he would be sure the guy never laid another finger on anyone again. Quickly dashing into a shadow and instantly blending in with his black t-shirt, Gabriel edged closer to the man, preparing to pounce if he got out of hand.
Shyla Anderson The cheering of the crowd in the stadium could be heard even above the roar of the dirt bikes. The smell of cigarettes, popcorn, and gasoline was heavy in the air. Shyla's blue cover-all was covered in dirt and her hair was a mess under the helmet. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was passing the finish line in first place. Shyla Anderson, expertly weaved through the other racers. They were quickly nearing the finish line, and she only had to pass two more contestants. Carl and Terrance. Two of the best racers she’d seen thus far. Carl McCormick was the 2nd to last racer she needed to pass. She maneuvered her dirt bike to the inner edge and as they rounded the corner she passed him. Shyla’s eyebrows knit together in determination. They would cross the finish line in less than a minute. There was no way she was going to pass Terrance in time. Out of seemingly no-where a dip in race-track appeared. Terrance lost control of his bike for a moment; that moment was all Shyla needed. She hit the gas, going as fast as she dared. She crossed the finish line and won the race. -------------------------------------- “Amazing racing today, Shy! If you win next month's race you’re going to Nationals!” Uncle Walter exclaimed as he gave a niece a giant hug. “Too bad your parents couldn’t’ be here.” Shyla smiled as she returned the hug. Then she pushed back and began fixing her hair. The blue highlight on the right side of a head giving her a bit of a wild look. “Yeah. There was a massive accident or something and mom had to go in and help out at the E.R. And dad is in a meeting with his publisher right now. That’s why I texted you.” “Well, I’m glad you did.” Uncle Walter looked around to make sure no one was nearby and lowered his voice. “Especially since you need a new regulator.” “You remembered!? Thank God.” Shyla followed her uncle to his truck and he helped load her dirt-bike in back. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a large watch. But it was much more. It was her life saver. She took off her old regulator and immediately put on the new one, attaching it like one would a watch. The digital numbers beep showing her what time it was and in the left hand corner, the number 28. Hidden underneath the regulator, on her wrist, were a series of small white scars. Needle marks. Shyla gave her uncle another grateful hug. “Thanks, Uncle Walter. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” "Oh, I'm sure you'd find your way. You always do." Walter smiled. “Now…don’t forget you can only use your ability 28 times before you need a new one. And this time…text me before you hit 3. Ok?” Shyla didn’t answer. She seemed to be staring in the distance at something, a blank look on her face. “Shy? Shy? Oh…” Walter sighed sadly and waited for her mini-seizure to pass. They didn’t happen often, thanks to the regulator…but every now and again she’d have small seizures do to her abilities. This made her doing motor-cross extra dangerous. Thankfully she’d never had one during a race, but didn’t rule out the possibility it could still happen. About 10 seconds later she blinked and looked up at her uncle. “Huh? Did you say something?” When Shyla saw the look on her uncle’s face she frowned. “Happened again…huh?” He shrugged and gestured to the car. She hated it whenever he made a big deal about it. “C’mon. Let’s get you home and tell your parents the good news.”
Teddy Jones “Start ‘er up.” The Shelby 500 thundered and spluttered, her growl drowning out all noise in the garage. Teddy soothed her with a few quick pushes on the throttle and soon she began to purr. With that, he let the handbrake go and watched as she strolled out of her den and into the afternoon sun, her black metallic fur shining gloriously. Passersby stared in awe at the majestic creature as she paced across the tarmac zoo. “That’ll do Teddy.” Bill’s voice just filtered through the growl of the beast, and Teddy kindly obeyed. He turned the keys and suddenly the Shelby fell into a mid afternoon nap. The lad was not even half way out of the car before he had started staring back at her. He had never seen one in his lifetime, let alone been able to work on one - and yet here she sat in front of ‘Bill’s Fixer’. The shop could not be more contrasting to the regal beast, with grease and oil slapped all over the walls, and the ‘b’ and ‘f’ missing from the sign above. “My, she is a beauty.” Bill said while Teddy gave her a slow stroke. She was so cool to the touch, so smooth, so... perfect. Bill gave her a wry smile before continuing, “So my boy, how did you do it this time?” Teddy let the question sink in, still mesmerised by the mechanical art. “I told you Bill... I’m a magician.” “Bull. Come on now, how’d ya do it?” Teddy looked up and gazed back at the grey haired, pot bellied fifty something and just smiled. “Bill P. Trucker, you of all people should know the secret. You taught it to me after all.” The elder gave a quizzical glance, curling his eyebrows together and blowing a long sigh through his nostrils. “Oh yea, and what’s that?” He spat on the floor and then proceeded to tapping his foot. “Always remember...” Teddy started, throwing the keys to the unaware mechanic. “...a car is like a woman...” And then Teddy smiled again. “...you’ve just got to know how to treat her right.”
Alan Moray The beat up Victory rolled down the highway, purring beneath it's rider. The black metal of the motorcycle matched with the riders faded blue jeans and leather jacket. On the side of the bike was a heavy saddle bag, and the rider wore a backpack as well. Little did anyone know that that was all that he owned in the world. Alan Moray had started off from California about six months ago, riding through the middle of the country, picking up odd jobs here and there. He was a carpenter by trade, and, while the economy had tanked pretty hard, he was still able to find enough work to stay alive. He'd just left Kansas city a few days before, and had been riding up 29, along the North Dakota border. But early that morning, for some reason, he'd decided to take a turn to the east, and head into Minnesota; the land of a thousand lakes. He was heading into a small town called Grygla, wondering to himself about why there were so many Norwegians in Minnesota, when the town finally came into view. It was quaint little place, the typical small town, at least that's what it looked like anyway. He looked down at his fuel gauge, and sighed with relief. He hadn't seen a gas station for miles, and he was almost out of gas, he'd gotten here just in time. A few minutes later, he pulled onto the main street, and into a gas station next to a mechanics shop. As he filled up a black Shelby 500 rolled out of the mechanics garage. Alan whistled, you don't see a car like that every day, especially not in the middle of no-where Minnesota. "Sweet car!" he called to the two mechanics.
Baley Warsaw The sun was high in the sky, beating down on a tractor trekking a sodden path. Two dozen gallons of milk rattled on the pulled wagon as wheels finally made contact with concrete. "Can ya believe Pa got a real live tractor? Sure works mighty fine," Baley said to her brother as the machine sputtered a dark cloud of exhaust. She breathed in the heavy scent of fresh manure, her last remembrance of home until the days end. Her and Chuck were on their way to town, the big city where there were lights that burned brighter than the sun. Electricity they called it, but she called it magic. All someone had to do was flick a switch and they made light like the Good Lord did on the first day. Chuck nodded. "Sure does. Expect we'll make profit since we'll be there before the cock crows twice," Baley's bangs flew into her eyes as Chuck went harder on the gas. "Whoa there Delilah, ya tryin' to kill us?" she yelled over the motor. "Rushin' to meet that brown eyed beauty again?" Beneath his stone stare, Baley caught the flicker of red on her brother's cheeks. "No..." He bellowed. "Well...maybe." Baley laughed, slapping her knee. "Sound the weddin' bells! She's a keeper." "Ya really think so?" Chuck asked, his face a complete beet red. "Can she cook and clean up after a slob like you? That's all we got to know," Baley said, grinning her wide smile. The tractor suddenly jerked forward as they hit a pothole, and she jumped a foot in the air. Her bottom hit the seat with a loud crack. It was Chuck's turn to chuckle. "Ya get what's comin' to ya, like Ma always say," he said, shaking his head. "Anyway, town's up ahead. Stop playin', we got work to do," "Me? Playin'?" Baley jabbed her brother with an elbow as he pulled the tractor to a stop on the side of the road. Still, he was right. Work before play. She stood up from the wobbly seat and jumped down to the ground, grabbing the clipboard from her knapsack. First up was old war veteran Mr. Rodgers, who payed a pretty penny for heavy cream. What he did with it, Baley hadn't a clue, but cash was cash. She collected the bucket of cream, calling over her shoulder. "Don't ya get any funny ideas about runnin' off with her, ya hear?" "Least she's a gentlewoman and not like some I know!" came the retort. Baley only shrugged and continued down the machine-made sidewalk, taking in the odd sights and sounds.
Sheena Ven "Awww do we have to?" "come on man, it's part of the job." Two men stood outside the front gate of a large house, a very large house. enough to fit 12 people comfortably, it was right now inhabited by one person. "I know, but I think she's some sort of Serial killer, I mean no body else lives in the house but her, and it's messy and run down and gross." The second man who was short and pudgy nodded his head in agreement. "Well, she may not be the only body in there, if you get what I mean?" He teased his coworker with a grim voice. "Gahh, see your not helping!" "Don't be a wuss, just walk up and ring the door bell." His partner a taller gentlemen hesitantly walked past the dying rose bushes, the unkept grass, the only tree on the block that was fallen over, and rung the door. silence, after a minute slow foot steps began to sound like that of a movie killer. Thud...thud...thud... The door creaked open ever so slightly. a woman with a plain white sleeveless shirt and tattered old jeans peeked through the door. Well she didn't look scary in the slightest. actually she was kind of pretty. "Well?" she scoffed in a very slight ebonic accent. "Erhm, we're with the bank-" a few hundred dollars flew into his face and the door slammed shut, scaring the birds in the neighboring tree's away. "You have your money, no get off my property." she sounded through the door. "Yes ma'am." the gentlemen picked up the bundle of money and headed back to his coworker. "Well?" the pudgy one asked. "well if she wasn't so damn creepy I would totally bang her." The two laughed as they drove away, "Nice one James." ...... Sheena sat on her couch among the litter that had collected over the years, surrounded by dry trash she did nothing, not even move for hours on end. starring with out reason into space, her tv was on, it was always on though she barely watched it. a spider suddenly fell on her lap from the ceiling. she smiled glowing not with fear but compassion. "you're still alive? you should leave while you can. some men came to my house last week asking for money, bankers really are stubborn. Say, what have you been up to? I saw you caught that fly, that was a good catch. you should feel proud of your self. did you eat it yet? no? that's smart of you." She spoke with the spider on her hand slowly walking towards the window were she let the spider free gently placing it on a leaf. "Sorry I made you loose your meal, but it's for the best. I know beside my porch their are plenty of flies go their okay?" With that she closed the window and went back to her lonely post in front of the t.v And in other news a tragedy has struck our little town today as James Wator died today, autopsy is still not sure what caused his death, our hearts go out to his family. mike back to you, right so our weatherfo- Sheena turned off the tv for the first time in a long time. she sat on the couch starring at the blank screen. she looked towards where she had placed the spider, it's legs tucked into it's self twitching every so often before falling still. curling up on her couch, sniffles erupting to the rhythm of a leaky pipe, she silently cried her self to sleep.
Camille Perrie: Routine Camille shoved her glasses back up her nose and looked up from her book. Radish, who had been snoozing at her feet sat up stretched and wandered over to the door, his plumed tail waving. "Ever hopeful, aren't you brat?" The husky mix woofed softly in reply. Glancing first at the clock and then at the bright afternoon sunshine streaming through the front windows and the glass fronted door of The Grammar Hammer, Camille laid down her tattered copy of Arabella. "All right. Just a quick turn around the block and some coffee, then it's back to work." Radish bounced, his tags jingling like bells as he retrieved his leash from its shelf behind the counter. Camille took the worn leather lead and attached it to the dog's collar. She flipped over the Back In Fifteen Minutes sign, threw on her hat, and headed out into the warm summer sunshine. Her sandals and Radish's paws sent out a steady cadence as they progressed along the sidewalk. Abstractly she noticed the daily rhythm of Grygla repeat itself. Mr. Jennings mowing the lawn, old Ms. Cady on her porch swing. Kids splashing in wading pools and chasing through sprinklers...The creepy tumbledown Victorian near the corner. The usual. She turned the corner onto Lockingworth Road, passing Bill Tucker's garage. Spotting Bill and Teddy and a rather spectacular car, she smiled and waved. "Afternoon, guys." Camille called as she continued on her way toward the coffee shop. A motorcycle growled from the road, Radish growled back. "Can it, Dish. You know that thing isn't going to hurt you." She admonished with a smile. Curious, she cast a glance back over her shoulder as the bike went by. An old Victory. Not a local.
Brian Mitchell............lives his troubled life Brian was sitting in one of the many cafes in the small town of Gyrgla. He was a young man.......20 in fact. But he looked much older mainly due to how hairy and unkempt he looked. His long orange hair hung passed his ears and covered a good portion of his eyes. The hair was messy not dirty but he certainly hadn't combed it in a few days. His orange beard was slightly starting fall from his face so it hung a little. He looking through the newspaper he was holding and taking small bites of his burger. He didn't normally look into the news but he had to be sure he hadn't had a slip up and somehow lost control. If that freak got out it would be trouble for the whole town. He avoided contact with people mostly......mainly because he didn't want anyone to get hurt and he didn't want to feed the beast. Brian finished his meal and stood up. He didn't have anywhere to be so he figured he'd walk a little. At least to clear his mind thinking about him probably was good for the son of a bitch. So with that Brian walked out into the streets trying to think good things. He found it difficult. But he had to keep moving.
Gabriel Reeve Gabe looked up and spotted a man coming out of a cafe just down the street, walking towards him. He gritted his teeth and glanced again at the man in the alley, waiting for an answer from whoever was behind the dumpster -he couldn't see who- and felt something like static electricity begin to build in his body. Not good. He was getting tense -he couldn't afford to get out of control here. The other one was getting closer -his faded orange mane and beard standing out sharply from the other people as they walked along, going about their own buisness. Gabreil's muscles were coiled, ready to spring, and his blue eyes flashed gold for a second. A man who was walking in front of orange-hair stumbled suddenly as he met eyes with Gabe, his face going pale and a choking noise burbling in his throat as he halted and dropped his breifcase to clutch at his chest. Gabe drew his eyes away, but the man continued making the odd noise, Damn it. I lost control for a second. I hope no one thinks it was me who did that. he thought worriedly, backing into a doorway to avoid notice.
Brian's eyes widened as he looked at the man who seemed to choking on something. He really didn't want to get involved but......he wasn't the type to leave people to their fates. He sighed heavily.....hopefully his power wouldn't kick in. Brian quickly walked over to the choking man. "Hey buddy are you okay?" He asked.......dumb question. He didn't know the Heimlich maneuver.......at least he didn't know how to do it properly. Brian looked around nervously......he spotted Gabe. Big guy...he was sort of scary. Oh well Brian was used to scary. "Hey buddy this guy needs help." He said in a bit of panicky tone.
Teddy Jones Just then Camille passed by with a smile and a wave, so the mechanics returned the gesture in kind. “Hello Camille." Through their dirt ridden faces two pairs of pearly whites shone through, and as she turned away they both watched the sun bounce off her radiant red hair. “She’s a weird one, that girl.” Bill started, giving Teddy a nudge to listen closer. The lad sighed and held his hand to his face, weary of his uncle’s everyday suspicions. “She’s only weird to you because she actually has a brain. Unlike some people.” Teddy then gave the old man a sharp prod to the temple, forcing a fierce waving of hands and a lot of abusive language. But Teddy just stood there and laughed. “Sweet car!” Over all their bickering, they hadn’t even heard the trudging engine of a worn down black Victory sitting thirty yards away. A man was perched on the leather, sporting long brown hair and a look that could only be described as ‘rough around the edges’. After a long and awkward pause, filled with a bustle of wind and the occasion horn sounding off, the rider spoke once more. “I said, sweet car.” Finally the mechanics focused on the voice, and both tried to hide their slightly rosy cheeks. Bill took the mantle, though a little startled. “Yea, er... the car... oh the Shelby? Yea she’s a real pretty thing.” The bond had been formed and the older gent moved closer, ready to talk motorhead to motorhead. “She’s in glorious condition. A 1967 Shelby GT500, 7 litre V8 engine, does 0 to 60 in 7.1 seconds.” Bill was no long looking at the youngster, only the beast on the tarmac next to him. “She’s a real blast from the past. Shame she’s not ours though.” Teddy chipped in to steer the conversation elsewhere, worried that the old timer would forget anyone else was even here. “So, are you filling up over there or can we help repair your hog? That battery of yours is looking a little low.”
Grygla Public School was a medium-sized educational center on the northeast side of town. Due to the town’s small population, the single facility catered to all age groups, from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Five days a week, little kids, big kids, and not-quite-kids-anymore were herded inside, where they were fed a steady diet of literature, mathematics, and other things they swore they’d never use (but did anyway). In a way, they weren’t so different from the cattle on their parents’ farms. The school fattened them up with knowledge and fed them to the hungry world outside. Evangeline was quite familiar with Grygla Public School, especially its nurse’s office, where she’d worked for a few years. That had been a long time ago… at least that’s what everyone else said. To her, it felt like yesterday. The present nurse was borderline incompetent and good help was hard to find, so they kept calling Eva back. And she kept coming, despite having other obligations. “I don’t feel so good,” little Suzie Gordon said, slowly sitting up on the soft couch in the nurse’s office where she’d been lying down to settle her stomach. Evangeline casually glanced up from the computer screen where she’d been lazily reading the latest news. The school’s technology was terribly outdated. There were few computers, and the ones they had were ancient, like everything in Grygla. Rule number one of living in Nowhere, Minnesota: bring your own laptop. The town didn’t even have cellular service until a few years ago. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Suzie groaned, clutching her stomach. Evangeline asked if she could make it to the restroom, to which the girl quickly shook her head. With a disappointed sigh, the doctor slid the wastebasket out from beneath her desk and, a few seconds later, the girl emptied her stomach into it. Ignoring the sweet symphony of a child’s digestive system going full throttle in reverse, Doctor Albrite continued reading up on the latest news. It’s not as if she hadn’t heard this before. Another person found dead. James Wator… he’d visited her for a check-up a few weeks ago and was in perfect health. Murder. It wasn’t the killings that bothered her, it was the killer. There was a knock at the door and Evangeline looked up to see the assistant principle, Mrs. Smith, standing there. “Good news. Alice says she’s feeling better and will be able to come in after all,” the woman said with an encouraging smile. “And Suzie's mother’s here. She’s waiting in the front office.” Nonplussed, Evangeline opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and chose another response. “I’m always glad to help,” she said kindly as she stood and gathered her things. “Thank you so much for your help,” Mrs. Smith added. “I’m sorry for calling on such short notice. I don’t know where we’d be without you, Eva. I think there's a bug going around.” “I’m always glad to help,” Dr. Albrite said again before turning to Suzie and placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Drink plenty of fluids. Some hot soup and orange juice should have you feeling better in no time,” she added with a friendly smile. “And what do we do when we aren’t feeling well?” “Stay away from school, so we don’t get our friends sick,” Suzie added weakly, still feeling a little ill. “Exactly,” Dr. Albrite said and tucked a lollipop into the girl’s tiny hands. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the front office.” A few minutes later, mother and child were reunited and Dr. Evangeline Albrite was free of the school and was making her way down the front steps. She soon reached her car, a silver late model Audi which looked very out of place amidst the pickup trucks and tractors that roamed the streets of Grygla. In fact, Eva herself looked out of place, in her business attire and white doctor's coat, a sophisticated city girl in a backwater town. She belonged on Wall Street or in one of the big metropolitan hospitals, not here, at the ass end of nowhere. With a sigh, she climbed inside, set her briefcase on the passenger seat. I could go for a latte about now, she thought as she started the car. But there was no such thing in Grygla. She'd have to settle for coffee instead.
Ina Holt Ina stared at the tall skinny man in front of her, sizing him up. He didn't look as though he cared much about her answer, in fact, if he hadn't been the only one in the alley, she wouldn't have guessed him to have been the one that talked. She walked closer to where the man stood, still raking him up and down with her eyes. If he were a mugger, (and she doubted he was) she'd be safer closer to the entrance of the alley, where she'd be more easily seen. She examined a bulge in his pocket. Either he was perversely happy, or there was something large (and possibly valuable) in his pocket. As she opened her mouth to speak, a man behind the skinny guy flopped in front of the alley, pale, and gasping for air. In a flash, another man was by his side, calling for assistance with the choking man. Pretty busy alley. Ina thought to herself. She needed to get a move on, all the commotion was going to draw even more attention. Making up her mind, she ran forward to the choking man, and stuck the toe of her shoe into a crack in the ground. She tripped, and fell into the two men, reaching to the side as she did. It was a well executed move, she thought, as her hand reappeared from the choking man's back pocket. She winced, as she felt her black eye spin in its socket. A green tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it aside before anyone could notice. Her left eye always burned when she used her power, but she was hoping the payoff would be worth it this time. "Ah, I'm sorry!" She said, disengaging herself from the pile of bodies, "Sorry!" She jumped to her feet, and started to run to down the street away from the crowd. She looked back once, to see the skinny man again. As she did, she felt another green tear bleed from her black eye. "Crap!" She looked away, and brushed her cheek dry, hoping he hadn't seen. She kept running up the street, weaving through cars and shoppers, a smile stretching across her face. That had been the most excitement she'd had all week! She slowed to a walk, when a stitch started in her side. She huffed, as she passed the coffee shop. There was a woman ahead, talking to a cyclist. Ina kept walking toward them, trying not to look suspicious. With the rush of adrenaline fading away, she realized she had run right into the middle of town.
Camille: Strangers and Smoothies A cheery silver bell clanged overhead as Camille pulled open the glass fronted door of Java Speak. Camille looked around, surprised by the sheer number of strangers crowding the tables. Pulling off her hat, she tucked it into her leather messenger bag and pulled out her wallet. Radish pressed tight against her slender calves, tucking his head into the folds of her bright blue sundress. "What's the matter, babe?" She asked, looking down at the dog. Usually he loved coming into Java Speak, a shameless flirt, he was known to all the regulars. Radish peeked around her knees in the direction of two strange men in custom made black suits. Camille blinked and pushed her glasses back up her nose, wondering if she was seeing things. Nope. Two guys in black wool suits in the middle of podunk Minnesota in this heat. Weird. "Hey, Miss Camille. The regular?" Artie Schwiger, the owner of Java Speak, asked. Camille nodded and in a quiet undertone added. "What's with the gorillas in wool?" Artie shrugged. "Don't know. Showed up a couple of days ago, not too long after they found that body in the alley off State." "Have they gotten an I.D.?" "Nope. All they know is that it's a man, who obviously isn't a local. If anyone around here knew who it was they would have said something by now. Luckily no one has been reported missing. Yet." A slender dark brow arched in query. Artie cast a calculated glance over the assembled throng. There was no one else in line. "Take a gander around you, Miss Camille. How many of these folks do you recognize?" Camille glanced around. "Maybe five or six." "Out of more than twenty." Artie concluded. "Something hokey is going on, and I don't like it one little bit." Biting back a smile at Artie's huffy, overprotective tone, she asked. "Are your bones telling you this?" "Maybe." Artie conceded as he set her strawberry smoothy on the counter and swiped her card. "Just promise me you'll be careful, sweetie." Camille grinned. "This is Grygla, Artie. What could possibly happen? I've been here twenty-three years and nothing changes." Taking a sip of her smoothie, she tugged her sun hat out and plopped it back on. With a wave, she called over her shoulder. "Thanks, Artie. See you tomorrow." The bell clanged again as she headed back out into the warm day.
Shyla Anderson Uncle Walter parked his black Chevrolet truck in front of ‘Bill’s Fixer.’ Shyla jumped out of the truck waving a hand in greeting to Bill and Teddy, as her uncle pulled her blue motorcross dirt bike out of the bed of the truck. She was still in her dirt speckled racing suit. She'd known Bill and Teddy for the past 4 years or so. She had yet to find a place that could tune up and repair her dirt-bikes like they did. They gave her large discount, and in exchange she advertised their shop on her uniform. It was one of the few advertisements she had to flaunt around. "Hey, Bill...Teddy! Guess what!" Shyla said excitedly. There were more people than usual in front of his shop but that didn't stop her from sharing her good news. Without waiting for an answer she pulled out her gold medal and held it up for them to see. "I won the race today. Did you see it on t.v.?"
Gabriel Reeve "Hey buddy this guy needs help." the man called and Gabe froze, wanting to kick himself. So much for not being spotted. Then a girl ran out of the alley and bowled over the two of them, apologizing as she fled. That was what he should be doing -fleeing. Gabriel quickly locked eyes with the choking man and the guy's spasms eased, his airways supposedly "clearing". The guy instantly forgot what had happened and stood up, brushing himself off and looking a bit confused before taking his briefcase and walking away again. "Seems fine to me." he said quietly, his eyes a dull blue again, "Uhh . . . if you'll excuse me . .. i gotta go . . ." edging away, he quickly darted down the sidewalk.
Baley Warsaw Baley whistled as she smoothed the crisp five dollar bill between her gloved hands. Five whole dollars could get her one of those coffee drinks she always saw the town-folk carry, but this was Ma and Pa's money not hers. She'd get her fair share of course, after some bills were paid off. Two years with the new farm and still they had a tight budget to meet. Baley sighed as she pocketed the bill with the others and went back to studying her gloves. She flicked her wrists a few times and checked the leather to find any holes or snags. All looked good, but she knew full well that one could never be too careful around these parts. Just in case she got caught in a pickle, she had packed another set in the knapsack bag across her shoulders. Running back to where the tractor was parked, Chuck was no where in sight. Baley snorted as she grabbed another bucket off the wagon. Her boots left clods of dry cowpies on the pavement as she started down the opposite street to Ms. Bert, a woman who'd gone blind and was deaf in one ear. Squinting in the harsh sunlight, Baley took in the queer life of the town-folk. The street she was on was a quiet one, but several motor vehicles lined the curbs. What she would give to be able to drive; to even sit in one of those shiny contraptions. She'd read in a book once that being sixteen was plenty old enough to learn how to make one move. How did a vehicle work, anyway? Baley soon got caught up in her thoughts as she continued down the sidewalk and her feet carried her to the doorstep of old Ms. Bert's house. A gust of warm wind swept through the small neighborhood and for a second, Baley stared stupidly at the bleach white door. "That's about enough daydreamin' about swanky technology..." she muttered to herself. Setting down the milk, she ignored the large doorbell and gave two hard knocks on the heavy door. No answer. She knocked again. No answer. "Ms. Bert, ya there? It's me Baley Warsaw," she yelled and gave two more steady knocks. Hm. The old woman must be napping. A minute of rummaging through her bag for a pencil and Baley finally scrawled a rough note to lay on top of the milk bucket. She could only pray that one of Ms. Bert's daily caretakers would notice it. Once the job was done she headed back to the tractor. Her last stops were to the richer folk higher up in town; the ones she had come to dread every week. She didn't need to be constantly reminded to visit the barber. Flicking her bangs out of her eyes, she grabbed up the remaining two buckets, one in each hand to distribute the weight. With her small stature she could almost resemble a measuring scale, but as she trudged into the heart of town, Baley bid no heed to her appearance.
Alan Alan had finished pumping gas into his bike, but stood for a moment observing the workings of the small town. The midwest was an odd place, nothing like the frantic congestion of LA. Alan found that he rather liked it. It really seemed like everyone knew each other. Getting back on his bike, he dropped the clutch and it purred to life beneath him. The Victory Hammer 8-Ball, 2005 model, was basically his home. He'd bought it in LA at a repo auction for six hundred dollars, a steal. It had seen better days, having been crashed before he got it, but he had patched it back together and then set off across the country on it. It was a dependable bike... Wait, what was that noise? There was an odd rattle coming from the engine, and it felt like it was misfiring... *BANG* The sound echoed through the town. Alan hurried to cut the throttle as the engine died and backfired. "Dammit," he jumped off and started tinkering with the carburetor. He was praying that it had just gotten misadjusted from driving, and once he'd tinkered with it for a little while, he got back on and tried starting it. Nothing. "C'mon, c'mon!" he exclaimed, popping the clutch again and again. Finally, giving up, looked at it for a moment, then back to the mechanics shop next to the gas station. Ill's Ixer, was apparently it's name. Not exactly inspiring of confidence, but someone had trusted them with a Shelby, so he had to at least partially know his stuff. Leaving his bike at the gas station, he walked over to the mechanics lot, and noticed that there was a girl in a motocross outfit unloading a bike from the back of a pickup truck. "So you guys work on bikes?" Alan shouted. He had a bad feeling that there was something beyond his skill to repair wrong with his bike.
Liriope One second Liriope was asking the little girlie if she was alright, and the next she was tripping and dashing off down the street. For a second he thought he saw something glinting on her cheek--a tear streak? "Dammit...was that little waif crying?", he growled to himself, obviously in a bind. Should he chase the ragamuffin, or get on with his day. Not like he had any plans, he was just going back to his loft to watch The Craft for the umpteenth time and drink ginger beer. But that wouldn't be the right thing to do, and for once Liriope's sense of right outweighed his laziness. "Hey yo girl, wait up!" Liriope yelled and dashed after the girl. He immediately started huffing and felt a tight pain in his chest. Damn, I havn't ran since...well, I can't even 'member when! "Girl, I said wait!", he said with a tinge of frustrated anger. The tall gangly rocker continued after her.
Ina Holt As Ina walked along the sidewalks, she peered into the windows of the shops. Most of the people that saw her didn't even give her a second glance. She wished she would have known that before, she would have just walked into Carving & Crafts. She always assumed that people would look at her as an individual, and often forgot that if she following closely behind an adult, others would assume she was their kid. As she passed in front of "ill's ixer", she heard a voice. "Girl, I said wait!" She turned to look behind her. To her surprise, the skinny guy from before was behind her, and closing the gap. She hadn't expected anyone to follow her. Nervously, she took a step back. Had he seen anything? It wouldn't do her much good to run. Best to get it out of the way now. She waited for him to catch up. He couldn't do anything to her in front of a mechanic shop. As the man approached, she put on an innocent face. "Can I help you with something?" She asked.
Liriope "Can I help you with something?" She asked. "Yeah, you can, chica", Liriope panted. He was breathing hard from his run and his shaggy hair was windblown and wild. "Are you homeless or somethin'? I saw you behind those Dumpsters. Were you lookin' for food? 'cause they have places for that, you know." He sounded kind of grumpy, but despite his rough attitude he actually was kind of concerned. As he waited for the girl to reply, Liriope happened to glance up and he saw a pigeon on the phone line wiggle its tail feathers and poop. "Eww, gross to the max!", Liriope grumbled, and by reflex flicked his fingers and conjured a thin sheet of blue energy that blocked the bird poop. The sheet bounced the foul splurge onto the sidewalk and then it disapeared in the wink of an eye--the whole thing took only a couple seconds. "Well, are you gonna answer me?", Liriope growled. He wasn't even worried if the girl saw him use his talent--most people weren't very observant.
