Background: “You’re Seryph Gibbons, aren’t you?”
He was broken out of his reverie by a voice. It was soft and gentle, not
the slightest bit raspy. It sounded comforting to a point. It did not make
him jump in shock, nor did he turn around quick enough to make it seem he
had. He just looked over his shoulder and turned on his heel to see the
voice’s owner. Slender, long hair, a kind face, and hands tucked within
the pockets of a light jacket. His gait was easy-going, and he had a soft
smile to match. It was familiar to him, somehow. He nodded, not saying a
word. “It must be a slow day. Haven’t seen as much as a purse-snatching.
It’s been quiet lately.” “That it has.” It was then that this man began to
show just the slightest bit of unease. “Uhm.... I’m sorry to ask this,
but...” He reached into a satchel that was hidden under his coat. From it
he pulled an 8x10 glossy and a pen. “...would you mind signing this?”
Character Personality Seryph smiled for just a second. Fans were always a
funny aspect of being a Sentinel.... He took the photo and the pen. “Not
at all. Who should I sign it to?” “Nobody. Just put your name. That’s
all.” That was just slightly uncommon. More often then not people
requested their own names put in the autographs in some form or another.
So he placed the photo against the glass wall he had been staring out of
for the past several minutes, signed his name, and returned both pen and
photo to the man. He asked a question as he gave both items back with one
hand and outstretched the other for a handshake. “Who are you, anyway?”
They both smiled ever so slightly. “Dulane Truson.” Something wrong.
Seryph paused. He didn’t frown, didn’t raise his eyebrows in curiosity,
just paused. “...Why does your name sound familiar?” It was Dulane’s turn
to pause. “I believe you’ve heard of one of my family members. Durante.”
It clicked. The Contortionist. “Yes. Him.” Long dead. Better off that way.
“He’s not something I like to talk about, not after he killed our
parents.” “You were his brother?” A nod, not sullen, gentle as it had been
before, but just a slight bit wary. “He’s the family curse that no one
likes to talk about. But I assure you that I’m not psychotic like him.
Though I’m still considering asking Elwin for her signature. I don’t think
I’ll get away alive if I do.” The pause was broken, a few chuckles traded.
“It’s a hobby of mine, collecting autographs. I don’t sell them, I just
like to keep them.” He was a sincere man, that much could be told. He
looked to his watch. “Well, it looks like I’ve got an appointment to keep.
Thank you, Mr. Gibbons. I hope the next evil you trounce will be an
unthreatening one.” An odd well-wish, but accepted all the same. It was
the unexpected things that brightened his day. He gave a brisk wave to
Dulane as he walked off, and disappeared though the entrance of the
building....
Powers and Abilities
Semi-Pacifist
He walked
outside, into the light. His eyes adjusted too fast, so it burned his eyes
just slightly. He shielded his eyes with his arm, and noticed six or so
men clad in black striding slowly and evenly towards the building he’d
just left. They didn’t look the least bit friendly, and they slowly began
to surround him. Maybe Seryph was their intended target, and he was just
practice. He didn’t mind. All six of them assumed various stances. One
took out an unpleasant-looking knife. It bothered him not. He took his
hands out of his pockets, loosened up his hands, and set to work with his
gentle smile never leaving his face.
Power Within His Hands
- Power: Mind Blast
- Level: Superior
- Kit Power Link: Senshi
So they fell upon him,
lashing, striking, fists cutting the air with just as much power as a
knife would. Dulane moved beautifully, narrowly avoiding each strike as if
they had intended to miss, flowing from one to another as six men struck
at him simultaneously. And then he began to lash back. He struck out at
one, lightly tapping one of his attackers’ foreheads with the tips of his
fingers. The reaction was instant, like he had been hit in the face with a
punch that came backed with the force of a semi-truck. He crumpled
backwards, falling onto the ground. He did not have to do as much as
clench his fists. Dulane would just lay a hand upon their foreheads and
they fell unconscious. They all fell in rapid succession after that.
Lack of Force
His smile
had not wavered. Not once when six men stood around him and readied to
kill him, not when he made them all fall one after the other, not when he
was the last man standing. He checked his clothing, looking over himself
quickly to see if he had been caught by the knife. There was only one
slash, right above his knee. And those were one of his favorite pairs. Oh
well. He searched the ground for the knife, quietly picked it off the
ground after spotting it, and put it in his satchel along with the glossy.
He needed compensation somehow. He carefully stepped over the bodies of
the unconscious assailants, and gave a wave over his shoulder before
putting his hands in his pockets again. Standing at the entrance of the
building was Seryph, smiling just slightly.
Just a Kind Face
“You met
Seryph?” “Mm-hm. Seems he’s got something for indoor greenery too.” It had
been an hour since he left The Great Khazan Museum, home of the city’s
largest enclosed forest. It was a beautiful place if you wandered about.
“You lucky...! I can’t believe it! How much cuter is he in person?” Dulane
grinned. “Now now, you know I don’t make those sort of judgments.” “Aw,
you’re no fun.” Ellia sipped on her strawberry smoothie, Dulane sipped at
his water. “I’m fun enough to have gotten a signature out of him. And I
also knocked down some six guys who were probably after him.” Her eyes
widened and her jaw slacked. Typical reaction. “With Seryph? You kicked
ass back-to-back with Seryph Gibbons?! SPILL!” He blinked, shaking his
head. “I was leaving and I think they decided to start with me first. I
got them before they got me, and Seryph had nothing to do with it.” She
frowned for just a second before coming up with another idea. “Does that
mean you potentially saved his life?” “Maybe.” “C’mon, the modesty’s
killing me.... You deserve a drink for that. It’s on me. Waiter, go get
something for today’s hero!”
Daily Planning
Dulane waved
to Ellia as she drove off. He lived in a modest two-story house on
Rosedale Street, with well-kept bushes lining the front and a small garden
right beside the front door. It was mostly aloe vera - good for healing
and soothing wounds. It also made a good laxative, but he kept himself
healthy and never needed to use it for that purpose anyway. He stepped
through the front door, placing his jacket on the coat rack before
shutting and locking it behind him. He stepped into his den very quickly,
taking the Seryph glossy out of his satchel and quickly tacking it up with
various others - Uberman, Supercomrade, GreyMalkin, amongst others. He
grinned, noting that his SLJ collection was coming close to completion.
Time to go about the day’s chores....
Various Implements
He went into
his kitchen, took the knife out of his satchel, and placed in on a
counter. Out of his satchel he also took a pair of clippers. He
investigated the bonsai plants that populated his kitchen, numbers so many
that they nearly gave the room and its counters and its furniture a
distinctive green glow. After making a few decisions, he began to trim
them, clipping here and there with meticulous and quick snips, the blades
of the clippers flashing in and out of the green plants. It took a
half-hour. He stepped back to investigate his work, and knew he had done a
good job. He turned around, and opened one of the counter drawers to cast
away the clippers. He closed that drawer as he picked up the knife again,
opening another drawer filled with various cutting implements: knives,
scalpels, cleavers, switchblades, bowie knives, and more. He took a few of
the sharper out - two large scalpels, four of his bigger kitchen knives,
and a pair of scissors. Those he placed into his satchel as he put the
newly-collected knife into the drawer. After shutting it, he turned
towards the door leading to his basement.
Genetic Traits
The first
thing that greeted him when he opened the door were screams. A harsh,
high-pitched shriek, followed by a lower yell, supposed to be a call for
help but made incoherent by the parchedness of the throat that let it
loose. He continued down the steps, flipping the light switch upon
reaching the bottom. Light was cast upon the two he had strapped to his
working tables; a young couple, probably just dating for the past few
months. Or maybe they were high school sweethearts. That didn’t matter
anyway. He just came upon them kissing in a park and that was that. The
both of them were covered in thin gray sheets, underneath they wore
nothing but their underwear. His voice intensified, cracking under the
stress. Her voice shriveled, terror overpowering her and making her break
down into tears. He paid heed to neither. He placed the bag on the girl’s
stomach, kneeled down, unhooking the latches that held her table firmly in
the ground. He had almost killed the boy yesterday, so it wouldn’t be wise
to start on him again. He stood up again as the girl began to beg and
plead incoherently. He ignored her, grabbing the head of the table and
wheeling it into a different room. It was a simple push-open door, and he
locked it as it shut behind him.
Vivisection
It was a plain room - one
fluorescent light that looked as if it would burn out soon, gray walls,
and four latches on the floor that matched the table’s legs. He locked the
table into position, placed the bag next to her head, and cast the sheet
off of the girl strapped to it. Underneath her body was marked with a
rainbow of incisions, infinitely many slashes various in length, depth,
and shape. Sometimes he just slit open the skin. Other times he cut pieces
off. The more recent ones were covered in crimson gauze - didn’t want her
to bleed too excessively. He looked down at her body, considering where he
would get the most blood flow without incurring anything fatal. After
carefully planning what to do, he opened the bag and began his meticulous
work. Slice here, carve there, he worked slowly, ignoring the tired
howling screams of his victim. They were unearthly, ear-piercing, and
unmitigatedly miserable. Her blood ran into grooves on the table, and
dripped into two buckets placed on either side. Dulane didn’t care for the
screaming. Though it hurt his ears, he continued to smile gently, never
flinching. He began to think about his meeting with Seryph earlier, about
how he had worded his sentence so he wouldn’t lie to him. He didn’t like
lying to anybody. He wasn’t psychotic like Durante, after all. He was
completely different.
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