“You are terrifying, and strange, and beautiful... something not everybody knows how to love.”// No more people please // OcxOc

mmmmmmmm i have a new muse i've been wanting to use, if you'll have me B)

and! i can send a writing sample if needed

alrighty!

Back in Darchester, a tired, frustrated figure sat in a dimly lit office, the feather of his quill flittering erratically in the air as ink scribbled upon paper. He wrote for several minutes before he pushed the paper back and dropped the pen, a heavy huff escaping him. He leaned back in his chair with a groan and cupped a hand over his eyes to try and relieve his pounding head from having to process the light. Several small sparks of electricity flickered off his writing hand as he shook it to relieve the tension.

"Paperwork starting to get to you, huh?"

His brow furrowed and he sat upright, squinting until he recognized the familiar shape of the Ash Brigade's head medic, her sturdy form relaxing against the entrance to the Director's Office with a cup of water in hand. He managed to offer her a smile, but his drooping eyelids and unfocused gaze betrayed his exhaustion.

"He always looked busy, but I never imagined just how hard he was working," he mumbled, rubbing his face with both hands. "How does he do it?"

"Well, for one, he doesn't do it all in one session," answered Dal as she made her way to the desk and set the cup of water down in front of the Blademaster. "You've been in here for five hours straight, Iro."

Iro chuckled wearily in response, gaze dropping to the little mountains of taxes, paychecks, and budgets scattered across the desk. "That's… fair. I just don't want him to have to come back to all this after being out on missions for as long as he'll be. You know the first thing he'll do when he gets back is get right to work, Dal."

Dal smiled, leaning on the desk and folding her arms across her chest. Her sharp green gaze dropped to the number of candles dripping wax onto the desk, fixing her gaze on one of many flickering flames. "Oh, believe me, I know. But that's also why I'm here. He's out there handling those contracts all by himself."

"Mhm. He said he wanted to."

"I know, but… it's foreign land," Dal reasoned. "We don't know much about it and the resources available on the surrounding territories are few. I'm worried about him running into something he's not prepared for."

Iro clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, leaning back in the chair once more. "What're you saying, then? We can't call him back."

"But we can send someone out there to help him, right?"

The Blademaster pursed his lips, "He wouldn't like that."

"Of course he wouldn't," came Dal's light retort. "But I'd rather him come back and be angry for a few days than risk him not coming back at all."

Iro closed his eyes, taking a moment to mull over his options. He didn't doubt Aeolus's ability to fend for himself and he'd seen the careful research Aeolus had done before his departure, but, now that the thought was settling with him, it didn't settle well. There were some imperative details the Darchestran government refused to document, such as the political relationship with Igreacean, the kingdom's treatment of foreigners, and whether or not it'd actually be safe to complete contracts of any kind there. That was a bit too much of a disadvantage for Iro to have peace of mind.

With a sigh, he relented. "Alright. Who are we sending?"

i am AWAKE sorry im running on eastern standard time lmao,,, thank you!! and descriptions of physical/sexual abuse are my only triggers.

and im ready when you are! i have my character developed so i can rp him, i just gotta complete his page and then i can send it if needed

Pogo fumbled absentmindedly with the pine cone in his hands, delicate pale fingers turning the piece of nature around and plucking at its abnormalities, yet he himself paid no mind to what he was doing. His gaze was turned upwards, focused intently on the canopy of trees above him. His endeavors had gotten him lost in some woods, to which he had no problem with. He'd find his way out eventually, no matter how long that eventually would take.

It did certainly strike him as odd that such a strong smell of… something would be present in a forest, however.

Pogo's gaze, finally, drifted down, focused on the scenery ahead of him. His wandering took him now towards trees that seemed slightly more out of place than they were before; he acknowledged this with a furrowed brow.

He took a gander at his position relative to the forest, turning around and glancing at his sides, only to catch a tall, pale figure resting against one of the more distorted trees, a mug resting in their hands.

What was someone doing way out here in these woods?

He snickered. They'd probably ask him the same thing.

He approached, tossing the pine cone of his to the ground, raising a hand to try and grab the figure's attention. Maybe he could get some answers.

Pogo frowned.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, his voice cracking and breaking in the usual manner. "I just, well… this is quite the odd spot, and I was hoping you'd know where this place is."

TNT Area? Home..?

Pogo, again, glanced at the surrounding area.

"I certainly had a purpose, but I can't say that it was here," he admitted. "I, uhm… was doing a bit of ghost hunting, you see. I heard these woods had some unusual properties to them, so in I went."

He placed his hands on his hips, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "I probably should have brought a map, but hindsight is 20/20, you know."

(got his page up B) Invalid Character)

Madness and mutation. That'd make for a pretty sick band name, he thought to himself.

"Quite, quite," he murmured, pulling his satchel in front of him and shuffling through it, retrieving an EMF detector and turning it on. Its high-pitched wailing and blinking red light confirmed that this place was, indeed, rather radioactive. Pogo snickered. He'd never really made a habit of reading warnings.

"Well, while I'm not entirely sure about my resistance to radioactivity, I can say with certainty that I am sane, and will probably remain so." Sane was probably a strong word, but he had his wits about him, and that was enough for him.

"But you say this is your home. Are you immune to radioactivity? You seem, well, fine," he asked, easing up on the word 'fine', not too sure of himself.

Pogo retreated back into his thoughts for a moment, searching for any recollection of the name.

"No, can't say I have," he replied. "If they're not some sort of ghost, that is."

Cryptid. He'd heard of the word, but never thought to dabble with them. It was beginning to become clear to him that maybe he was out of his element here.

"Then… are you a cryptid?" he asked tentatively.

Pogo shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't know much."

He sighed and plopped down beside the fellow, leaning back against the tree and gazing out into the distance — whatever gazing meant to him.

"Don't think I've gotten your name, now that I think about it. I'm Alessandro, but… Pogo. Pogo is fine."

Pogo smiled, but there was no humor to it.

"Oh, I get that," he mumbled, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel. "I'll be frank with you; I see ghosts, so whatever you might happen to be isn't the strangest thing I've been around. Lots of the scary stuff is scary because it's hard to understand, so I go the route of choosing not to understand. I don't know what you are, and that's fine, ya know."

Pogo's visage turned towards Ender and his dynamic transformation, and he recoiled, his own eyes opening to reveal irises of silvery red. His heart pounded out of his chest, yet his feet remained firmly planted in the dirt, his whole body tensing with a subtle chromatic blur. From the back of his mind, an old voice revealed itself.

Oh, look, he's got a funky form, too! chirped the voice.

Too? Too? hissed Pogo. You stay out of this! We agreed you wouldn't pull shit like this!

Right, right, sorry, murmured the voice, taking on a tone of exasperation. I just got excited. Gods, you're such a killjoy.

The blur around Pogo refined itself again, and he felt his eyes close with a sigh of relief. His breathing came heavy now, and he found himself trembling.

"Hey," he breathed, sounding as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "It's alright. I-I'm not scared. Everything's fine."

Pogo took another shaky breath, then carefully approached the cowering cryptid before him. He extended an arm, his hand outstretched to help Ender to his feet — if the fellow would be willing to accept.

"See? Nothing's wrong. There's nothing either of us should worry about."