I'LL BE THERE / OPEN, VISITING

[ashen]

   

                  Johannes Angelicus

test

The mine was hard work--and truth be told, Johannes much preferred patrolling. Not because it was easier--he didn't care how much his muscles burned, but he hated spending time in constant communication with others, and when excavating a potentially unstable pile of rocks, that was a good chunk of the job. Patrolling was mostly snow and more snow. That was why he tried to divide his time, and it just so happened that he was with Marauder and the rest of the patrol when the rudely shouting stranger approached. Johannes frowned, and let Marauder speak. He didn't really want to deal with newcomers--especially not those who shouted. When Marauder mentioned Win, though, the dictator frowned at him. Why did he assume that was who this guy was looking for?

He turned his head and peered at the young man, trying to get a good look at him. He wasn't particularly huge, but he was tall, and muscled. So if he were an enemy, bad--but it seemed he was on neutral footing with them now. He supposed he did look a bit like Win, didn't he? Just wonderful. Johannes had his arms folded, inspecting the guy with his customary glare. "You can wait inside if you're cold." He stated this flatly, not particularly excited about the prospect--but less so about this guy complaining or dying of frostbite. Johannes liked the cold--he was bundled up like a bear, but there was little he enjoyed more than being in the frozen climate.

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---

[spoiler=info — updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ JOHANNES ANGELICUS | JO| amab male
★ ace| aro
★ 28| dec/3 | real time
★ flintlock lodge | dictator

IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ has ASPD
★ has severe issues with self-control and anger
★

PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 100%
— 5'10'' & 170 lbs;
— [i]major injuries: none

PERSONALITY:
-wip wop


RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest

INTERACTION:
★ stony and antisocial, will be courteous, often awkward
★ difficulty: 8/10 in battle | + strength,  stamina | - speed, agility
★ he won't hesitate to make the first move, and sometimes he can be recklessly angry
★ attack in bold #2E5C6B
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]

[J. HOLLOWAY]

[align=center]

Now, Jason didn't have anything like Perseus in his life. No little bundle of adorable to make coming home worth it. Instead, he had two absolute pieces of shit that he loves more than anything else in the world. It's close enough, right? And even if he didn't have them, he had Bruce. The guy's not much of a reason to come home safely, because he never comes home safely anyway and they haven't even spoken in, like... A year. He bailed right around the time he started getting all cozy with Dick, because boy that was really fucking uncomfortable. Sure, sure, he was glad that they were happy together, but, well, saying that he had a crush on the guy made it all seem really sweet and kinda gross because he ended up with his older brother instead — wow jeez, nobody came here for a fucking lecture on his life. Long story short, yeah, everything was shit and he knew what it was like to put his weight on the shoulders of people who already had enough. Tim was already tiny and thin and sleep deprived, Bell didn't know what the fuck was going on with the world and didn't seem to care, and here he was, the fucked up, semi-suicidal mess, ready to drag them and everyone else he loved down with him. So fucking cheerful.

The teenager claps a hand over his heart when Marauder talks, expression of exaggerated hurt coloring his features for only a second. "You think I'm an asshole?" He snickers. The sounds, the expressions, they're all a mask for something cold that seems to just barely peek out around the corners of his mask sometimes, something that looks an awful lot like a monster. He lifts his hand from his thigh with his pistol and makes a show of taking out the magazine. He doesn't clear the chamber and this guy seems like the sort to notice that, but one shot won't mean much with so many people around. Well it could end his life, but whatever. He's here to be nice. "Don't get me wrong though, I'm happy to see you too." Jason tucks the magazine into his pocket because he's incapable of making safe decisions with his life, and then barks out a laugh. "His entourage? What, it's gotten worse?" Win. He's always hated that nickname for him. It wasn't — well it wasn't Bruce, that's all. But the asshole doesn't like people calling him that a lot.

Cold blue eyes turn to Johannes when he finally speaks. The guy reminds him of Bruce too. Maybe that's why he chose this place, they're all like him. All big and scowly and rude. Actually, he's probably the nicer Holloway siblings when he's not pissed. "I could survive out here, but I'll head inside," he says, already taking a few steps closer towards the door. "Seeing as they're not out here and all that."

[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 527px"][spoiler=THEY WERE KIDS THAT I ONCE KNEW | INFORMATION; 03/17/2017]‣ Jason "Jay" Holloway / Gives out nicknames freely, but dislikes them from strangers.
‣ Cisgender Male / Bisexual Biromantic / No Clear Preference / Hypersexual / Flirtatious
‣ Taken? Nobody Knows (don't ask) / ½ Jaytim [OTP?] / ⅓ Daredona [BROT3?/QPT3?]
‣ About Eighteen / Born July 7th / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Younger Brother of Bruce H.
‣ Obviously heavily reliant on his inner circle, but still attached to Bruce, Dick, and Stevie.

‣ 6'0 & 170-190 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not to any scary extreme.
‣ Kinda messy, short black hair. Cropped close on the sides but with a slightly longer top.
‣ Cold pale grey-blue eyes. | Constant wolf's grin, reckless and intimidating. "I can and will."
‣ Warm, moderately tanned skin. Freckles on his shoulders from constant exposure to sun.
‣ Wears layers. An undershirt, a shirt, a worn down red hoodie, and some jacket over top.
  ‣ Black or white undershirts, tight. Jacket is either black, leather or whatever he picks up.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on right thigh. | Worn set of throwing knives. | Spiked brass knuckles.

‣ Hot mess. | Lots of issues that he hides with a lot of sarcasm. Be careful around him.
‣ Mostly just a stressed teenager with terrible sleeping habits and an inferiority complex.
‣ Adaptable and weirdly charming, able to convince most people with a smile or a threat.
‣ Hardworking and focused, but incredibly snarky and emotionally distant. Picks favorites.
‣ Has a terrible temper and doesn't balk from doing immoral things, but sticks to his code.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his small group he calls family.
‣ Lowkey suicidal but feels bad about thinking like that. Not obvious about it, just reckless.
‣ Likes to start fights because he can and because he's an adrenaline junkie. Don't fall for it.

[DICK HOLIDAY.]

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Few people in this world were strangers to the burden living could be. Rarely was it easy going from day-to-day, especially under the weight of loneliness, or the suspicion that you were a burden to those around. Life was so startlingly fragile, and rife with obstacles, but Dick believed that they could make it better if they all put their minds to it. They were already eking out an existence supporting so many people without the help of the many technologies that kept this place running before that world ended; it was a common theme in many books Dick had put his hands on, but he thought it held true that humans could always rebuild. It didn't seem that way when you lost yourself in the present grind, staring into the snow and feeling as though you could never be warm again, but Dick did like to imagine the future, sometimes. Whatever he saw there, he knew he would have to work for, and he would, more than willingly, although he could admit that there were some days it was harder to picture it than others. The first example to jump to mind had him wincing, the wound still painfully fresh despite the care given to it; when Win was gone, he'd had significant difficulty doing more than dwelling in memories and imagining what he would do when he returned. Beyond that, everything had been blank, waiting in bated breath for the outcome of that hinge moment, one that thankfully ended well, forgiveness passed between them both during touches that bordered on desperate. 

It had him thinking what other loose threads still clung to him, and he'd immediately leaped to Jason. He wasn't something Dick needed to fix -he was a person, and Dick didn't know how much he could help him- but he was someone he worried about. He and Win had a...complicated relationship, one that wasn't anything like Dick's interactions with his sister, who was long gone now, wherever she was. No, it was messy, and they did more glaring than anything else, but they loved each other, that much was obvious. It was a rougher thing, but it was sincere for all of its edges, and he was glad they could still count on their brother even when everything wasn't pretty. Dick and Jason didn't have those issues, luckily; he hadn't seen him in a while, but last they spoke, they'd been friends. Something like that. He'd been with those two other kids, hadn't he? Dick hoped they were all in good health, whatever qualified for that in this present time.

Right now, he wasn't too preoccupied with worrying, though. It was a little colder today, so he'd worn the baggier pants instead of the shorts -Win would be glad he had some self-preservation- and he pulled on one of Win's shirts over one of his own. Maybe it looked a little ridiculous, but it kept him warmer, which was the point. He wandered down the hallway from the room he shared with Win, tugging at his unruly hair as he went, and then pausing when he heard muffled voices. It was very faint, though enough for Dick to catch. Heading toward the door, he figured it was probably just the people outside talking, maybe ready to come in from the cold, except when he opened the door he didn't find who he was expecting. Dick stood there for a moment, hand tightening on the handle. Jason? "Jason!" He released the door and shot out, disregarding his lack of shoes and coat to throw his arms around the slightly taller figure standing there. "You're not giving anyone any trouble, are you?" It was spoken to his shoulder, but Dick wasn't planning on pulling back yet. If anything, his grip tightened a bit, he's okay bouncing through his head.
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[spoiler=info (3/16)]GENERAL
-Richard "Dick" Holiday | 21 years old | Born October 25th | Flintlock Lodge
-Bisexual | Very much taken by Bruce Holloway | ½ Boysoldier (brotp to otp)
-Currently reconciling with Bruce; may be a bit moody but better than before

PHYSICALITY
-Stands at around 5'11 | Athletic build oriented around an acrobatic/aerial base (see next line)
-A bit thinner due to lack of proper nutrition, but musculature is still clearly defined and present
-Dark ebony hair that is always disheveled; currently a little shaggy and curling down over his ears
-Bright, vibrant cobalt eyes | Tends to wear baggier pants with tighter shirts when inside the building
-Occasionally wears Bruce's clothes (his hoodie, which is too big, but he won't wear it for a little bit)
-Always wearing a silver promise ring on his left hand's ring finger (reference)

PERSONALITY
-Stubborn and far from being a pushover | Polite, but will not take shit from people
-Typically friendly and outgoing; isn't difficult to get along with most of the time
-Prefers to see the brighter side of things, although he takes it all with a grain of salt
-Sets high standards for himself and strongly loathes the idea of failing/imperfection
-All in all, more of a lighter kind of person, except his extroversion acts as a concealer

[ashen]

   

                  Johannes Angelicus
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As the man approached, Johannes took a few steps back--giving him room to enter but also so his eyes could follow him. When a shout came from that one who was always with Win, he could attach a name to the face, Jason--and it seemed that he did indeed know Win, and this guy--Dave? Rick? Whatever. He knew him, too. That was a good sign. He didn't much want to continue to involve himself here, but he felt the tugs of responsibility to...give some sort of instruction. "...." He opened his mouth--but. The two were still embracing, and this was even more uncomfortable. "D--Dick--" God, he hoped that was the right name.. "If you know him--show him, uh--if he's hungry. Or anything. The kitchen. Et cetera." There. He'd done it, he was done, Jason could go fuck off and do whatever he pleased--if he stayed for long, though, he was going to have to help out.

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---

[spoiler=info — updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ JOHANNES ANGELICUS | JO| amab male
★ ace| aro
★ 28| dec/3 | real time
★ flintlock lodge | dictator

IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ has ASPD
★ has severe issues with self-control and anger
★

PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 100%
— 5'10'' & 170 lbs;
— [i]major injuries: none

PERSONALITY:
-wip wop


RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest

INTERACTION:
★ stony and antisocial, will be courteous, often awkward
★ difficulty: 8/10 in battle | + strength,  stamina | - speed, agility
★ he won't hesitate to make the first move, and sometimes he can be recklessly angry
★ attack in bold #2E5C6B
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]

[J. HOLLOWAY]

[align=center]

/ i apologize for jason's behavior. he's terrible.

Dick was different. That was really all that Jason could say about him. That he was a little bit different. He was weirdly optimistic for someone that had been thrown into the apocalypse head on, and he'd probably seen a lot of crap. Maybe not as much as Bruce, but honestly, not many people have seen as much as his older brother had. Then again, Dick had been with him for a few years now, and Bruce did have a way of dragging people he loved into all of his shitty luck. But he was something good. Being close to him knit old injuries and reminded you to smile. Being close to him made you remember that you liked hugs, and that it was okay to admit that something was hurting. Don't get him wrong though, Dick wasn't something sweet all the time. He could be a real dick and he was stubborn as hell and yeah yeah yeah, all that crap about negative traits. He doesn't fucking care, because the two of them had needed him there. And he always was. Honestly, that's why he's here now. Not for Bruce. Not to catch up with him, or find some way to fall back into that pattern of behavior he only found with his brother. He was here because Richard Holiday made him feel good about himself. Like he meant something. Tim and Bell could do that too, but the three of them were too focused on making it through all this shit to really sit and talk about feelings. Besides, Tim needed it more. He wasn't really sure how he was alive, and the way he was talking — it worried him. A lot.

This wasn't his way of getting away from that, he just — he needed to feel alright. Without alcohol or drugs or — or whatever, really. It's not like he collapsed on his friends' shoulders. Too tough for that. Lesson number one: be fearless. Untouchable, indestructible. But he's turning eighteen this year and he's not ready for all of this crap (a shitty thing to say, with how fast the people around him had to grow up; he hates how squirmy he gets with all of that guilt). Maybe he should just go back to St. Peter's. The moment that thought crosses his mind, the door flies open. Now he's a pretty twitchy person, always on edge, but he knows that voice and he knows Dicks hugs, and he's wrapping his arms back around him in an instant, head ducked to his shoulder. He finds an easy, juvenile pleasure in being taller than him now, though it's barely anything. And besides, he still feels smaller than him. Warm hugs. Safe hugs. And he finds himself laughing, a low, strangely giddy rumble. "I am trouble," he mumbles back, though it's then that he places the familiar smell just above that sharp kinda spicy scent that was just Dick, and he pulls back just enough to look at what he's wearing and then tug at the collar. Way too big, and way too familiar, and — "Ew, Dick, gross." Wearing his brother's shirt to hug him. But still, he goes back to hugging him, wraps around him tighter and tips back just a bit to lift him off the ground.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks when he puts him down, and then, after a short pause when he takes a step back, "Dick, oh my god." He's not wearing shoes. He's not wearing much of anything. "Inside. Get inside. It's fucking cold."

And then the grumpy guy from earlier is talking, drawing pale blue eyes in his direction again, this time for a closer scrutiny over his friend-brother's shoulder. He's shorter than the both of them, but looks a bit more heavily built than Dick, maybe. Or maybe it's just that he knows how quickly he can move compared to this guy. Unfamiliar, but familiar. "Hey, grumpy smurf, you're not gettin' out of this so easily. You're in charge, right?" Jason's as critical as Bruce is when it comes to authority figures, and he's not sure how he feels about the kind of insecure thing there, but whatever, he's probably in charge for a reason. "I'm gonna have some questions for you." He doesn't blame him for not wanting to get involved. For all of his spiteful comments and his habit of butting into things that didn't involve him, he didn't much care for getting into the lives of others. And yeah, a bunch of hugging is kinda awkward when you're not involved. Or if you're involved and hate hugs. Whatever, either way. He pauses. "I am kinda hungry though."

[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 527px"][spoiler=THEY WERE KIDS THAT I ONCE KNEW | INFORMATION; 03/17/2017]‣ Jason "Jay" Holloway / Gives out nicknames freely, but dislikes them from strangers.
‣ Cisgender Male / Bisexual Biromantic / No Clear Preference / Hypersexual / Flirtatious
‣ Taken? Nobody Knows (don't ask) / ½ Jaytim [OTP?] / ⅓ Daredona [BROT3?/QPT3?]
‣ About Eighteen / Born July 7th / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Younger Brother of Bruce H.
‣ Obviously heavily reliant on his inner circle, but still attached to Bruce, Dick, and Stevie.

‣ 6'0 & 170-190 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not to any scary extreme.
‣ Kinda messy, short black hair. Cropped close on the sides but with a slightly longer top.
‣ Cold pale grey-blue eyes. | Constant wolf's grin, reckless and intimidating. "I can and will."
‣ Warm, moderately tanned skin. Freckles on his shoulders from constant exposure to sun.
‣ Wears layers. An undershirt, a shirt, a worn down red hoodie, and some jacket over top.
  ‣ Black or white undershirts, tight. Jacket is either black, leather or whatever he picks up.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on right thigh. | Worn set of throwing knives. | Spiked brass knuckles.

‣ Hot mess. | Lots of issues that he hides with a lot of sarcasm. Be careful around him.
‣ Mostly just a stressed teenager with terrible sleeping habits and an inferiority complex.
‣ Adaptable and weirdly charming, able to convince most people with a smile or a threat.
‣ Hardworking and focused, but incredibly snarky and emotionally distant. Picks favorites.
‣ Has a terrible temper and doesn't balk from doing immoral things, but sticks to his code.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his small group he calls family.
‣ Lowkey suicidal but feels bad about thinking like that. Not obvious about it, just reckless.
‣ Likes to start fights because he can and because he's an adrenaline junkie. Don't fall for it.

[recycling bin]

Life kinda sucks. Well, no, it really fuckin' sucks. Right now's one of the high points, as she an' Cam just got started repairin' the rift they'd both had a hand in makin'. Buildin' new bridges too, the kind that makes Stevie duck her head and grin a little whenever she thinks along those lines, makes a nice, shivery warmth run up and down her spine, makes her act like a teenager in love for the first time. The low points, though? They get real low, and while she's burying herself in helping around the mines and reveling in her new relationship with Cam, there's still something threatening to slip outta the rug she's swept those low points under. She wakes up from red, red dreams, hands unsteady with tremors around a baseball bat. There's a body. Sometimes she's in the Badlands, and it's that kid. Sometimes she's in the lodge, and she sees Cam, or Win, or Dick, or Damian, or— Jesus, she could go on and on, but that road leads to nothing but breakdowns, and she's sick 'n' tired of breakdowns. The solution, therefore, is to ignore what's happened and throw herself into each and every distraction that comes her way.

Half an hour ago she decided to take a break from Doing Her Damndest in the mines, grab food and water for herself. Re-emerging from the kitchen with the bare minimum of fuel to keep herself going, with a persistently meowing cat trailing behind her, she stops and stares at the vision in front of her. She hasn't forgotten about Jason, because what kinda friend would she be if she just forgot about her oldest friend's brother? Well, a forgetful friend, and that wouldn't be on her considering recent events and trauma have been skittering onto center-stage, but— no, she hasn't forgotten about This Motherfucker In Specific. "The fuck, did you get taller," she says, blinking rapidly. Christ, she needs more sleep. Actually restful sleep, for damn once. Stevie inches forward, then aims a friendly punch toward what she can reach of Jason's arm. "Je-fuckin'-sus, kid, you wouldn' believe what the hell's been happenin' 'round here. How you doin', Jason?" She moves to stand in front of the now-hissing feline following her, her legs providing a nonfunctional barrier between the cat and Jason. Stevie offers a salute in greeting to Marauder, Johannes, and Dick, then turns back to Jason, eyeing him critically. "The hell've you been gettin' up to?"

---

[spoiler=information — 2017/03/22]— pm main account to plot.
— all opinions + choices ic.

recent news
— losing security in her moral compass; aimless, subdued.
— figuring out her relationship with camael; unsure, hopeful.

general | pinterest board
— stevonna barbara jones | "stevie, steve" | vastly prefers stevie
— female | she/her | intersex dmab | usually presents as masc
— biromantic bisexual | questioning aro/ace | female preference
— about 22 years old | d.o.b.: july 4th [cancer] | every 3 months
— member of flintlock lodge | former member of the badlands

important notes
— she's a stubborn asshole who will fight™ i apologize for her.
— doesn't make friends easily; a little standoffish. again, sorry.

physical
— health: 80%-90% | doing better; still malnourished, exhausted
— face-claim: shalita grant | voice-claim: anika noni rose [tiana]
— short, chubby, and somewhat toned. about 5'1 [1.55 meters].
— rich dark brown skin with warm undertones. dark brown eyes.
— thick curly black hair; currently in dreadlocks mid-back length.
— all curves. wide nose, plush lips, soft jawline, round cheeks.
— nondescript scars from minor injuries, mostly on knuckles.
— likes snapback caps, sneakers, sweatshirts, and sweatpants.
— injuries: a few bruises and scrapes, but nothing major.

mental | good is not nice | good is not soft | jerk with a heart of gold
— health: 75%-85% | paranoid, sleep-deprived; otherwise decent
— gryffindor primary/gryffindor secondary | chaotic good | infp-t
— principled; lives by her moral code, keeps it close to her heart.
— proud, unyielding. doesn't know how to forgive or to apologize.
— blunt, straightforward. scornful/wary of deceit and manipulation.
— sticks close to her people; rarely goes out of her way to befriend.
— values her independence and [usually] aggressively defends it.
— averse to asking for help. grudgingly accepts it from close friends.
— quick to judge, somewhat aloof. doesn't play well with others.
— surprisingly introverted; needs time and space alone to recharge.
— scrappy little shit. will fight you, will fight your dog, will fight herself.
— reckless daredevil except when the safety of others is involved.

possessions
— carmilla; black norwegian forest cat with yellow eyes; ref.
— sturdy wooden baseball bat; this is her primary weapon.
— rough leather gloves; provides easy, but still flexible grip.
— a rainbow-patterned backpack that looks close to death.
— all clothes are faded and worn; some are slightly damaged.

relationships
— dating camael | slightly crushing on megaera | no "maybe" crushes
— ½ of camvie [brotp; camael + stevie] | 1/? of the batfam [cool aunt]
— npc x npc | generation 1 | younger child | status of family unknown

interaction
— physically medium | mentally easy | self-trained
— sloppy, but tough | aims for head, torso, and neck
— may start fights | will finish fights | will show mercy
— won't torture/sexually assault | may [rarely] maim/kill
— no medical skills whatsoever; useless in that respect.
— nonviolent/peaceful actions can be powerplayed.
— • likely won't appreciate unfamiliar touch.
— unconditional contact allowed from the following:
— • bruce, camael, damian, dick, megaera.
— attack in BOLDED BLACK CAPITAL LETTERS.[/spoiler]

[BRUCE H]

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/ muse?? where have you been

The world wasn't a pleasant place on its best days. He finds himself admiring people who can look at the world and see something worth living for — just the world itself, as a concept. The sun, the sky, humanity as a whole. But at the same time, he's — he's jealous. In some dark, cold part of his heart. He wants to think like that, but instead, too often he finds himself wanting to set it all on fucking fire. Watch it burn and start over. Like Noah's Ark, but more... Something. More final. Nothing is so simple that he can handpick a few people who deserve to be saved. Everyone wants to save their mother, their son, their friend. There's something good to be found in almost everyone, and something bad to be found in even the best. Perhaps that's why things aren't as clear-cut for him, not as they are for Jason and Marauder, and not as they are with Dick. He kills when it's necessary, and tries to save everyone, whether he thinks they deserve it or not. But there's only so many times that you can hold out a hand to someone who's stabbed you in the back. He doesn't trust easily, but here's a secret for you.

Win is forgiving. It's not that he tries to be, and maybe it's not that he wants to be, but if someone wants to be better then he'll always be there to lend them a step up. No matter how many times someone else has betrayed that. It didn't hurt forever. That doesn't make him weak, though that red-burning-hate place inside of him is always snarling it out. A hot give up branding his skin, but he'll always reach back into the flame. (Maybe because he's a bit of an idiot — just a bit.) People always think that they've let him down. Dick holds a million and a half things against himself (because he's an idiot too), Jason's got that whole guilt complex thing where everything's his fault, where he can never be Win, but he doesn't want him to be like him, for so many goddamn reasons, and he meant it when he said that Dick had never disappointed him.

Maybe it's the same thing that Stevie has. He knows the feeling, for sure. That warmth that feels a little bubbly, a little too light, and kind of drunk. It builds like carbonation right in the middle of his chest, eating away at the ink-black hurt. Jason was right. There's something about Dick that makes things a little bit better. He gets it from all of his family, even though Jason's an asshole, Stevie's bossy, Cam seems like she wants to punch him all day every day, and Meg can make him feel like a child again. And yeah, okay, maybe he gets it from some of the others here, too. Marauder was even more of an asshole than Jason but there's something nice about knowing you're understood, he supposes. Even though they're more likely to tear into each other than talk it out. Johannes is still a stranger but he's not half bad. Familiar enough to be trusted. It's a good place, and there are some odd nights out there that he ends up stuck on that thought — does Jason have that too? He knows that he — okay, worrying just isn't who the two of them are, alright? Not like that, not obviously, and it's sure as fuck not something they talk about.

So the first thing he says when he sees him is not it's good to see you. It's not are you hurt or how have you been. He stands behind the group, sweeps his eyes over all of them in short succession — Marauder, Johannes, Dick, Stevie. Jason. So far it's just the back of his head but it's not like he could misidentify his goddamn brother. They both push their hair out of their faces, but Jason has always kept his longer, a darker sooty black that always ends up messy. Same broad shoulders, same way of dressing. And the fact that Dick's doing his octopus thing is reason enough to think about it. Bruce takes a few steps closer when his brother finally pulls away and ends up chuckling when Stevie punches him. At least he's not the only one she's been punching as of late. "I don't think he needs a news alert, Stevie." When he stops moving, Win takes the moment to stare at him. He looks alright, if a little underweight. Tanned, so he's been in the sun. Bags under his eyes, but otherwise alright. Good. He's not in any shape to kick someone's ass for hurting him. Hell, not like it matters. Stevie and Dick would do it for him.

"Jason," he exhales, fingers working at his jacket, tugging it off and tossing it at Dick. (He likes him wearing his shirt, but it's cold as hell.) "What have you been up to?"

[div style="width: 517px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.3;"][spoiler=NEVER PLAY BY THE FIRE, ITS A DANGER TO YOUR HEALTH | 03/22/2017]‣ Bruce Gideon Holloway / Usually Introduced as "Win" / Cisgender Male [He/Him]
‣ Gray-Biromantic Bisexual / 89% Monogamous / Possessive / Taken by Dick Holiday
‣ ½ Boysoldier [OTP] / Father & ⅙ of the Batfam [Dick, Damian, Camael, Meg, Stevie]
‣ Twenty-Four / Feb. 19 / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Brother to Jason / Father of Damian
‣ Commander of Flintlock Lodge / Sometimes Wanders?? / Biography / Pinterest Board

‣ Important Tropes: Death Glare, Disapproving Look, and Faces Death with Dignity
‣ 6'3 & 180-210 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined and heavy but not overwhelming.
‣ Slightly wavy hair, between dark brown and soft black. A bit shorter on the sides. messy.
‣ Pale steely blue eyes. | Usually scowling or at least looking unhappy. Smiles very rarely.
‣ Warm but pale skin with the cold. Usually tanner and lightly freckled from sun exposure.
‣ Wears layers. Achromatic undershirt, long sleeved overshirt, and a hoodie or field jacket.
‣ Always wears a black promise ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Reference.
‣ 9mm pistol; carries holster on left thigh. | Strider SMF Framelock Folding Knife; favored

‣ HEAVILY INJURED & STRUGGLING TO RECOVER; RESTLESS AND RECKLESS.
‣ Various cuts and bruises over his torso, mostly the front. Almost all stitched and healing.
‣ One long cut across his left thigh, recently stitched. This makes walking tiring and tough.
‣ Broken and bruised ribs, healing fracture; his left arm. Green, fading bruise; right cheek.

‣ ATTITUDE. [b]Broken Ace, Friend to Children, Deadpan Snarker, Defiant to the End.
‣ Abrasive and domineering, tends to dislike taking orders from anyone he doesn't trust.
‣ Disciplined, seems calm. Can sometimes seem blank or may hyperfocus on one thing.
‣ Oddly gentle, particularly with young kids who have been through some sort of trauma.
‣ Borderline playful with people that he actually likes; tends to smile only around them.
‣ Measured, collected, steady. Holds himself and those around him to high standards.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his family and close friends.
‣ Can be incredibly charismatic when he needs to be. Typically can't hold a conversation.
‣ Struggling to get his life back together. More paranoid than usual, and may self-isolate.

[ashen]

   

                  Johannes Angelicus
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The reunion got larger, and Johannes felt a scowl lace his brow when the guy--Dick, right--fixed his gaze on him and spoke. He bristled at the nickname, sighing under his breath. "Food. Right. Questions. Fine. Get ins--" And..there was...Bruce. Win. Win. Fuck, he needed to remember. The name eluded him and it was infuriating.
Unfortunately, Win's brother was even more infuriating. But he wasn't going to snark or snap, especially not as all this was going on. Win wasn't exactly as sentimental, and that was a relief--but it still meant Johannes' course of action was really just to..wait.

Until he decided that was bullshit, and he cleared his throat. "You said you were hungry. And had questions. Let's get inside, if you're all done hugging." His voice was perhaps a bit irritable, but for the most part he kept himself civil.
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---

[spoiler=info — updated 1/25/17]
[size=8pt]GENERAL:
★ JOHANNES ANGELICUS | JO| amab male
★ ace| aro
★ 28| dec/3 | real time
★ flintlock lodge | dictator

IMPORTANT FACTS:
★ has ASPD
★ has severe issues with self-control and anger
★

PHYSICAL:
★ human [10.15/main] | health: 100%
— 5'10'' & 170 lbs;
— [i]major injuries: none

PERSONALITY:
-wip wop


RELATIONSHIPS:
★ single
★ npc x npc| generation 1
★ No Romantic Interest
★ No Sexual Interest

INTERACTION:
★ stony and antisocial, will be courteous, often awkward
★ difficulty: 8/10 in battle | + strength,  stamina | - speed, agility
★ he won't hesitate to make the first move, and sometimes he can be recklessly angry
★ attack in bold #2E5C6B
★ can powerplay nonviolent actions
★ all IC opinions
[/spoiler]

[J. HOLLOWAY]

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/ okay this is set after win gets his life together because jason would kick his ass otherwise.

It's been a long day, a long week, a long month, and a long fucking life. He doesn't think that many other people would fully understand just how much shit Jason has been through, and he's sure as fuck not gonna tell them. Listen, alright, it's just — maybe he's in a shitty mood and maybe he can't think straight, and maybe he kind of sort of left Bell and Tim back at that St. Peter's place and started walking this way. It's cold as fuck, but last he knew this is where everyone had decided to go when he split away. Hopefully they were still here, because otherwise he'd be in a pretty awkward situation. It would be even worse if something had happened to the assholes, though Jason likes to think that he's prepared. He has on all of his layers (big brothers are the best role models when it comes to how to dress yourself, right?), all of his weapons are strapped in easy-to-reach places, and he's as watchful as ever. It's not the walk itself that has him feeling a little bit... Okay, he doesn't want to call it anxious. He's not anxious, alright? He's not. But there's this weird butterfly-tightness to his stomach, because he doesn't know what will happen next. Now, he's not like his brother, not completely. Planning isn't important, but even if he's not all that willing to admit it, he still wants them to like him. Not Bruce. He doesn't care about that; they're brothers and brothers are apparently put on this world to kick your ass and hug you later.

He definitely does not check to make sure that his jacket is straight before he gets close enough to the lodge to see people. There aren't a whole lot of them outside, thank god, but he's not sure if he recognizes anyone yet. Just in case, Jason places his hand on his thigh near his holster when he stops moving. It looks like a guard or a patrol of some sort, because he can see the door behind them but maybe they're just wanting to get inside too. He doesn't blame them, as a sharp gust of wind blows snow in front of his face. "This weather's shit," the teenager shouts, pushing a hand through his hair to at least sort of fix it, though he immediately shakes his head and ruins it again. "Who the fuck chooses to live here? I thought my brother had some common sense left." Even with the snow in his face, he stays where he had paused before, giving whoever he couldn't see clearly a decent line of sight on both him and the holster. "I'm looking for some people."

[div style="background=; border:0;font-size: 9.6pt; text-align:justify; line-height: 1.2; width: 527px"][spoiler=THEY WERE KIDS THAT I ONCE KNEW | INFORMATION; 03/17/2017]‣ Jason "Jay" Holloway / Gives out nicknames freely, but dislikes them from strangers.
‣ Cisgender Male / Bisexual Biromantic / No Clear Preference / Hypersexual / Flirtatious
‣ Taken? Nobody Knows (don't ask) / ½ Jaytim [OTP?] / ⅓ Daredona [BROT3?/QPT3?]
‣ About Eighteen / Born July 7th / NPC x NPC; Deceased / Younger Brother of Bruce H.
‣ Obviously heavily reliant on his inner circle, but still attached to Bruce, Dick, and Stevie.

‣ 6'0 & 170-190 lbs. | Muscular, solid build, well-defined but not to any scary extreme.
‣ Kinda messy, short black hair. Cropped close on the sides but with a slightly longer top.
‣ Cold pale grey-blue eyes. | Constant wolf's grin, reckless and intimidating. "I can and will."
‣ Warm, moderately tanned skin. Freckles on his shoulders from constant exposure to sun.
‣ Wears layers. An undershirt, a shirt, a worn down red hoodie, and some jacket over top.
  ‣ Black or white undershirts, tight. Jacket is either black, leather or whatever he picks up.
‣ 9mm pistol; holster on right thigh. | Worn set of throwing knives. | Spiked brass knuckles.

‣ Hot mess. | Lots of issues that he hides with a lot of sarcasm. Be careful around him.
‣ Mostly just a stressed teenager with terrible sleeping habits and an inferiority complex.
‣ Adaptable and weirdly charming, able to convince most people with a smile or a threat.
‣ Hardworking and focused, but incredibly snarky and emotionally distant. Picks favorites.
‣ Has a terrible temper and doesn't balk from doing immoral things, but sticks to his code.
‣ Would die for a stranger, but particularly overprotective of his small group he calls family.
‣ Lowkey suicidal but feels bad about thinking like that. Not obvious about it, just reckless.
‣ Likes to start fights because he can and because he's an adrenaline junkie. Don't fall for it.

[ALLOY]

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Marauder knew full well what it was like for everything to seem like one blurred, massive conglomeration of shit, to the point where at one period in his life, he hadn't been able to distinguish between the days at all, aside from the inevitable fall of night or rise of morning, and even those had fallen outside of his peripheral vision. There was no concept of relief in this world, just stolen moments of calm taken on borrowed time, and sooner or later, everyone had to pay their dues. Marauder had gotten lucky so far. In the beginning, it hadn't looked that way to a younger version of himself, who had been completely alone and fucked up when he lost everything that ever mattered to him. He still felt that, some days; it wasn't the sort of thing that left, to tell the truth. The trick was ignoring it and finding a grounding point, which, for Marauder, happened to be Perseus, as much as he regretted placing so much weight on a young boy's shoulders, a weight of responsibility, of being depended on. Idly, he wondered sometimes what it had to mean that the kid did a far better job as an anchor than Marauder did for him. People would see him as the callous man who softened only for the bright-eyed child, but they wouldn't truly know that while Marauder had coaxed him off the streets, Perseus saved him the most. He saved him every time he so much as sent a smile his way, or mentioned him, or curled up a little closer at night when Marauder was stiff in the aftermath of a nightmare. He sees something in you. Don't fuck that up. It was a constant thought on his mind, whenever he did reflect on the impact that freckled face had on him.

Fucking up wasn't avoidable, though he'd started to think when he did, there would be forgiveness waiting for him, whether or not he deserved it. I love you a lot. Marauder imagined he could feel the words brushing against his chest whenever he moved, the slight bulge in his jacket a constant reminder.

He could feel them now, leaning up against the wall outside, the cold shading his cheeks and nose pink, no doubt darkening the freckles he hated, freckles that weren't anything like Perc's, the same way the ginger creeping through black wasn't anything like that brown. Pressing his lips together, he let his head fall back against the lodge, crossing his arms over his chest and setting one ankle across the other. It was a very casual stance, deceptively so; he didn't appear to be paying much attention to his surroundings, although in reality Marauder was painfully aware of the happenings around him. He wasn't being very productive, and should probably go help with the mine, but instead he undertook this self-assigned sentry job, joined by a few others who were probably doing the same thing. However, it didn't seem so unproductive when the sound of an unfamiliar tread through the snow caught his attention, and his eyes snapped open, focusing on the stranger, who looked cold- very few people here weren't cold. Marauder usually managed to ignore it, though. He pushed off the wall, squinting a bit against the flurry of white across his vision, stepping closer to meet him halfway so he didn't come any nearer to the lodge. "Keeps most of the assholes away, but you must be a stubborn one." He had to raise his voice too, but he didn't have a problem with that, and since he'd intercepted him at a shorter distance, Marauder was able to clearly see the hand hovering around an area on his thigh. The part about his brother didn't interest Marauder- well, not completely. "Is that a gun in your pants, or are you just happy to finally find people?" He wasn't who he was looking for, though; Marauder knew that. The longer he observed the stranger, the more similarities he could draw to Win.

Now wasn't that interesting. "Win and his entourage should show their faces soon." If they weren't too preoccupied, at least.                           
[spoiler=info (3/15)]GENERAL
-Marauder | Real name: Francis Maddox (never revealed) | 22 years old | Flintlock Lodge
-Pansexual | Single; is not interested in mingling | ½ Mars (famtp w/ Perseus)

PHYSICALITY
-Hair is styled in an undercut, dyed black; originally ginger | Roots are beginning to show
-Faint freckles line his cheekbones and splash across his nose; not incredibly noticeable
-Very broad-shouldered and well-built | Heavily scarred; lashes on back are most prominent
-Dark, deep blue eyes | Wears a worn leather jacket that has been mended several times
-May switch leather out for a red hoodie | Wears a red, black, and white friendship bracelet
-Strapped with a variety of knives (Karambit, BW-ACK, M-9 Bayonet[one on each leg])
-Stands at around 6'1 | Will use his height to his advantage if possible for intimidation
-Valentine's Day card from Perseus has been sewn into the inside of his leather jacket

PERSONALITY
-Will do anything for Perseus; is generally a pushover and incredibly gentle with him
-Kind of a dick ("kind of") | Has an aggressive temperament and a hair-trigger temper
-Viciously loyal to those he cares for | Typically difficult to befriend due to standoffishness
-Highly self-loathing and prone to self-sabotage | Experiences every emotion very deeply
-Dealing with possible abandonment issues | Always toeing the line between right and wrong