Heroic Intentions

Gemüse looked away.  Busied his eyes with looking around, rather than at Ian; sparing the man the intensity of his gaze.  He rubbed his hand against his pants, eyes drifting around the view.

Part of him felt that such a thing was foolish, perhaps the man was trying to get him off guard, strike when he looked away, but he felt too bad for the man to not do so.

“A Gifted, huh?” Gemüse repeated, letting the word roll around on his tongue.  It told him a lot about this world.  That not everyone roaming around had powers, or at least not powers of note.  That there was some sort of system that denoted some above others, hence, gifted, not unlike his home world’s own desirable/undesirable system.  

“Great, cool,” Gemüse said, waving a hand in front of his face, but still not directing his attention onto Ian.  “I don’t think I need all that.  How bout some advice about getting home?”

The teen was grateful for the stranger’s redirected attention. It gave him a chance to breathe and feel less like every move he made was being scrutinized. However, the nonchalant nature of his mannerisms still brought the familiar twinge of anxiety to Ian’s chest. His further questioning didn’t help, he always hated being the bearer of bad news, especially to those pulled from the other side of the void. 

“Uh... thing is, we haven’t feg- figured out how to get someone back to their home dimension yet. I-I mean you can jump into the void rift, but....” He trailed off, knowing that every attempt at such ad only ended in rather gruesome failure. Once more the boy fidgeted, shifting between his feel and pulling his hoodie away from his chest. “Are-... are you sure I can’t get you a coffee or something, we could talk more over a drink or... something.” 

Damiens brown eyes looked over the stranger, a frown spreading across his face “shit- shit” sure, he said he wasn’t hurt, but there was still panic in him about how bad it could have been. Damien was relieved it didn’t fully smack him on the head however. 

“Do you need like, a band-aid or something” he asked “we- uh- we have some in the office, if you need.” He rubbed the back of his neck. There was a shrug “it can be” he said softly “usually not this bad, but I’ve seen it get here a few times. Are you not from here?””

A moment was taken for Ian to fully take stock of the injury at hand, pulling his arm across his chest to really look at the point of impact. The fabric of his hoodie was frayed where components of the door had scraped across it, and he could feel where the skin underneath was sore and would very likely bruise. Otherwise, he seemed alright, though clearly the stranger was concerned. Admittedly, it could have been a lot worse, maybe Titus’ training was paying off.

“What would I do? You want proof?Ain’t a talking bug is enough for ya, signore? I can’t knock ya for being curious, I’ll give ya that, but really now?” Bor did a body bob shrug while shaking their head a little. “Aight, hows this. I’ll change form so ya can know I’m the absolute realest deal.”

The demon stands there leaning against the table behind them, picking up one of the succulents to take a look in one of their lower hand, the upper pair of hands pointing at him. “Not exactly outta my shell but ya can take what ya can get, bud.”  Bor admitted, “Was this proof for ya to make sure you’re seeing what ya believing or something? Cuz I gotta say, I know demons are a tricky bunch and all, but taking things with a grain of salt is a bit too much salt.” They gotta admit his anxiety is smelling pretty delicious, but they’re not gonna make any moves to harm him

If he was entirely honest, Ian wasn’t exactly expecting Bor to oblige him. And now, as he’s seated before a now transformed demon-bug, he’s not exactly sure what to say or do. He didn’t think he’d get this far. Oddly enough, however, his anxiety seems to settle just a bit. Perhaps his fear of creepy-crawlies was mostly at fault here. 

Did something happen in the last few months? Did Ian fall on his head, or form some kind of memory loss? Airin knew he was gone for awhile. The Felicid tended to not stay in one area for too long. Either for his own safety, or because he grew bored of the scenery. Never did he leave because of the people though. So why did look at him so dumbfounded? An ache in his gut weighed him down, and Airin was never one to ignore his instinct.

“But… We met a few months ago?” There was a slight growl to his voice, but he was quick to bite it back. “You brought me to one of your friends houses? It was full of plants, and there was a computer person?” Even saying it out loud made him sound like he was speaking gibberish. Was he even making any sense?

Tall ears laid flat against his head. Lifting his rear, he took one scoot back as Ian went into a crouch. What if everything that happened months ago was all a weird fever dream? Ian did feed him something the day they met–

He knew about Basil and Elliotte too? What had happened to him that he didn’t recall such an encounter if it had truly happened? The small creature seemed frustrated at Ian’s apparent lack of memory, but to fake remembering an event seemed to him like it would only do more harm in the long run. The teen lowered himself from a crouch to a sitting position, resting his arms over his knees as he pondered what exactly to do. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d had a lapse in memory, or if this small beast had come from another world that he had existed in for them to have met prior, but the best way forward seemed to be a reintroduction. “I’m r-really sorry that I don’t remember meeting you, that must be frustrating; b-but I’m sure we can be fast friends. My name is Ian, I wa- was just out here collecting data for a project in my science class.” He paused, being sure to check that his bag was still with him. “I’m sor- sorry but would you mind introducing yourself to me?” 

LEGAL NAME: Ian Canaea McClaine

DATE OF BIRTH: uhh.... like Oct. 15th 1998.. I think. If we’re going off of irl time and not Aaltone time.

NICKNAME[S]: Alexa Specific: Pattie

GENDER: FtM male

AGE: 19

SPECIES: Average, Human

PLACE OF BIRTH: Aaltone

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment under Titus’ penthouse

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, a little bit of Gaelic, and even less French

EDUCATION: Highschool dropout, grade 11

OCCUPATION: Hero’s Apprentice

CRIMINAL RECORD: Underage Possession of Alcohol and other illegal substances (Weed.)

DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS

LIKE[S]: Drinking tea, being a normal teenage boy, sleeping in, oversized sweaters that smell like home, being in nature and away from the noise of the city.

DISLIKE[S]: City Smog, monsters, Titus, high expectations, too much noise, waking up early, the taste of coffee. 

{ P H Y S I C A L   I N F O R M A T I O N }

FEAR[S]: Being abandoned, people, crowds, car crashes, learning to drive, losing people close to him, the uncertainty of his future. 

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Quiet, naive, polite, forgetful, curious, studious, playful, is anxious a personality trait?, introverted, hard-working, organized, loyal.

HAIR COLOR: Black 

EYE COLOR: Green with brown specks

{ F A M I L Y   I N F O R M A T I O N }

HEIGHT: 5ft 2in

WEIGHT: 147 lbs

TATTOOS: none, yet

SIBLING[S]: Samantha McClaine (Deceased)

PARENT[S]: Amanda Connrey-McClaine (Deceased) Derek McClaine

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P   I N F O R M A T I O N }

CHILDREN: None

PETS[S]: None

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Openly Asexual, Panromantic, could be open to a (sexual) gay relationship if he really, really trusted the person, however. 

The leaf didn’t go unnoticed for long, it was wildly out of place in these parts, where it was cold almost all year ‘round. Ian noticed the small beast fairly quickly as well, offering a hesitant smile to the creature. This was the one he was meant to remember, right? He recalled only one previous encounter, but the creature had insisted there had been more.

“Oh.  That’s nice.”  Gemüse stated, in what was likely a fantastic under-simplification of what he was just told.  It wasn’t anything surprising to him, but why, out of all of the universes he could have been thrown into, why’d it have to be one with monsters?  Why couldn’t it be a normal one like his own?  Or one without magic?

He let out a sharp exhale and swiped a hand across his forehead, pinching a couple hairs between his fingers before returning his hair to its typical, tomato-esque style.  The slight approach didn’t go unnoticed, and Gemüse shifted a foot back an inch in response.

“I appreciate the offer, but please don’t feel like you need to buy me anything.”  Gemüse inclined his head a bit.   He was unsure just how much detail to go into about how he got here, but realized the previous explanation gave him the perfect out.

He placed a finger on his chin, tilting his head and giving a thoughtful expression, “So, theoretically, if I came out of a universal rift from another universe, would I be considered a horrifying monster?”

Ian only became more concerned as the man spoke, he seemed so nonchalant about this whole thing, when outsiders were usually ready to leave under the threat of a random monster attack. He supposed it couldn’t be helped if the man was curious. Still, he began fidgeting with his multitude of rings and trying to find a way to keep this “guest” safe, regardless of origin. 

“Only beings that show signs of hostility are considered monsters, and we often try to negotiate with any destructive being that can speak a language from this universe clearly. So, n-no, you wouldn’t be considered a monster. More like a... a tourist.” Anxiously the boy popped his knuckles and then his neck, each with a louder pop than the prior. It would really look bad on him if some universal outsider got hurt because he couldn’t be bothered to take care of them, but he really didn’t want to be here. 

A cigarette sat perched between his teeth, although he hadn’t taken a drag off of it since it was lit. He merely glanced at it occasionally at it too burnt down to near nothing. Was it really a relapse if he never even tasted the thing? Perhaps the menthol lingering on his tongue and the sickly smoke sticking to him was incriminating enough to count. These were the things he pondered when his insomnia kicked back up and he longed for the day he could sleep for 13 hours straight. 

When else would he, really? During these long periods of being awake, his mind was at it’s clearest. The smog of his depression cleared, his anxiety was mostly at bay, hell; he even spoke without a stutter. He was productive during these times.