august bios

Name: Zetis D'Hothek
Age: 23
Gender: trans man
Job: Principle Avatar. He walks around looking important, mostly.
Affiliated Entity: Buried. Fully realized.
Appearance: A sleek-looking man, 6'0" in height, with broad shoulders and extremely dark skin and small rectangular glasses. Keeps his hair in a close buzz. His wardrobe tends towards muted and cold colors, and always tends to be in some form of formalwear.
Personality: He's- pleasant, would be the standard descriptor. Amicable. Zetis is always first to step up to help with whatever needs done, no matter how small. Always first to supply words of affirmation when they feel needed, and honestly appears to adopt the air of a mother hen at times. He takes things on like he's accustomed to shouldering it, and expects it. He's polite and formal to a fault, though he has backbone to support it. Ambitions, too, though what they could be would be anyone's guess. He carries an intense energy about him that flares and wanes but never fully leaves. All anyone ever really has to say about him are good things, but.... Well. Tread lightly, I suppose. Couldn't tell you for what, though.
History: Taken in by an aunt who gravitates to drink and housed amongst several cousins too young to care for themselves, Zetis doesn't have much of a childhood to speak of after turning the ripe age of eleven. He maintained being a model student under threat of a raised fist, kept children in order as well as he was able, and fought back the filth that accumulated in all corners of the small house. His aunt was a hoarder in the making, and it only grew worse as the years went on. Zetis hated it, of course, but every beer can put on the curb would turn into a stubborn pile of rubbish the moment he turned his back. Many creatures were housed in those walls- roaches, rats, the works. Zetis learned to keep appearances in public and to himself when he was home. He learned to live under pressure. Starting college was the turning point.

He hastily moved into offered dorms, and found the setup if not ideal, then better. He had a decent enough roommate, not notable in any capacity besides quiet and out-of-the-way. Zetis was well-liked, and smart besides, and often tutored others who would come to him for help. Semesters began to add up, and academic pressure on the campus became acute. Student loans, failed tests, waning mental health. He felt all of it keenly. As did his roommate, to his own detriment.

Again, Zetis finds himself sleeping in accruing filth. His mood sours quicker and quicker by the day, though he never gets aggressive. Simply worried. Every pointed off-hand comment, every gentle reminder that he was there if ever his roommate wanted to talk, every lingering concerned stare at a bedside table laden with dirty dishes only made the weight heavier. Made his roommate sink deeper. Made Zetis more disgusted.
Eventually, Zetis requested to change dorms. You see, he couldn't even open the door anymore due to how thoroughly it had been trashed. His roommate couldn't either, under hundreds of pounds of depression build-up. His body had to be removed by a team of hired professionals in hazard suits.

Students that he had tutored also slowly began to suffer the same fate, even months after he walked away from the school. His childhood home, as well. Walls bowed out and foundation down to ruins, filled to the bursting point with useless trash. Bodies buried horrifically amongst it all.

Zetis would rather not talk about it, all things considered. He hates clutter, you know.

Powers: He carries a weight about him. Talking to him when he's in a certain state of mind to do it makes you sluggish, your body hard to move, your chest feel tighter. Shoulders dip inward and down. Rooms seem smaller than they should be- and often are. Be aware of how much space you still have, and how many openings are still available to you. If he levels you with a look dripping with concern and false worry, you'll lock up completely. May begin to feel lightheaded. Suffocating you with silence, as it were. Ah, and don't let him do too many things for you, lest you feel the debt of too many favors left unpaid.

Other Info:
- he loves embroidery and places his name on every article of clothing he owns
- gay as hell
- he's a petty bitch at heart, and knows how to hold a grudge
--
Name: Lonnie Wallace
Age: 21
Gender: inscrutable. they/them for everyone's convenience
Job: Secretary to the Head Chair of Foundation, Vanessa Valdez
Affiliated Entity: Stranger avatar under the control of the Web. it's a great time.
Appearance: extremely slight build, 5'5". black hair styled and slicked back from their face into points at the back of their head, dark blue eyes, pale. Wardrobe consists of being a hot alt mess. Always wearing some form of expressive jester-esque facepaint, if only simplified. Their body is.... wrong. Joints are too flexible, skin reflects more light than it ought. Sometimes it appears they have no bones at all! They're earnest to the point of being suspect, emotions coming loud and almost artificially broadcasted. A very active and dramatic talker, hands gesturing every which way, face moving nearly comically from one expression into the next. To see Lonnie Wallace is to see a production, an act always in motion, wheels always turning.
Personality: As rotten as rotten could get, generally. A seasoned and enthusiastic back-stabber, their mind is both an enigma and extremely predictable. Where power and influence goes, Lonnie Wallace follows dutifully and with a grin. Pack thinking is the ticket to survival, and smiles are the seal to the deal, always, always- until you can settle yourself near the top of the hierarchy. Shame holds no weight to them. Sucking up, causing a scene, it all comes as easy as a laugh. Emotions come too quickly and drain away just as fast, sparking near-blinding and then fizzling out, and maintaining their attention is a razor's edge balance when you've nothing to offer- though they can uphold amiability with the best of them until it's time to either cuddle up or cut you down. All they know is contradictions and shifting favor, but the sad fact of it is that the whole kit and kaboodle is a multifaceted defense for the empty fucking pit they actually are. Desperation, panic, anxiety, and turbulent rage are always lurking. Funny, that.

History: Lonnie Wallace was raised in a household where backbones were made for bending, and if not that, then breaking. This way of surviving was honed all the way up through their schooling- would-be friends turning to bullies which ended in hospital visits, lessons learned in finding and hiding in cliques for their own good. Training to be a professional performer for the Cirque du Soleil, mastering the art of putting your best foot forward, of being what the people wanted to see, only allowed it to cement into their being.
As it turns out, obsessively analyzing the civil atmosphere around you for loopholes and footholds and cliff-edges due to trauma and sheer animal-panic settles you up pretty good to get strings attached, you could say. Bending yourself into whatever shape benefits you most in the eyes of the people around you, throwing up a mask all the time, it chips away. Under big-top lights and frilly costumes and decorative paint, things can get a little blurred. Webs find anchors where they scrabble at the social ladder, until their tendency to attach themselves to the safest individual became less a pattern of behavior and instead a more…. physical manifestation.

By the time Lonnie Wallace began to realize how strongly their personhood was tangled up in this supernatural Other, it was already too late. Thrashing at razor wire strings- sometimes real, sometimes metaphysical- did the rest. Identity torn right into pieces and strung back together, all wrong. Pulling against hooks only ever does more damage. They've learned that lesson time and again and over and over and over and really, is it even a problem anymore?

They dance along wherever their cords have wrapped 'round next- from the circus to the Foundation, and into the service of one Vanessa Valdez, for plans unknown.


And they're ever so happy to be here.

Powers: extremely flexible and durable to an unnerving degree, they got no bones! They don't have any abilities really, besides being extremely difficult to put down on principle. Also, they have an increased range of mobility! By which I mean, they can be lifted from the ground to far, far heights or move extremely quickly, appearing like a puppet on strings. It's pretty uncanny. Possibly nightmare inducing. Just take it to heart that they can adopt a fair amount of doll-like qualities.

Other Info:
- VERY handsy and kind of clingy, doesn't seem to notice it overmuch
- bi/pan
- generally just a little fucking jester. jolly little fool