Posts by Lilias.

Project's lunge to the front of Roman caught him by surprise, and he paused. His first thought was insubordination and he outright glared at the wolf, but considered his point. "Did you know about this?" he asked first, expression only relaxing a little in its intensity. He tone was very slightly alarmed, and he leveled his dark gaze at Project, but not with visible suspicion. "Alright." he conceded, taking a step backwards. He'd assumed that she was too exhausted to do anything, and if so, why should she attack her clanmates? His eyes narrowed. Had it been fortunate coincidence that she'd killed an Exiler, not a Sanctuarian? He'd understand that it would be an accident if she ever attacked a clanmate, and that Project would do anything to defend her (not to mention herself) if they did anything, but it would be for the greater good. Evidently, this "mode" was enough to kill even a hardened Exiler, and from Project's warning, she couldn't differentiate from friend and foe in the state. Was it better to get rid of the problem at the root? But then again, she was the Harbinger of Healing...

He was jerked out of his train of thought by Project again, and briefly wondered what gators were. Some type of scavenger, he'd assume, dangerous by the Acolyte's need to not have them here. "I physically can't." he answered, frowning at his disadvantage once more. It was true; he couldn't even hunt or even carry a rabbit. "Push it into the water, but get Jelloshots out first." Yes, why go for the rotting flesh when there was a perfectly serviceable sitting hybrid? But since Project had asked for help, it was clear that they couldn't do it right now. Right now, he didn't really care about gators. Roman eyed Project meaningfully, waiting for him to answer his first question.

Roman didn't quite think the same as Jello, and gave her a sideways eye. "You sure you can control her?" he asked Betrayal. "Controlling" might not be the right word, but he didn't know what other way to put it. While dying by dinosaur was a nice death, he didn't feel like dying when he already had so many chances to. She looked restrained enough right now, but she was still quite a bit larger than him. Even the language of dinosaurs sounded dangerous, with erupting snarls and clicks of toothy jaws. His mind wandered to Betrayal's first remarks. "I've never seen a dinosaur before." he admitted.

zenon g.d.

It was frustrating— oh yes. It was hard to imagine an individual like Roman getting frustrated, but even with all the benefits life had given him recently, he still had managed to make the least out of it. Sure, that missing leg of his was one hell of an excuse, He couldn't hunt or carry anything larger than a rabbit. But excuses didn't excuse anything in his world: the place of constant focus, of living in the present, of being kept on his toes even when he was asleep. He hadn't needed to hunt when there were easy trashcans for the taking, rather than trying to swallow the grimy sewer rats. It was easier for him to fight for his food instead of search. Old habits die hard. The fairy town of his dreams and under his paws helped with the process, slowly chipping it off of his core, but he imagined that it was so deeply ingrained that it would take him years to stop.

Thinking of this, the fox wandered the borders, even consciously straying out of it at times, stopping to mark it every few lengths. His stride was slow, but he walked as if he were tracking something. Perhaps wishful thinking?

"Tell me about it." Roman immediately ordered, watching Project slice off a piece of flesh for his own. "Is she dangerous to us? How long does her recovery put her out of commission? That and more." His face twisted slightly, peering intently at the still face of the hybrid. He didn't consider her anything special to him, but he'd once helped her out of nightmares. But that was anything anyone could do— besides, he'd been curious. Not to mention the fact that she was waking up half of camp with her writhing, as she wasn't the only one with a dream plague. Sometimes, he wondered if they all considered themselves special, that they were the only ones suffering like this, helping themselves to grotesque amounts of show-stopping crisis. He shook himself out of his downward spiral, eyes refocusing on Project. "Would you mind talking more about anything you've seen? Later?" he asked, tilting his head. With his nonchalant manner of addressing everything, he wasn't bound to be as hair-triggered as others with the same level of experience. Or maybe they were all the same— Roman hadn't yet reached the boundaries of what trauma could do.

/this was hard

Like Losteyes', Roman's eyes were round, guileless, and glassy. They neared popped out of his head at the loud slam of the door and he pressed his frame against the side of a nearby building. His head was bent low and his fluffy, scraggly tail was tucked between his legs, the sole front one of which had started to tremble and slip. Evidently, he was so taken by surprise that he was cowering, especially with the contrast between the deputy's cheerful manner and the things spewing out of his mouth. Losteyes had always confused him, and so he hesitated to speak up. "Er, please don't yell." he softly said, peering up at the smaller feline. "It's such a nice day outside, why do you have to ruin it? I-I-I mean, you're not ruining it... it's just that if you yell, the birds won't hear each other, and all the kittens will be scared... I don't think plants can grow with loud noises either, right?" The vulpine looked towards the one that he'd been pointing at, not making the connection between the words "vermin" and "plant".

"I just want you to reconsider your actions... oh, not that you're doing anything wrong, it's just that... it's just that whatever you're talking about, you can do it in a nice, calm way. Um," He paused for a moment, trying to think of what Losteyes had actually said. Something about bugs... "Bugs are nice things." he answered, eyes drifting and acquiring a dreamy look. "The bees help with flowers, and the butterflies are so pretty... they look like flowers too, which are plants, which can't grow if you yell. And, er, I think grasshoppers grow the grass, that's why their called grasshoppers, because they hop and grow the grass..." He trailed off when he realized that he was rambling again.

Copper, screaming, and, of course, humans. Roman had once pondered what they couldn't do. Once, he'd stared up at the sky, only to see one of their man-made birds up there. He only remembered that it was loud and impressive, and seemed very far away, more than he could ever imagine. He remembered being jealous. The then-little vulpine had wanted to escape as well, to be a bird and just be able to fly away from all his problems. Yet he was still stuck on the ground, it seething with danger and humming with pent-up rage. He had grown a hatred of them as well, though not to the degree of Losteyes or Betrayal (mainly because even if he were that angry, what could he do about it? Revenge was a good, long life), fueled by disgust, horror, and jealousy. The concrete jungle of his hometown was splattered with the physical and emotional remains of human atrocities, towards both creatures and their own kind.

As he approached the source, he felt himself easily slipping back into his wearing mindset. His strides were long and brisk, nothing betraying the hindrance of a missing leg, and his face would be considered relaxed if it weren't stone cold. His whole body language suggested assertiveness to the point of rage. He passed Frisk, noting their leave. Roman stepped up to the side of Losteyes, though he didn't attempt to calm him; his anger was justified and useful. It evidently couldn't trigger Betrayal to react aggressively. "As a former leader, you should realize that scenes like these are scarring other young ones." he said, his tone both as icy and boiling as the northern seas. He wouldn't sound completely dead, as the situation didn't call for it. Yet, he felt the way inside. Oh, he cared, just not enough as he thought he should. Why wasn't he shrieking justice like Losteyes, even when he hailed from the same hell as him? "And," he added, eyes glinting. "I've asked you if you can control her. While things like these are permitted, teach her do to it away from unacquainted eyes. Soon. Since you seem to be so uncaring about the sentiments of others, if you fail to do that, others can do it for you." the Harbinger intoned, his baritone heavy with sinister implications.

romincatholic has entered the chat room

romin: how r u lonely

romin: doit w ur voice

[001.] table of contents

Disregard me, emotional discharge.

Can't forget the mission, put it to my heart.

you are here —

[001.] Table of Contents

[002.] Roleplaying Tags

[003.] Alternate Universes

[004.] Biography — The Outer Layer

[005.] Biography — The Flesh

[006.] Biography — The Core

[007.] Timeline

"Something big?" a deep voice drawled from behind Lucius. Roman slid in besides Lance, resting his forearms on the table and propping himself up with his elbows, giving the younger Gryffindor a mock-innocent look. While he had no qualms with their house as an idea, he had numerous bones to pick with individual members. He admitted that this was mainly because of prejudice instilled in his first years, but also because he was tired of Slytherin being seen as an "evil" house. There was also the matter of just wanting to satisfy himself with subtly taunting cocky youths. "You could lose some points because of that..." He casually adjusted his green-and-black scarf as he said this, letting the sunlight glint off of the words "head" and "boy". Indeed, he had only joined the conversation because of Lucius, but he might as well be friendly. It wasn't all appearances, after all, even though the spirit of the game was manipulation.

"You're health is more important than any grade." he remarked to Sky, letting his lips dip into a frown. Ah, Ravenclaws. He seemed to be so obsessed with being smart that he might cross the line into being stupid.

[002.] roleplaying tags

I've come to expect my expectations aren't true.

But I'm a master of believing my lies, and you can't break me, and I can't break at the speed of light.

ROMAN HAWKSWORTH, THE DECIDER

A LEADER, MISSING IN ACTION WITH THOSE LEFT TO DIE

OVERVIEW.

♢ ROMAN HAWKSWORTH / "RO" / MALE [HE/HIM]

♢ physically 6 years old [vulpine] / mentally 39 years old [human] / unknown birthdate

♢ hails from an unknown city outside of agrelos / former leader ["commander"] of an organized gang

♢ honor [hp] of the sanctuary / no titles / ex-sanctuarian harbinger of war

IMPORTANT INFORMATION.

♢ MISSING RIGHT FORELEG

♢ only losteyes and "four-eyes" [npc] know his last name

♢ character inspiration drawn from erwin smith [attack on titan], but differs significantly due to context, species, and origin

♢ little pieces and bits of his backstory surfaces in some posts, but he's repressed most of it since coming to the sanctuary, so no one should ever get the full version. being in the sanctuary specifically is a large part of his character.

RELATIONSHIPS.

♢ bisexual biromantic / single, uninterested buuut... / dm for deeper plots

♢ ro finds it incredibly difficult to be even platonically attracted to someone without seeing them as a tool, much like romantically and even lesser sexually. he tends to be distant from most, with staring being his primary form of communication. he'll be friendly if he deems it to be harmless to his own/the sanctuary's safety or if he thinks that it's the best course of action to improve the utility of another.

♢ parents are deceased and siblings' whereabouts are unknown, but it's likely for them to have survived and possibly make their way to agrelos.

APPEARANCE / AESTHETIC.

♢ [CURRENT FORM:] ro is a "fire-and-ice"-type ["dilute"] red cross fox with intense honey-brown eyes. there's rarely an expression on his face, and his casual smile is insanely ugly. body shape is relatively muscular and streamlined, but he walks with an awkward limp due to his lack of limb.

↳ face is hard-edged, and his jawline and cheekbones are distinct. he's a bit more attractive if his personality isn't taken into consideration. body is lean from starving but constantly fighting, and his legs are quite muscular to make up for the deficiency. he's larger than average, giving the impression of a sleek gangster. bears faint scars on his cheek, his back, and his shins, but they're all buried in fur. roman's very aware of most of his actions, and strives not to give anything away through subtle movements. therefore, whenever he does do something minor like flicking an ear or tilting his head, it provides some significance. one could say that his most distinguishing characteristic is his uncanny stillness though.

♢ [OTHER FORMS:] shire horse pegasus, cream tabby domestic cat shh undiscovered

— INJURIES/ILLNESSES: stress on his left foreleg due to increased pressure, so he finds standing for long periods of time harder. walking is better for him.

PERSONALITY.

— [strongest traits] [repressed traits]

♢ [EXTERIOR TRAITS] utilitarian, intense, calm, aloof, quiet, articulate, contemplative, colorless, obedient, grim, soft-spoken

♢ [INTERIOR TRAITS] curious, self-reliant, opportunistic, bitter, bloodthirsty, brave, manipulative, amoral, cynical, vindictive, paranoid

↳ presents himself as a stone wall and thinks of life as a board game. wounded from past responsibilities, he's incredibly unwilling to give others any hint of who he actually is. he does enjoy the company of other sanctuarians, though, and involves himself in their lives. ro's deductive skills are incredibly honed, but his social skills, besides basic politeness, are unnaturally poor. quietly seeks out adventure, but is hesitant about putting others in danger. always has an urge to go out and wander around, now that he isn't chained in his den trying to crack strategies anymore.

↳ in heart of hearts, he's pissed at the world for allowing things like the sanctuary and his city to coexist. he keeps lying to himself, saying that "life's unfair, you already know this". he's aware that the "ignore it and it'll go away" doesn't work but keeps postponing making his peace with it because it'll kill him when it finally hits. He has a strong sense of justice. His loyalty is to individuals, not to a group as a whole (such as humanity). he'll put other individuals before his own loved ones, because he knows that it doesn't matter in the whole scheme of things. he's selfish; he's fighting for his own happiness. otherwise, why is he fighting at all? as his stay in the Sanctuary lengthens, roman will stop being so controlled and reserved, though still not as friendly as he should be for his position. it becomes apparent to him that there is no danger here, no spies, only out-loud attacks and battles from their enemies. with that, he starts becoming more open, though still relatively quiet. his words are formal and polite, but blunt, and his face is hardly ever seen with anything more negative than a negative-leaning neutral expression [to this, I still must work on because it's hard not to not show him annoyed at things that'd otherwise be annoying].

— DISORDERS: PTSD

INTERACTION / CONFRONTATION.

♢ [POWERS:] the sight, shapeshifting [undiscovered]

♢ [WEAPONS:] none

♢ easy physically — small size + extreme disadvantage due to 3 legs

♢ difficult mentally — has a well-developed amount of emotional control as well as mental fortitude; likely difficult to possess or influence

♢ peaceful powerplay is allowed!

♢ attack in #98858f or mention @/ROMAN H.

Roman observed from the background, easily blending into the small pool of Sanctuarians gathered. His tall ears swayed in breeze. The promotions and demotions were anything remarkable; he hadn't been around as often as he should be, so while he knew all their names, he didn't know what they were actually like. The cultural announcements were far more interesting anyway, as was Frisk's stance on recent events. Perhaps he'd attend these religious ceremonies, though heaven knows that he couldn't reach it anyway. He'd just give it a try. Life has offered him a second chance, and he'd use it wisely. Speaking of being hellbound, he didn't particularly agree with Frisk's opinion, given that they were a neutral Clan. If they wanted morals, they should have gone pro-clan. Torture for pleasure was mad, but torture for information was something that he'd be swayed to do. Not even swayed-- delighted in committing. He stayed silent because it wasn't really his place to speak out in defense of Betrayal when he'd just threatened him awhile ago, and stayed put because he wanted to hear who the new reapers were. Guards instead of medics? He recalled the brief overview he'd been given.

The vulpine approached the kitten awhile after the meeting had ended, giving them a friendly tilt of the head. "Frisk," he addressed. "do I have any jurisdiction over the reapers specifically?" His voice wasn't calling out or broadcasting to the general population; instead, it was at a quiet conversational level in case anyone was wondering.