forum accidental child acquisition // oxo // closed

Started April 08, 2023 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

@Seeba hi hello here we are (sorry it took me forever i went to dnd and got home and slept for 4 and a half hours)

i'll get mine up after dinner but here's the template

Name:
Gender/Pronouns:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
Brief Backstory:
Other?:

Name: Abraham "Bram" Woodrow
Gender/Pronouns: trans man, he/him
Age: 28
Appearance: Bram is of slightly below average height (about 5'6) is is unnaturally and sickly pale. He had bright beautiful eyes, but after selling his soul, they've become a dull, dark and navy blue. He has about chin length hair that's dark black in color and it's naturally slightly wavy with some curtain-ish bangs. Very "haunted" features–sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, medium and cracked lips. He's very thin and usually wears dark clothing (the usual: button-ups, trench coats, a silver pocket watch, scuffed black shoes). At Bram's fingertips and toes, his skin gradients into an inky black–his veins/arteries nearing the skin gradient are also black. He usually wears long sleeves and gloves to cover this up.
Personality: Bram is a very quiet and reserved individual. He rarely starts a conversation and is terrible at keeping one going. He's a huge introvert who tends to keep all his thoughts, feelings, and demons to himself. This leads to Bram being somewhat awkward in conversations, not really knowing what to say without totally weirding out the other person. Bram is dealing with… a lot. He feels conflicted all the time, often arguing with himself internally. He's not entirely himself… There's something eating away at his soul and person.
Brief Backstory: Bram was born without a penny to his name in the attic of an old house. His mother only stuck around to give birth to Bram's younger brother before disappearing with some rich man on her arm. Bram's father was an alcoholic and a gambler, using any money the family had to waste it on booze and cards. Bram and his little brother, Jack, practically raised themselves, but when Jack was fifteen and Bram was nineteen, Jack–like their mother–disappeared from the house. Bram's house was then taken by the bank and he was forced onto the streets. It was here that the US had the worst winter in history. Living in an alleyway and cursed with a weak constitution, Bram was on death's door–that was until a shadowed, cloaked man offered him a hand and a deal–trade his body and soul to see another day.
Other?: After selling his soul, Bram got the ability to turn himself and parts of his body into intangible shadows. He can walk through objects (the part of his body–whether it be all of it or just his leg–will temporarily turn into swirling, inky black shadows before coming back together once he's through the object). With this shadowy ability, he can also feed off of people's energies with this, draining their life to keep himself working and thriving.

Name: Celia Bethany Creston Woodrow
Gender/Pronouns: cis female, she/her
Age: 29
Appearance: Celia is of average height with very pronounced hips and chest. She has mid-back length brown hair and pale skin with pink undertones. She has very full lips and a small nose. Her eyes are dark brown with long eyelashes and shaped brows. Her jaw and cheekbones are soft, without any hard edges, but her fairly polite and feminine face grows intense and sharp whenever she smiles. Her smile is… scary, almost turning her into a different person. Celia wears lavish, expensive dresses, but upon closer look, they're clearly very old and have been severely patched up. She also keeps three loaded revolvers within her skirt at all times.
Personality: Celia is a very vain person, always focusing on her appearance and status. However, even though she always puts herself first, Celia isn't completely heartless. She does love (very intensely). Celia is a woman of concerning tastes–anything macabre, unusual and gory instantly gaining her attention. Celia is also a very moody woman, either feeling things at a ten, or at a zero. She's quick to flip a very violent switch and doesn't hesitate to jump to grand conclusions. She's almost hysterical in a lot of her mannerisms.
Brief Backstory: Celia was born to a very high class and upstanding family. She lived in a big house with her parents and they had money upon money. She was well-loved and never punished, leading her to believe that she could get away with anything and everything. That all changed when a man ratted her father out to the local police for "fraud", though Celia's parents had never committed a crime in their life. Their house was repossessed, they lost all glory to their name, and they fell from one end to the status ladder to the other. They scrapped together enough money to stay afloat, but Celia's father committed suicide very soon after losing everything. She wants more than anything to restore her high status and get revenge on the ones who wrecked her.
Other?: Celia has a very weak constitution. She's constantly getting sick but she refuses to acknowledge it until Bram practically puts her on house arrest.

They live together in a very shabby apartment. They keep everything on the down-low.

((HERE IS HEEEEEEE))
Name: Augustus-Agnes [UNKNOWN] (aka Gus)
Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, he/him
Age: 10
Appearance: Gus is rather short for his age, and slightly overweight, giving him rounder cheeks and a "pudge", despite seemingly living on the street. His skin is pale and has an almost bluish-purple undertone, common in people with tuberculosis, though h doesn't appear to be sick His eyes are sea blue, and his eyes a large and often described as "boreing". His nose is slightly longer and wider than average, similar to that of a sheep muzzle. his mouth is almost always placed in a pout unless he's distorting, which takes the form of a large splitting smile. His ears are big and stick out a fair amount, and his hair is light blond and slicked back with bandoline. His clothes mostly consist of typical Victorian children's clothes, often long-sleeved and paired with tights and buckled black shoes. He wears an oversize sailor sash at all times, which seems to serve no purpose but act as an aesthetic piece.
Personality: Gus' personality is very monotone. He's often silent and only speaks when spoken to, keeping to himself in most scenarios. He's not social at all and has a tendency to scare other children away with his disposition. He has been known to play, mostly by himself, and always in isolated areas. He speaks with a cold undertone, mostly giving one or two-word answers, but that's all he needs to captivate someone. Gus enjoys music and staring aimlessly out the window, intimidating the people that walk by and scaring them with his distortion, sometimes both simultaneously. Gus often disappears into the night, and returns early morning, covered in blood.
Brief Backstory: No one really knows where Gus came from. Shop owners recall hearing the calls of a newborn lamb, and on investigation finding a young boy alone in the street. Officers are frequently called to come to collect the lone boy, however, when they arrive he's seemingly disappeared. Those who have spoken to the boy say his voice has a certain high vibrato to it, similar to the bleat of a lamb, though they also describe it as strangely comforting, and enticing, much like that of a siren.
Other?: Gus possesses the ability to mimic the sound of a crying lamb, as well as distort his face into the long shape of a sheep face. However, he can only do this when not in the focus of one's sight. The face distortion serves no real purpose but to frighten people, and he finds it amusing to distort when someone's gaze is unfocused on his, immediately reversing the effects just before they refocus, returning to his normal face. What Gus uses his abilities for is unknown, however, there has been a spike in lone children disappearing since his merger.

(im so sorry it took this long aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa)

In the cold, dead of night, a duo waltzes down the vacant street. The air is heavy with threatened rain, the dark of the night sliced open by staggered streetlights. The woman sings, widely swinging their conjoined hands. The man is silent, though the invisible tilt of his lips proves how content he is to be beside the woman. The sidewalk they walk down is new and divided by wide cracks. The buildings bordering them are old and forced to look fresh with paint and ornamentals.

While the working class sleeps, the couple takes it upon themselves to make the upper class pay their long overdue penance. The man twirls the woman beneath his arm, her dark brown hair whirls around her shoulders through the spin. Her piercing laugh echoes from the walls and floors. Their conjoined hands are shadow and blood–the man's inky black and the woman's dipped in scarlet. It hadn't even been necessary–their target was a corpse long before Celia Bethany Creston Woodrow had her fun with it.

Celia is yanked back when her partner suddenly stops, her gleeful walk stuttered and ruined, her song dying out with a pout. "What is it?" She asks, a sharp edge to her voice.

"I saw something," comes the calm answer. The man studies the street with a steady, steely glare. It lands on a shadow just up the road. His brow furrows. He knows every shadow personally, and this one isn't in his address book. "It's a child," he states, pointing his chin to the small boy just up the way.

The small boy stood motionless in the street, hands clasped behind his back and his head tilted ever so slightly downward. The shadows produced by the candle-lit lamps of the night illuminated his face ever so slightly, giving a soft shadow to the underside of his round cheeks.

Though still in nature, his wide, almost dead eyes gave away his surprise. He hadn't expected two grown adults to round that corner, he was sure by the high-pitched laughs and melodic singing the young girl he had met earlier had come back to see him, just like he had offered. Not that that matter now. Here he was, standing out in the open, completely exposed.
And for the first time in his life short life, he froze.
his eyes studied the crimson stains on their hands, a sick mixture of fear and jealousy washed over him.
He squared his feet and straightened his back, lifting his chin and waiting for one of them to make a move first.

(hi, im so sorry bestie i have been struggling lately aldskjf too much homework and even more burnout and the rp brainworms have not been kind to me)

Celia stops, her face hardening as she looks down the road to the child. It's a small, pudgy sort of thing and Celia wonders exactly how long it's been since she's properly encountered a freakish baby in the road well into the witching hour. "Oh, I see them, darling." Her voice had been musical, but now it's hardened to stone.

"Where do you think it came from?" Bram inquires, leaning his head towards Celia's ear. "Do you think it saw anything?"

"Perhaps," comes the cold response. Celia squeezes her husband's hand before letting go, taking a few steps towards the child. "Hello there," she tries, raising her voice a pitch. "Where in the hell did you come from?" Bram, silent as the night, follows closely in her footsteps.

(Dont worry bestie i get it, thinking is hard)

The boy remains silent. His face stays dormant except for the smile that grows across his face, seemingly growing larger with each step the couple takes.

He's never had prey this big before; he's always targeted small children. They're easy to lure, so trusting and gullible, and often served as a more filling meal than bigger pray, being that their bodies are rounder and thicker with fat. But this could be his chance to branch out a bit. He almost felt so obliged, considering how the couple approached him so openly.

Celia exhales, her cheeks inflating temporarily with the force. She doesn't like quiet people. She especially doesn't like it when those quiet people are smiling at her. Child be damned, Celia doesn't care as she reaches for the folds of her skirt. Following silent behind her, Celia can feel the presence of her husband from the way the back of her neck tingles. Right as her slender, slick fingers curl around a solid hilt, there's a cold hand on her shoulder and it's pulling her back a step. A sharp objection is on her lips when Bram's finger suddenly presses against them. Listen, is what he silently says.

And as Celia quietly obliges, she can hear it–just on the parallel street. Pigs, and they're talking quietly about a small trail of blood dragging outside of a rich home. Before she can truly form a proper decision, Celia's lunged, gripping the back of the boy's neck as she drags him into a darkened alley. Bram materializes beside her, his dark eyes wide as he listens. "Shh," Celia chides, her hand and sharpened nails holding the boy's chin steady as the trio merge with the blackness.

As much as his young pride hated to admit it, the sudden grip and movement from the older woman had startled him. The boy almost acted out of pure fear- but froze upon hearing the familiar sounds of beetle-crushers rounding the corner.
Two officers speak quietly to each other, but the boy can't really make it out over the sound of the lady's breathing.
He leans forward slightly, hoping to get a better ear on what they're talking about.

The pigs pass, both of the adults breathing evenly but quietly. They're used to this. They're used to the shadow and the hiding and the careful plans to continue on their sprees. Celia's hands are still slicked in blood as she gently digs her fingernails into the boy's soft flesh. The officers talk quietly to themselves, deciding to persue a lead down a different street.

Celia deflates but keeps her grip firm on the boy. Bram seems to materialize again, straight from the wall of shadows. "Too close," Bram says quietly.

The woman nods in agreement. "We need to leave. Now." She moves away from the boy. He's a fascinating little thing. It's been far too long since Celia has properly been around a child. She stares at him for a long, cold second. "Will you follow?"