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- Character Biography
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“I can’t.” Everleigh heaved, her shoulders slumping forward despite already being on her hands and knees.
“You’re certain of this? We could give you some water, maybe that’ll help.” One of academy nurses, a fourth level dreadlord with decent healing abilities, was scribbling on her note board. Three nurses came in at different times of the day, each ready for their eight hour shift and logging in just how much Everleigh could produce when it came to creating her poisons and toxins. Everleigh had little time in between, perhaps a minute or two of reprieve as the nurses discussed things before relieving each other of the long shift. Every now and then she’d be given some water and bread, but nothing substantial.
That was do to Everleigh and not the nurses. Out in the trenches, food and water would be a luxury. Besides, she always did her best with a empty stomach.
“No more, I’ll have to bleed to death at this rate if you want more.” Everleigh had continued leaning forward, getting closer and closer to the ground. She felt her cheek press against the cool, dirty stone floor.
“Well if you want to give up—“
“I know how much I’ve done.” Everleigh interrupted, closing her eyes. “You need pieces of paper to count and keep track of things, I’ve memorized all of it.” She could hear the nurse ruffled the paper, huffing.
“So you think this is your best?”
“I know it’s my best. I beat last year’s score with nearly a hundred points or more in every category.” Everleigh took a deep breath. “It’s almost been a week. I’m done.”
“Fine.” The nurse sounded upset, but Everleigh wasn’t sure if it was because she had talked back to her or because she was hoping for Everleigh to do more. But the fatigue that was creeping into Everleigh was more than just arcane or physical. It was a fatigue that seeped into her soul, the sort that made sure it took seven years off one’s lifespan. “Get cleaned up, we’ll give you a pass for the baths. If you’re quick you could make it to lunch.”
Had her cleated boots always been this heavy? Her tunic felt like it was made of chainmail, weighing down so heavily on her shoulders. Everleigh was too sore to even tie her hair back into a braid. She could get yelled at for that later, but right now, strangely enough, all she cared about was getting some food. Sure she had been starved for years, from the time she was twelve until she was seventeen, when she finally began doing whatever Proctor Goetsch had wanted from her.
But Everleigh knew that if she wanted to get over this hump of wishing she could sleep for a month that food was going to be important. And maybe today they had some leftover milk. Most of the initiates seemed to drink less of it as they had gotten older, but Everleigh had a fondness for the stuff. On especially hard days it was as comforting as a hot bath.
The bath had been ice-cold, even when she got used to it. Milk was needed for her to survive the rest of the day.
Inside the dining hall, mostly everyone was already at the long tables, talking and eating. There were no lines along the service tables. Younger initiates who were in trouble (and due to the fact that no one was getting sent to the Box for days meant there was always a slew of kids ready to do menial labor) would be waiting to serve from the large pots in front of them.
Everleigh picked up a plate and began the process of asking what was in each pot. Often there would end up being some sort of meat, some sort of grain, maybe a potato or a carrot depending on the season, and something green. Well-rounded meals for all. How everything tasted was a different matter. Everleigh got everything that was being served today, even if it meant that the younger initiates had to scrape the very bottom of their pots for her.
At the end of the serving table were pitchers and metal cups. Everleigh looked inside: water, water, water, water, and… if there was such a thing as fate, now was the time that Everleigh could believe in it. In the last pitcher was milk, at the very bottom, maybe enough for a half glass. She poured the last of it into the tin cup, grabbed a fork to rest on her plate before picking it up and began to walk away to look for a spot to sit by herself.
A table in the corner became available as a group of initiates got up, taking their plates and glasses as they walked away. Everleigh pivoted, perhaps not as gracefully as she normally would, and bumped into someone.
“Excuse me,” Everleigh said, not even looking up at whoever it was she had bumped into. As she took another step, she felt her back leg catch on something. With both hands full, one with the cup of milk and the other with a plate, Everleigh had to let them fall to the floor to catch herself in time. She watched in silent dismay at the river of milk flowing out from her cup. Snickers resounded above her and as she looked up, she saw a pretty face with a wicked look.
Everleigh had seen her around before plenty of times. She wasn’t very fun to play with though, and wasn’t the sort to gamble. Everleigh had ignored her and she had ignored Everleigh in return. So why she tripped her all of a sudden now was…
“Keep your hands off of him and I won’t do worse, skank.” Everleigh was too tired to roll her eyes at the watered-down insult. “Being on a mission together isn’t going to be a good enough excuse for me.” Everleigh got up, staying silent. The issue was that she hadn’t specified who it was that Everleigh had apparently touched. It could have been a number of initiates— Zael, Alistair, Edric, Elias, Henk, heck it could have been Tinker for all she knew.
The only thing Everleigh did know was that her milk was gone. The one thing that she had been looking forward to. She bent over, picking up her plate. Half of the food was on the floor.
“Hey, are you listening to me or—“ Everleigh spun around, mustering enough speed that even when the other intiate threw her hands out to stop Everleigh, a slice of the wet chicken and soggy squash went flying towards her face. A satisfying squelch could be head as the items made contact before falling down.
“Touch me again and you’ll have bloody piss and shit until I graduate.” Everleigh said, her voice low and even. But in her violet eyes, the threat was clear. “Go ahead. Touch me, right now. Let’s see what happens.” Silence followed for a second or two. The group of three girls seemed enraged, but neither of them did anything. Everleigh was poison, therefore, she shouldn’t be touched. So they left her alone. Losing her appetite, and not wanting to clean up the mess on the floor, Everleigh left the dining hall before a proctor could notice anything suspicious.
The Republic had changed the Academy in quite a few ways, but some things remained unchanged. Now it seemed attacks out of infatuation were happening instead of attacks out of a desire to survive.
Everleigh had decided to go out to the main courtyard for the rest of her lunch. Her hair was still wet and the sunshine, although not as strong as it was in summer, would hopefully help her dry it. She was going to find a grassy spot, one where she could keep her back protected by sitting against a wall or corner. During this time of the day, she actually knew the perfect spot. The first storehouse would be getting a lot of sun to it’s left side, and it would give her ample view of anything in front of her.
After being tripped, Everleigh couldn’t help but feel that storm of anxiety. Her skin was prickling up, feeling as if all eyes were on her. She looked like shit, deep purple circles underneath her eyes and dry, cracked lips were telltale signs of exhaustion. Even though she did her best to raise her head high and look unbothered, something about her limp hair still wet from a bath and the shaking of her fingers was giving away that her posture was all bravado at this point.
She trudged forward, doing her best to keep alert. Her dull violet eyes flickered from her left to her right, but no one seemed to be looking at her despite her unease. Was it all in her head again? She was tired. Exhausted. Hungry. Thirsty. Sleep-deprived. With those factors, what were the chances that she was just making it all up? Being tripped had set it off, but how often had she been tripped in the past? Not since she was seven. So really, that was just a freak accident, wasn’t it? There was no need to be on edge as she walked out to the storehouse.
Everleigh felt a tug on from a strand of hair. She turned, too slow to do anything but fast enough to watch it happen: Baxley, one of Titus’ annoying “friends,” cutting off a good chunk of her violet hair with a pair of shears. He hollared proudly, holding up a good six inches of purple high above his head. Everleigh turned lamely, watching her violet tresses flitter about in the gentle breeze.
“He fuckin’ did it!” Joff shouted. Quite a few feet away stood Titus and Joff, as well as the quiet but foreboding Tanix. If Titus ever got away from something unscathed, it was because of Tanix who had the magic of reflection. Far stronger than Raf’s mimicry, Tanix moved like whoever was in front of him, copying not only their physical movements but whatever magic they were employing as well. The four of them were known to have a pact of survival amongst each other, and they were one of the few groups of initiates who hadn’t betrayed each other once.
With Everleigh doing nothing, Baxley turned his back to her, shouting more to his friends in victory. Was it some sort of dare? Cut off the poison-eater’s hair and see if she does something? What was she supposed to do? Burn the skin of his face off? Bring him down to his knees as he clutched at his throat while she shut down his nervous and respiratory system?
He was beginning to walk back to his little group. Everleigh stood there like a stupid statue. The group of boys were busy looking amongst each other as Baxley dropped the length of Everleigh’s hair to the ground. Shiny spider-silk the color of a violet dusk blew around on the ground.
Without thinking, Everleigh marched up to Baxley. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her other hand turning into a fist that was being pulled back behind her head. She pulled Baxley’s shoulder back, seeing that victorious smirk on his face as he turned back to look at her. Before he could blink, her fist smashed against his nose. He stumbled, or she pushed him back, Everleigh wasn’t sure which but soon enough she was straddling his waist, landing punch after punch on his stupid red face.
Everleigh felt her head hit the dirt before she even felt the kick to her ribs.
Flaming heat coursed over her ribs and chest, that kick connecting with not just her ribs but her solar plexus as well. She felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter how much she gasped for breath like a fish out of water.
Everleigh moaned when her stomach was kicked, forcing her to roll onto her back. She saw Titus’ and Jeff’s angry face for a brief second before she closed her eyes tightly, bringing her arms up and around her head in a effort to protect herself. They didn’t seem to care about kicking her head, inside going for the sides of her torso or the soft belly.
One foot came down so hard on her lower abdomen that Everleigh felt herself piss her pants with whatever little pee she had stored. She threw up blood, coughing it out in sticky globules between her bloodied lips. She could hear initiates calling for their friends, shouting in excitement.
“Fight! Fight! The poison eater and Titus are fighting! Titus is winning! Titus is winning!”
Tinker Smithe
“You’re certain of this? We could give you some water, maybe that’ll help.” One of academy nurses, a fourth level dreadlord with decent healing abilities, was scribbling on her note board. Three nurses came in at different times of the day, each ready for their eight hour shift and logging in just how much Everleigh could produce when it came to creating her poisons and toxins. Everleigh had little time in between, perhaps a minute or two of reprieve as the nurses discussed things before relieving each other of the long shift. Every now and then she’d be given some water and bread, but nothing substantial.
That was do to Everleigh and not the nurses. Out in the trenches, food and water would be a luxury. Besides, she always did her best with a empty stomach.
“No more, I’ll have to bleed to death at this rate if you want more.” Everleigh had continued leaning forward, getting closer and closer to the ground. She felt her cheek press against the cool, dirty stone floor.
“Well if you want to give up—“
“I know how much I’ve done.” Everleigh interrupted, closing her eyes. “You need pieces of paper to count and keep track of things, I’ve memorized all of it.” She could hear the nurse ruffled the paper, huffing.
“So you think this is your best?”
“I know it’s my best. I beat last year’s score with nearly a hundred points or more in every category.” Everleigh took a deep breath. “It’s almost been a week. I’m done.”
“Fine.” The nurse sounded upset, but Everleigh wasn’t sure if it was because she had talked back to her or because she was hoping for Everleigh to do more. But the fatigue that was creeping into Everleigh was more than just arcane or physical. It was a fatigue that seeped into her soul, the sort that made sure it took seven years off one’s lifespan. “Get cleaned up, we’ll give you a pass for the baths. If you’re quick you could make it to lunch.”
Had her cleated boots always been this heavy? Her tunic felt like it was made of chainmail, weighing down so heavily on her shoulders. Everleigh was too sore to even tie her hair back into a braid. She could get yelled at for that later, but right now, strangely enough, all she cared about was getting some food. Sure she had been starved for years, from the time she was twelve until she was seventeen, when she finally began doing whatever Proctor Goetsch had wanted from her.
But Everleigh knew that if she wanted to get over this hump of wishing she could sleep for a month that food was going to be important. And maybe today they had some leftover milk. Most of the initiates seemed to drink less of it as they had gotten older, but Everleigh had a fondness for the stuff. On especially hard days it was as comforting as a hot bath.
The bath had been ice-cold, even when she got used to it. Milk was needed for her to survive the rest of the day.
Inside the dining hall, mostly everyone was already at the long tables, talking and eating. There were no lines along the service tables. Younger initiates who were in trouble (and due to the fact that no one was getting sent to the Box for days meant there was always a slew of kids ready to do menial labor) would be waiting to serve from the large pots in front of them.
Everleigh picked up a plate and began the process of asking what was in each pot. Often there would end up being some sort of meat, some sort of grain, maybe a potato or a carrot depending on the season, and something green. Well-rounded meals for all. How everything tasted was a different matter. Everleigh got everything that was being served today, even if it meant that the younger initiates had to scrape the very bottom of their pots for her.
At the end of the serving table were pitchers and metal cups. Everleigh looked inside: water, water, water, water, and… if there was such a thing as fate, now was the time that Everleigh could believe in it. In the last pitcher was milk, at the very bottom, maybe enough for a half glass. She poured the last of it into the tin cup, grabbed a fork to rest on her plate before picking it up and began to walk away to look for a spot to sit by herself.
A table in the corner became available as a group of initiates got up, taking their plates and glasses as they walked away. Everleigh pivoted, perhaps not as gracefully as she normally would, and bumped into someone.
“Excuse me,” Everleigh said, not even looking up at whoever it was she had bumped into. As she took another step, she felt her back leg catch on something. With both hands full, one with the cup of milk and the other with a plate, Everleigh had to let them fall to the floor to catch herself in time. She watched in silent dismay at the river of milk flowing out from her cup. Snickers resounded above her and as she looked up, she saw a pretty face with a wicked look.
Everleigh had seen her around before plenty of times. She wasn’t very fun to play with though, and wasn’t the sort to gamble. Everleigh had ignored her and she had ignored Everleigh in return. So why she tripped her all of a sudden now was…
“Keep your hands off of him and I won’t do worse, skank.” Everleigh was too tired to roll her eyes at the watered-down insult. “Being on a mission together isn’t going to be a good enough excuse for me.” Everleigh got up, staying silent. The issue was that she hadn’t specified who it was that Everleigh had apparently touched. It could have been a number of initiates— Zael, Alistair, Edric, Elias, Henk, heck it could have been Tinker for all she knew.
The only thing Everleigh did know was that her milk was gone. The one thing that she had been looking forward to. She bent over, picking up her plate. Half of the food was on the floor.
“Hey, are you listening to me or—“ Everleigh spun around, mustering enough speed that even when the other intiate threw her hands out to stop Everleigh, a slice of the wet chicken and soggy squash went flying towards her face. A satisfying squelch could be head as the items made contact before falling down.
“Touch me again and you’ll have bloody piss and shit until I graduate.” Everleigh said, her voice low and even. But in her violet eyes, the threat was clear. “Go ahead. Touch me, right now. Let’s see what happens.” Silence followed for a second or two. The group of three girls seemed enraged, but neither of them did anything. Everleigh was poison, therefore, she shouldn’t be touched. So they left her alone. Losing her appetite, and not wanting to clean up the mess on the floor, Everleigh left the dining hall before a proctor could notice anything suspicious.
The Republic had changed the Academy in quite a few ways, but some things remained unchanged. Now it seemed attacks out of infatuation were happening instead of attacks out of a desire to survive.
Everleigh had decided to go out to the main courtyard for the rest of her lunch. Her hair was still wet and the sunshine, although not as strong as it was in summer, would hopefully help her dry it. She was going to find a grassy spot, one where she could keep her back protected by sitting against a wall or corner. During this time of the day, she actually knew the perfect spot. The first storehouse would be getting a lot of sun to it’s left side, and it would give her ample view of anything in front of her.
After being tripped, Everleigh couldn’t help but feel that storm of anxiety. Her skin was prickling up, feeling as if all eyes were on her. She looked like shit, deep purple circles underneath her eyes and dry, cracked lips were telltale signs of exhaustion. Even though she did her best to raise her head high and look unbothered, something about her limp hair still wet from a bath and the shaking of her fingers was giving away that her posture was all bravado at this point.
She trudged forward, doing her best to keep alert. Her dull violet eyes flickered from her left to her right, but no one seemed to be looking at her despite her unease. Was it all in her head again? She was tired. Exhausted. Hungry. Thirsty. Sleep-deprived. With those factors, what were the chances that she was just making it all up? Being tripped had set it off, but how often had she been tripped in the past? Not since she was seven. So really, that was just a freak accident, wasn’t it? There was no need to be on edge as she walked out to the storehouse.
Everleigh felt a tug on from a strand of hair. She turned, too slow to do anything but fast enough to watch it happen: Baxley, one of Titus’ annoying “friends,” cutting off a good chunk of her violet hair with a pair of shears. He hollared proudly, holding up a good six inches of purple high above his head. Everleigh turned lamely, watching her violet tresses flitter about in the gentle breeze.
“He fuckin’ did it!” Joff shouted. Quite a few feet away stood Titus and Joff, as well as the quiet but foreboding Tanix. If Titus ever got away from something unscathed, it was because of Tanix who had the magic of reflection. Far stronger than Raf’s mimicry, Tanix moved like whoever was in front of him, copying not only their physical movements but whatever magic they were employing as well. The four of them were known to have a pact of survival amongst each other, and they were one of the few groups of initiates who hadn’t betrayed each other once.
With Everleigh doing nothing, Baxley turned his back to her, shouting more to his friends in victory. Was it some sort of dare? Cut off the poison-eater’s hair and see if she does something? What was she supposed to do? Burn the skin of his face off? Bring him down to his knees as he clutched at his throat while she shut down his nervous and respiratory system?
He was beginning to walk back to his little group. Everleigh stood there like a stupid statue. The group of boys were busy looking amongst each other as Baxley dropped the length of Everleigh’s hair to the ground. Shiny spider-silk the color of a violet dusk blew around on the ground.
Without thinking, Everleigh marched up to Baxley. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her other hand turning into a fist that was being pulled back behind her head. She pulled Baxley’s shoulder back, seeing that victorious smirk on his face as he turned back to look at her. Before he could blink, her fist smashed against his nose. He stumbled, or she pushed him back, Everleigh wasn’t sure which but soon enough she was straddling his waist, landing punch after punch on his stupid red face.
Everleigh felt her head hit the dirt before she even felt the kick to her ribs.
Flaming heat coursed over her ribs and chest, that kick connecting with not just her ribs but her solar plexus as well. She felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter how much she gasped for breath like a fish out of water.
Everleigh moaned when her stomach was kicked, forcing her to roll onto her back. She saw Titus’ and Jeff’s angry face for a brief second before she closed her eyes tightly, bringing her arms up and around her head in a effort to protect herself. They didn’t seem to care about kicking her head, inside going for the sides of her torso or the soft belly.
One foot came down so hard on her lower abdomen that Everleigh felt herself piss her pants with whatever little pee she had stored. She threw up blood, coughing it out in sticky globules between her bloodied lips. She could hear initiates calling for their friends, shouting in excitement.
“Fight! Fight! The poison eater and Titus are fighting! Titus is winning! Titus is winning!”
Tinker Smithe
