Young Writers Society

An intelligence agency in the United States, Sector 3073, was founded in 5 January 1916 to combat a peculiar comeuppance of supernatural behavior in the United States during World War I. Though the existence of this organization is unknown to all American citizens, as well as many higher levels of the CIA/NSA.

You are a member of this organization, and as an agent--or spy, if you want--it is your sworn duty to route out any demonic presence encountered on any international soil.

Now that the flavor text is out of the way, there are six main slots in the cast, and the remainder will be available as "Smaller Dose" characters. Here's the layout as projected from loyalty:

1. Kite Collins - Lumi (Squad leader, shot-caller)
2. Jensen - @Blackwood (Sweeper, Muscle)
3. Tabitha idk - @Auxiira (The Heart, Team Engineer, Analyst)
4. Chel - @Bloo (Smart Girl, Eccentric cultaku & trigger finger; The Magnet)
5. Haille - @Stegosaurus (The Chick, Ball Buster, Sharpshooter)
6. Open, requested as Male or agender.

Lighter Dose:
1. Sophie McKenzie - @StellaThomas (Team mom, med support)
2. Marquee Manderville - @Lumi (Snark Knight, Tab's love interest, Engineer)
x

Pinged for loyalty:

Character Template

Code: Select all

[center][bebas]Firstname Lastname[/bebas][/center]

[bebas]Basic Information Ain't No Fool Need To Know[/bebas]
[b]Gender:[/b] Or pronouns, if we're going down that street.
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Five-Man Band Role:[/b]
[b]Recurring Tropes:[/b]
[b]Fighting Style:[/b]
[b]Signature Weapon:[/b]

[bebas]Appearance & Habits[/bebas]


[bebas]Personality & Behavior[/bebas]

And, just so you all know, we're starting by crashing a Holy Ghost church service in Georgia. So...be ready for that.

"Mister Collins was a brave and darling son of Roy and June Collins, brother to Sally Collins-Banks, and lover to Ma--Banks, why the hell am I reading my own obituary?"

"I want you to remember how your family reacted when you died."

"I was eighteen, and they put all their attention on Sally. Pop took up martinis."

"And what do we call those things?"

Kite tossed the 1914 newspaper into a trash bin beside his desk and kicked his feet up. "Coping mechanisms." Lit a cigar. "Why the shudden interesht?"

Director Banks tossed a fresh newspaper from Georgia on the desktop. Kite picked it up and scanned the page before dropping it, jaw open, cigar fallen into his lap. "Well shit."

Gauss picked it up and slapped his palm with it, sighing. "My connections in Atlanta say that your old lady put up a good fight."

Kite growled under his breath. "I bet it was all those goddamn pills."

"I don't think so."

Kite grunted--almost a laugh--and picked up his cigar. "Oh what, did you have Chel run a palm reading on the corpse?"

Banks placed a small plastic container on the desk containing a spent bullet. "No, but my friends in ballistics read the palm on her shooter."

The cigar fell again. Kite's eyes were wide. Shocked. He was never shocked. "Ma was shot?"

"Twice."

"Ma was shot twice..."

Banks straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "Eye witnesses claim June was walking through town--towards a church--and was gunned down by..." Banks cleared his throat and looked off at the wall where a hand-painted portrait of a woman with a pipe in her teeth hung among others, only it wasn't framed.

"You gonna finish the story, or just stare at Tabs all day?"

"Oh, so that's Tabs."

"As long as she doesn't know, yes."

"So you two are...?"

Kite flattened his eyebrows. "Partners in an organization that doesn't exist, fighting beings that don't exist under identities that don't exist. Jesus, Banks, it's like you don't know me at all." Kite's cigar was back in play.

Banks slowly nodded. "You're right. I know you goddamn well, Collins." He leaned against the desk with one hip. "So she's asleep at your place?"

Kite waggled his eyebrows. "I left her some breakfast in bed."



Meanwhile, Tabitha awoke with a start from a dream that did not startle her in the least--but rather the fact that she was having a dream in the first place? That was strange. Anyway, she woke with a start, like we established, and jerked the covers over her chest, toppling a tower of flapjacks into a bowl of fruit, that bowl of fruit into a glass of pineapple juice (because pineapples were her favorites), and that pineapple juice into Kite's very comfy, very expensive, very stolen Persian silk sheets.

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'll never hear the end of this." And she opened her eyes, squinting in the morning light to see the sun shafts resting on a canvas with an incomplete portrait of her nude, sleeping body. "Nope, definitely hearing the end of this. Now."



Kite glanced off into the distance, having the distinct feeling that his sheets were wet.

"They were preachers."

Kite looked up and blinked. "Come again?"

"Your mama," he repeated, "was shot down by preachers."

"Somehow I feel like we can't just chalk this up to me having a deep-rooted mistrust of religion, can we?"

"Preacher men in the Bible Belt don't kill innocent, church-going women without a reason."

Kite sighed. "What's the working theory?"

"Possession. Ironic, I know, but we ruled out all that holy business a long time ago."

"Why Ma, though?"

"We believe their boss may have pieced together that she was the mother of one of our best agents. That's more than reason enough to have a sweet old lady gunned down in the Georgia sun."

"Recon team?"

"Normally, I would've dispatched Chel already, but..."

"Shiiiiiiit," Kite groaned. "You're using me as bait!"

"No," assured Banks. "We're using the funeral as bait." He straightened his tie. "You'll be giving the eulogy, however."

"And I trust that my family won't be there."

Banks walked to the door before raising an eyebrow. "Collins, you've been dead for over a decade." He shook his head. "We don't operate with ghosts."

"You might want to reconsider that."

Kite's eyes grew wide. Banks was gone. Already goddamn gone. Tabitha stormed through the office door with her sleeping portrait in-hand. She glared at Kite. "Good mornin', lil' Tabby Cat--!"

"If you think you can turn my apartment rennovations into one of your disgusting conquests!--"

"Good morning, Tabs," called Chel as she passed in the hall.

"Morning, Chel!" She turned back to Kite, throwing the painting on the floor. "You're GODDAMN WRONG." And somehow, she lit it on fire.

Kite nodded slowly, thrumming his fingers on his desk. "I must still be lucky, though, right? I mean, hey! At least you didn't throw water in my face like the last girl."

Then, quite appropriately, the sprinklers turned on. Tabs lifted an eyebrow and strutted out. And though Kite was blinking through the water, he couldn't help but watch her ass sway.In the back of his mind, some old wisdom rang. Whenever an angry woman storms out, another will come to take her place.

"Banks wants me to play your sister." Chel took the seat across from Kite, unphased by the water raining down on them. Her eyes drifted for a moment, spotting the crumpled newspaper in Kite's trashbin. Her hands instinctively reached to snatch it before the ink drained away. "How sad do you think she would be? I hope I don't need to whip up sorrow drops. My eyes always feel like sand for weeks after. Why do people like sand anyway? I mean, you wouldn't go for a romantic stroll in gravel. And sands just a more annoying version of that. I guess its more for the water, right? One time, I had a dream, where I was hunting a demon who could control water. I tried to shoot him, but he pinned me down with these tentcle--"

"Stop!" Kite wiped the water from his forehead, however pointless the action was. "First rule of being my sister: none of your weird fetish shit"

"Just because you lack the ability to look past conventional beauty doesn't make me weird."

"No, I'm postive that's the definition of weird."

Chel's pupils jerked to the tops of her eyes, the tell-tell sign she was tapping into her inner encyclopedia. "Weird: An adjective used to describe things of supernatural or uncanny origin." Her puipls returned to their rightful place. "Okay, I concede that one."

Kite slammed his hands against his desk and pushed himself to his feet, and walked out of the raining room. Chel following close, bordering on invasion of personal space, behind him, pulling out the newspaper once they were dry. "I didn't know you played the piano.I taught myself awhile back, it's actully pretty matha-"

"What are you on about now?" Kite turned back, his eyes landing on the crumpled, damp paper. "Give me that." He yanked the paper away from Chel, mumbling about his personal buisness. Chel's grip only allowed him to tear away the top, but it had the euology so it was fine by him."How desperate are you for books that you're digging through the trash?" But Chel had already forgotten about him, enthralled in the bottom half of her newspaper. "....I need some goddamn testosterone."

Kite stormed down the hall, hands banging against the walls as he shouted with all his might "JENSON YOU SON OF A SUCCUBUS GET YOUR ASS OUTTA BED." Kite felt a tap on his shoulder, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to find Jensen behind him, clothed in nothing but a towel. "Oh."

"Good morning to you too." Jenson walked past Kite and into his room, leaving the door open a crack to talk. "And how are you this fine morning?"

"Eh, more of the same." Kite leaned against the wall. "Tabs screamed a bit, Chel was..."

"Chel?" Jenson offered.

"Yeah." Kite pulled a ciggeritte from his breast pocket. After all the drinks and other fluids Kite had been bombared with over the years, he had demanded Tabs make him some waterproof rolls. "Plus my Ma got shot. Twice. By some demons. Who were also preachors'

Jenson's head shot out the door. "is she okay?"

"She's fuckin' peachy." Kite brought the lighter to his cig, letting himself enjoy the sound of the cackling flames as he took his drag. "On bed rest. Permantly. In the ground."

Jenson blinked a few times. "You seem to be taking it well."

Kite turned with a glare. "Hey' don't go all touchy-feely with me, Jenny."

Jenson peeled back into the room. "One of these days, that repression is gonna bite you in the ass."

"I'll bite you in the ass if you don't shut it."

"Don't make threats you can't cash."

"You're right, but I know who would." Kite cupped his hands around his mouth. " HEY CHEL!"

The door pulled shut with a heavy slam, followed by a thud as Jenson collapsed against it. "Not funny, Kite." Even through the door Kite could hear Jenson's heavy sigh. "You seriously don't have anything you want to vent?"

"Nope." Kite took a heavy drag off his cig, "The whole being a dead myself helps." Kite tapped the butt of his cig against the wall, fingers a bit twitchy. "But, if you insist on being a pansy, I guess you could. I mean, there's this-" Kite turned to a tap on his shoulder. "Oh, what do you need, Chel?"

"You just screamed my name, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Kite laughed.

The door cracked open, Jenson stepping out, this time fully clothed. "What are you mumbling about out there, I can barely hear a thing-"

"Jenson!" Chel lunged at the sunglassed biker, pulling him into a tight hug. Above her, Jenson cringed, trying his best to peel out of it.

"Back from your mission I see..." Jenson trailed.

"On hold, actullly. Banks is making the funeral top priority."

"A funeral?" Jenson turned to Kite. "Were you even going to telll me?"

"What, like you need to be there?" Kite squirmed a few steps back from the others.

"Oh, you deffinately do." Chel chimed. "He's going to need the emotuional support, I mean just read his body language. There is a breakdown coming."

Kite whipped a finger in front of Chel's face. "What did we say about psychoanalyzing?"

"Only at the bar so you know which girls have daddy issues?"

"Exactly," Kite pulled out another cig. "Speaking of which, we should probably find Tabs before she sets off another sprinkler."