welcome to the end of eras | joining

✱ it's twelve o'clock
in soho, baby

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CALEM DELLAMORTE

Calem was... bored. No, not bored; restless. He was sick of all of this loner business, carrying on by himself and only finding occasional company in wanderers who crossed his path. Clearly, he was not made for isolation: he had been raised in a rather tight-knit unit, and had never gone lacking for companionship. When he decided someone should be paying attention to him, it was fairly simple to accomplish that in the coven.

Such a feat was not so easy out on the plains on his own. He didn't particularly care for the experience, thank you.

Which was why he was... here. Calem didn't know where here was, per se, but here was where the runes had pointed him. Here felt right, or as right as it could, all things considered. No specters had risen to warn him away yet, and the energy of the place felt good enough. He'd have to do a closer analysis of things once he got settled, but for now... Well, home it was.

Once he figured out how to make it his home. He had clearly reached a border marker; unconcerned, he strolled on past it, intent on being found sooner rather than later. "Hello, strangers. It's me, your trespasser. Come and get me."

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8 MONTHS — THE TYPHOON — BLACK MAMBA — WITCHCRAFT — BIO

© [color=#949e98]DELPHI

[align=center]

[spoiler=GIN O'CLOCK][div style="max-width: 100%; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 11px"]CALEM DELLAMORTE
— resurrected 8 months ago | stillborn on 7.22.19
— the typhoon | black mamba
— white & grey smoke | spectral patterns
— cold golden eyes
— mist tends to rise from fur when performing witchcraft [aesthetic elementals]
— fuckboy | risk taker | live fast die young
— wears a chunk of citrine on a cord

TYPHOON EARRING
— wears a black hoop earring in his right ear in accordance with typhoon tradition
— has added moonstone chips

INTERACTIONS
— physically easy | doesn't fight much
— mentally moderate | mental manipulation
— witchcraft & necromancy | will use to defend himself
— attack in bolded #848887

WITCHCRAFT
— raised in a coven | descendent from hekate on mother's side
— green & faerie magick | natural energy
— divination | rune stones
— strong connection with spirits and necromancy magick
— product of necromancy himself

POWERS
— air elements
— aesthetic elementals | misty fur
— invisibility
— intangibility
— clairvoyance
— mental manipulation
— teleportation
— health transfer[/spoiler]

While Georgia was still settling in herself, she'd begun to assemble a routine of sorts. She functioned better on one - let her move throughout her day with some purpose instead of an aimless wander. She'd finally moved out of the tavern and into one of the rooms aboard the ship; the rock of the sea helped her to sleep at night. The ship was mostly reserved for members of the Grim Rays division, as she had learned, and she was eager to start on a path to reach that title and enrollment. She took nightly walks after dinner, making sure to shuffle through the fluffy sand before edging closer to the gentle waves where the sand was packed harder and more firm. She'd watch the fish dance about in the shallows, walking a yard or so into the surf and using her power to push the water away from her so she could observe them up close. It was important to her that the shallows and shores of her beaches were safe and functioning.

Unfortunately, that was really where her crafting of a schedule stopped. She'd been wrestling with the idea of decorating her new cabin in the ship and whether or not she was really to stay here. She liked it well enough, but it hadn't satisfied the curse that itched under her skin. She still felt detached and lost - like she didn't belong.

To cope with these thoughts, Georgia had started to nap more often; she could never get enough of the heat the beach sand offered. It was on this day in particular that she had just started to stretch out, sand climbing into all the bits of her fur that she'd blow out later. It was her favorite texture; she couldn't stay away from it.

And then, just on the other side of the treeline, a commotion startled the girl out of her sleepy state.

Instantly, her mood soured. Instantly, she was up, rather irritated at the amount of strangers that were appearing on this island (even if she was just another one) and the fact that people had to monitor who they were and what they wanted. Muttering through grit teeth under her breath, Georgia stalked back into the treeline to find the trespasser who was so desperately begging for her attention.

The second she came across the stranger, she wasted no time in attempting to blast him backwards with a gust of air. The gust was warm and held flecks of sand in it, bitter with sea salt. He was, after all, over their borders. "Hey genius," The slim feline bit out, ears ticked backwards in her annoyance. "The hell do you want?" Georgia could feel her irritation mounting - her interrupted nap, his fucking arrogance, his smug expression. She really couldn't give a damn about what he wanted, in all honesty; and while diplomacy had never been her strong point, she wanted nothing more than to drown him.

✱ it's twelve o'clock
in soho, baby

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CALEM DELLAMORTE

Calem didn't stop to see if someone had answered him; he just kept trekking onwards, loudly declaring his intentions, until he came upon the first sign of life — a flickering energy, crisp and salty and carrying the bite of the sea breeze. He paused, turning instinctively towards the foreign source, and almost immediately was being blasted in the face with fucking sandy-ass air. Startled, he yelped in disgruntled alarm and slid backwards in the sand, only belatedly urging the wind to settle around him before it blew him entirely off his paws.

"Yo, what the fuck," he huffed, sand sticking uncomfortably to his tongue. Great. He gave his pelt a quick shake and straightened, eyeing the hellion who had come to attack him. Unfortunately, she was cute. Fortunately, Callie didn't care much about his own sense of pride, and a little bit of sand couldn't stop him from pursuing even the most prickle of prizes.

His golden stare narrowed quickly, and after a moment he whispered softly under his breath. A puff of air blew in the stranger's face, littered with the scent of cinnamon; it was more playful than threatening, but clearly meant to convey that he was ready for it this time if she flung him. Again. He tossed his head back and said, slyly, "Well, I wanted a place to stay, but I think I'll settle for you, instead. Do you try to drown all of your dashing visitors in sand, little urchin?"

It was possible, very possible, that he was treading in dangerous waters — quite literally. Calem didn't really give a damn, though; he could sense the unsettling amount of energy rolling off of her, foreign and stranger, but worst case he could just faze out of the living realm and call it a day. So what if the runes had pointed him towards this sandy shore; he was sure they could offer up a new suggestion if this girl tried to kill him. Probably.

He would just hope that she found him charming and decidedly didn't try to kill him.

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8 MONTHS — THE TYPHOON — BLACK MAMBA — WITCHCRAFT — BIO

© [color=#949e98]DELPHI

[align=center]

[spoiler=GIN O'CLOCK][div style="max-width: 100%; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 11px"]CALEM DELLAMORTE
— resurrected 8 months ago | stillborn on 7.22.19
— the typhoon | black mamba
— white & grey smoke | spectral patterns
— cold golden eyes
— mist tends to rise from fur when performing witchcraft [aesthetic elementals]
— fuckboy | risk taker | live fast die young
— wears a chunk of citrine on a cord

TYPHOON EARRING
— wears a black hoop earring in his right ear in accordance with typhoon tradition
— has added moonstone chips

INTERACTIONS
— physically easy | doesn't fight much
— mentally moderate | mental manipulation
— witchcraft & necromancy | will use to defend himself
— attack in bolded #848887

WITCHCRAFT
— raised in a coven | descendent from hekate on mother's side
— green & faerie magick | natural energy
— divination | rune stones
— strong connection with spirits and necromancy magick
— product of necromancy himself

POWERS
— air elements
— aesthetic elementals | misty fur
— invisibility
— intangibility
— clairvoyance
— mental manipulation
— teleportation
— health transfer[/spoiler]

The sound of bickering pierces through the air, knocking Paola clear out of her thoughts. She'd been trying to find a good spot for an afternoon siesta when the commotion carries along the sea breeze, distinct against the gentle lull of waves and seafoam—not that it bothers her. Not that anything bothers her. Instead, it piques her curiosity, causing her to pick up the blanket she'd laid out on the sand and carry it towards the source.

Towards company.

Towards Georgia... and someone else. She doesn't recognize his gray-and-white pelt, the weird pattern that adorns it, but they don't seem to be doing too much harm towards each other, so she isn't that worried. They've got powers, anyway. They could probably keep themselves from getting too hurt if things get rough, which it wouldn't... right?

"Is this some kind of Grim Ray training?" Paola flashes both a beaming grin, clearly unaware that their spat is likely less than friendly—or perhaps it's a way to get to know each other. She's heard about minds who familiarise themselves with strangers through the art of combat. Something about learning how their opponent thinks or whatever, she wouldn't know; fighting has always been about having fun and getting messy.

"Bet you two knock each other out by the end of the afternoon," she adds with a chime of laughter, laying out her blanket before proceeding to plop down on top of it, just a few steps away from the battle. She pulls out a small pack of popcorn from her satchel and pops a few pieces into her mouth. "You new here, big guy? Don't think I've seen your face around before. I'm Paola. Who're you?"

[spoiler=tags]

GENERAL.
• paola vasquez | paola, pao, papa, paw
• unknown origin | unknown birthplace
• appears to be 10 or 11 moons | unknown parentage
• female | she/her |  lesbian

APPEARANCE.
• thick-furred black she-cat with an absurdly long tail
• wears multiple gold earrings on each ear
• carries a small leather satchel filled with trinkets
• physically fit, no injuries, no visible health issues

PERSONALITY.
• non-judgemental, friendly; easy to get along with; relaxed, patient, sincere; can usually be encouraged to accompany people without struggle
• strategic but takes her time; unwilling to make decisions for other people; unbothered by both isolation and company; an anything-goes type of person
• usually undriven and bored; cynical, believes the world is worth nothing; pessimistic, self-criticizing, self-doubting; lonely and desperately craves validation; lost

INTERACTIONS.
• physically moderate | mentally difficult
• fights only when necessary or playfully
• hard to truly provoke | unknown powers
• non-violent interactions are always allowed
• attack in bolded text | mention [member=15708]PAOLA[/member]

[/spoiler]

As the puff of cinnamon tainted air washed over her face, Georgia froze, eyes blowing wide as saucers for a split moment. The sudden shift in smell and atmosphere short-circuted her brain, derailing most of her anger. She'd never really caught the scent of cinnamon before - it had always been salt and sour and sand. Cinnamon was warm; it was...fuzzy. It didn't really occur to her that the wind was from the stranger, and she was too shocked to make the connection.

When Calem spoke again, it was a begrudging flirt, though its intention bypassed Georgia entirely. It set her teeth on edge and shoved her right back into her previous irritated state of mind, the fur along her spine lifting. The nickname little urchin grinded against her ears, particularly childish and taunting. A slight glow lit the sea green of her eyes in her rage, and she muttered, "I'd rather settle for your face against a fucking tree trunk." She really didn't want to address the fact that he wanted somewhere to stay - and just about flat out told him to go look somewhere else. The mainland, maybe. "Very cute of you to think I drown them in sand, though." Gia cooed mockingly, pursing her lips at him. "I drown them in saltwater." Her eyes flashed, a subtle glint that dared him to push her. Fucking coward. Do it, pussy boy. Push me. Give me a reason to drown you. She thought mutinously.

Paola's arrival dragged her attention away from the ghostly, irritating stranger. The darker feline seemed cheery, lugging along a blanket. The overall good mood the new recruit was in rubbed Georgia's sour disposition further into her brain, and for a moment, a whirlwind of air curled inwards and down around the feline before dissolving in a rapid burst.

"No," Gia responded tartly. "He wants to join." And I want to drive his head into a tree. It was a little odd, perhaps, that her anger had stemmed mostly from being disturbed out of her nap - surely, people didn't usually get this bent out of shape due to a slight misunderstanding? And yet, here she was, tail lashing back and forth, easily ready and able and eager to slam him into the sand.

At the other girl's comment about them knocking each other out, Georgia ran her tongue over her teeth, eyes once again dragging back to the strange, annoying boy. While the stranger was of her build - slim, lithe - he wasn't too much bigger than she; a near guarantee she could knock him out easily. The concept brought a smirk to dance on her lips. "Honestly, it would be my pleasure." She snorted.

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CALEM DELLAMORTE

Callie was having a very mixed response to this turn of events. On one hand, this chick was clearly prickly as hell — all puffy fur and eyes shining with anger. This all seemed just a bit too tense for him; he was a lover, not a fighter, and he didn’t particularly care to be drowned. However, she was also cute as hell with that aforementioned puffy fur and growing eyes. And it was kind of hilarious to see her fluff up in rage over a little bit of wind in her face. He was willing to have fun with her — he just didn’t want to get too caught up in some hissing match out here. It was damned hot.

”Ooh, kinky,” he teased, more amused by her face-in-tree-trunk threat than concerned about it. The impending threat of being drowned in saltwater did creep him out a bit — something about the idea of drowning just bothered him fundamentally — but Callie powered through. Eventually she’d pick up on the fact that he’d rather hit on her than hit her, right? ”I am cute, thank you. So are you. What was your name again?”

The approach of a new flare of energy — this one warmer, zesty — caught just attention, and he eyed the newcomer with interest. Good, good: someone to save him from the wicked sea princess of the west coast. And she was cute, too. Excellent. Callie liked the idea of this place already. Thank you, runes, for sending me to hottie island.

”What the hell is a Grim Ray?” he asked idly as his little urchin friend spoke on his behalf. He wasn’t bothered by it — she could speak for him whenever she wanted. His golden state was fixed on the long-tailed betty now, though, and he added with a smile, ”Hey there, baby girl. I’m Calem. Are you going to protect me from your friend here? My pleasure usually doesn’t involve me being knocked out, honestly.”

He tossed a wink at the demigod, clearly unfettered by her vocal confirmation of her distaste for him.

IT'S TWELVE O'CLOCK IN SOHO, BABY

MALE

08 MONTHS

BETA

THE TYPHOON

CANCER

GOLD EYES

GREY & WHITE

FELINE

TAGS

NECROMANCY

HEALER

WITCHCRAFT

© DELPHI

[spoiler=& THAT DAY WE'LL WATCH THE END OF THE WORLD]

CALEM DELLAMORTE
— resurrected 8 months ago | stillborn
— the typhoon | beta
— white & grey smoke | spectral patterns
— cold golden eyes
— mist tends to rise from fur when performing witchcraft [aesthetic elementals]
— fuckboy | risk taker | live fast die young
— wears a chunk of citrine on a cord

TYPHOON EARRING
— wears a black hoop earring in his right ear in accordance with typhoon tradition
— has added moonstone chips

INTERACTIONS
— physically easy | doesn't fight much
— mentally moderate | mental manipulation
— witchcraft & necromancy | will use to defend himself
— attack in bolded #848887

WITCHCRAFT
— raised in a coven | descendent from hekate on mother's side
— green & faerie magick | natural energy
— divination | rune stones
— strong connection with spirits and necromancy magick
— product of necromancy himself

POWERS
— air & earth elementals
— aesthetic elementals | misty fur
— invisibility
— intangibility
— clairvoyance
— mental manipulation
— teleportation
— health transfer

[/spoiler]

LIKE THE MOON SAYS TO THE DARK — Christ, and Michael thought he had been irritating as a teenager, all false bravado and insufferable flirting just to cover up his sexuality. Honestly, he wasn't sure who the hell he was more irritated by – the idiot yelling about trespassing and rightfully getting his shit handed to him, Georgia for getting all pissy, or Paola for acting like this was all some kind of game. Either way, as soon as the reaver found himself trudging over, he was acutely aware of the fact that he was the only high ranking person there. Which meant that he had to be responsible. Resisting the urge to groan a bit, the bobcat came up beside Paola, his small tail twitching and twisting behind him as he grumbled, "Hey. All of you. Shut the fuck up, Jesus Christ." When he could hear a dumbass yelling and the wind howling even over the cacophony of sounds within the tavern, that meant that there was very much a problem. Up until this point Michael had become rather fond of Georgia, just because she seemed to be fairly chill, and straight to the point. He would've said this had decreased his respect for her somewhat, but just hearing what came out of Calem's mouth... sky above, Michael wanted to smack him upside the head himself. It was like Trevor's absolutely horrendous flirting with everyone he came across, but it was so much worse because Calem appeared to be sincere.

The reaver sighed heavily, rubbing gently at his face with a paw for a moment, before he directed his mismatched gaze at Calem, grumbling, "If you use the term baby girl unironically one more time, I'm absolutely going to use my elementals to throw you across this island. I am not joking." Maybe it was a bit silly of him to be so protective over both Georgia and Paola, especially considering he knew very little of Paola, but compared to him? The both of them were basically just little kids, and he really didn't appreciate this guy's scummy attitude, no matter how close in age they were. Digging his claws lightly into the sand, Michael took a deep breath before continuing, making sure that his speech gave Calem a hefty flash of his vampiric fangs, "My name is Michael, and here around the Typhoon, I'm a reaver. That's a high position, in case you can't put the pieces together. You're free to join if you'd like, but if you keep flirting with someone who clearly isn't interested, I will not hesitate to toss you right back over the damn gate. You got me, Calem?" There were not many cases in life where the jeweled bobcat would put on what could easily be called a dad voice, but this was one of those few situations. Georgia and Paola may not have been his daughters, but they were members of a group that he had dedicated himself to protecting, and he didn't take kindly to anyone harassing his crewmates.

( ic opinions ofc !! welcome to the typhoon <3 ) — WE WILL NEVER BE APART

[glow=white,1,400]BUT THEY'VE WRITTEN MY NAME IN THE STARS. I'VE DEALT WITH GREED AND SCARS ![abbr=TRYGVE ROUX, 7 MONTHS OLD, DRACONIC JAGUAR, SON OF GREED x ROXANNE, BROTHER TO EULIA, NATYLI, JAIME, ROAN, SHAPESHIFTING,  FIRE ELEMENTALS, EARTH ELEMENTALS, SINGLE/NOT LOOKING]｡+ﾟ.[/abbr][/glow]

Ah, what a scumbag.

Trygve Roux knew if that tone had been directed to either of his sisters then he would've set the other's sorry ass on flames though it seemed to be some chicks that were around his age, both ears perked forward did the dark coated jaguar approach with a twitch of his whiskers only to watch with his eyes through narrowed pupils. The draconic boy would lash his spotted tail to the sides only for his heterochromatic eyes to latch onto the stranger who seemed to be joining, he couldn't help but snort hearing what Michael was beginning to say about throwing the other across the island. "Sounds like a good idea," Trygve would pipe in nudging his uncle with his shoulder that faint smirk of his slowly disappearing from his maw as he took on a more serious  expression, an eyebrow raised as he said drawing his lips back to show off his own pearly whites in a menacing manner "We have several pretty ladies here so if I hear ya speaking to them like that, I'm gonna have to personally give you a lesson on respect." The young Roux held no position of power but that wouldn't stop him from threatening the son of a bitch in front of him, most of the gals here were his family and they sure as fucking hell deserved respect.

The thought of Calem even calling his own sisters that made his blood boil and his chest would grow hot as the flames rose from his gut to his maw, a few of the said flames lapping eagerly at his parted jaw. "Choose wisely on who you decide to give the slip of the lip." Trygve spoke with a growl leaving his slightly parted jaws, the fires within him slowly fading. He finally decided to introduce himself to the tomcat in front of him with a curt nod, his gaze becoming disinterested in the other "Trygve Roux." [glow=COLOR,1,400] ━ ✧*:･ﾟ[/glow]

And if I believe you, Will that make it stop?

"He wants to join? He sure has a funny way of showing it," Paola comments idly, faking a shocked, almost scandalized tone as she squints at the newcomer with mischievous green eyes. She wonders if he realizes that maybe attacking a member of the clan isn't the best way to state his intent of becoming one of them, but who is she to judge? Maybe the Typhoon liked fighters—she wouldn't know, she didn't really pay attention to newcomer orientation. "If you do it in five seconds, I'll do all your Beta chores for a week."

It seems, however, that the newcomer is about as impenetrable as she is and twice as thick-headed; if Paola had been anybody else, perhaps she would have felt offended by the placating tone and the nicknames and the banter, but Paola is Paola. She's able to take almost anything in stride. "Baby girl? You seem to be barking up the wrong tree there, cabrón," she points out, although the smile plastered across her face spreads only wider—anybody who knows her would know it means trouble. "Protect you from her? But I thought we were all having so much fun..."

She trails off then, electricity sparking off her black pelt but contained to her general form, humming to life with energy. As the adults finally arrive to address the newcomer, she settles the sparks to a bare minimum, allowing them to roam free underneath her pelt without revealing themselves to the others around her. Paola inches closer to him as they talk—no, scold him on his language (and oh, how she wishes she could record the moment)—and she takes the time to flash Gia a wicked smile before finally piping up.

"No no, it's okay," she starts, finally settling down next to the newcomer. "We can handle ourselves, and if this little pendejo decides to do something we don't like, well—" Paola turns to Callie then, flashing him a shit-eating grin as she raises one paw and attempts to put it on his shoulder, all the while sending a very tame but still surprising shock through the point of contact. "We'll take full responsibility for it. Kids of the same feather stick together, isn't that what they say?"

If I told you I need you, Is that what you want?

[spoiler=tags]

GENERAL.
• paola vasquez | paola, pao, papa, paw
• unknown origin | unknown birthplace
• appears to be 10 or 11 moons | unknown parentage
• female | she/her | lesbian
• the typhoon | beta | the blackjack rats

APPEARANCE.
• thick-furred black she-cat with an absurdly long tail
• wears multiple gold earrings on each ear
• carries a small leather satchel filled with trinkets
• physically fit, no injuries, no visible health issues

PERSONALITY.
• non-judgemental, friendly; easy to get along with; relaxed, patient, sincere; can usually be encouraged to accompany people without struggle; usually in a happy mood
• strategic but takes her time; unwilling to make decisions for other people; unbothered by both isolation and company; an anything-goes type of person
• usually undriven and bored; self-criticizing, self-doubting; mischievous and does a lot of things for attention; lonely and desperately craves company; lost

INTERACTIONS.
• physically moderate | mentally difficult
• fights only when necessary or playfully
• hard to truly provoke | unknown powers
• non-violent interactions are always allowed
• attack in bolded #f7a57b text | mention [member=15708]PAOLA[/member]

[/spoiler]