Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
Post by Freya Iris Thatcher on Jan 10, 2019 3:17:44 GMT
Don't Cry cause it's over
OPEN
- smile because it happened. -
A heavy sigh left the cracked lips of Freya as she stood in the middle of what appeared to be an empty room, pulling the hood from off her head as her eyes took a look at the barren walls. This was to be her punishment for trying to hide away during the week, her weekend was now going to be spent here in the music room. She was expected to pull out all the musical equipment that was locked inside the storage closet to clean and polish them all. The headmaster knew the perfect way to use her passion against her. The orderly grunted at her to get started before closing the door behind him as he left, leaving the storage unlocked for her to work. Stupid...but she was grateful that the gangly man left her alone to do her chore instead of lingering over her as she worked. She could still feel his annoyance prickling at the back of her neck, letting out a deep breath as she tried to shake it off the best she could.
Her feet dragged along the ground as she made her way to the storage room, peering inside. The chaos of how they stored all these precious instruments caused her mouth to hang open and felt her heart sink into her stomach. She needed to save them, hoping they were not damaged beyond repair. With that sense of urgency, she stripped off her hoodie and tied it around her waist. "Lets do this Thatcher" she murmured to herself as she disappeared into the room. A few seconds later and a miscalculation in musical Jenga, an avalanche of noise echoed throughout the room.
---
It had taken her a while but she finished pulling out everything and made it to were it looked like an actual music room. Thankfully all the equipment held up well, just a few scars and indents. She went over to a grand piano that was tucked away at the corner, saving it for last. Quickly, she jerked the sheet off and coughing as it whipped all the dust into her face. 'When was the last time a person played on you?' she wondered as her slender fingers trailed over the ivory keys. Her gaze turning towards the door that lead out to the hall, noticing it was now ajar. The orderly must have peeked in at some point while she was in the closet and forgot to shut it back? Her fingers twitching as they longed to play once again, daring to take a chance.
With one last glance for safety, she took a seat and checked if it was still in tune. She tried her best to focus now, pushing out all the emotions that was not her own and just let her fingers dance across the keys.
It took a few tries, but she found the melody that was buried within her head. She started from the beginning once more, keeping her eyes closed as her fingers played from muscle memory. Music had allowed her to express herself but also gave her peace. She felt like herself once again, something she had not felt in so long. A feeling of freedom washed over her as she kept playing. A smile on her lips as her eyes watered behind her lids, her music filling the room and echoed off the walls.
Post by Benjamin Townsend on Jan 27, 2019 23:22:55 GMT
at most I'm sleeping all these demons away
Where there is art, there is life
It was a quote Ben’s mother had painted in the living room of their rundown two bedroom home. A quote he had looked at for seventeen years that had been burned into the very fiber of his being. Seven simple words that had instilled in him a passion for creation and expression. Words that propped him up when his rebelliousness failed him in the cold, disinterested halls of Monroeville.
In his darkest times, locked in solitary or recovering from one of his all too familiar night terrors, he had his sculpting to turn to. It was an outlet for everything he could not admit or simply could not express. It was the very core of his being. He wasn’t a narcoleptic. He wasn’t “Gifted”. He wasn’t a lower-middle-class kid from Detroit. He wasn’t even one of Monroeville's most infamous patients.
He was an artist and he would bleed and die for his art.
So, getting into a bit of trouble for it was a simple sacrifice. When the desire to work with his hands struck him something as plebian as rules and punishment were just inconveniences. Wandering through the halls of Monroeville on his free period Ben’s mind already worked feverishly to hold onto the inspiration that had struck him. Somewhere at the very edge of his consciousness, he could see a form taking shape. Something alien and hauntingly beautiful. The image was still there when he arrived at the art room and it’s locked door.
Palmer had taken away the keys that Ben had painstakingly crafted from his own bones. Months of work and fine-tuning stolen away in an instant. They had not been a creation of necessity more a creation of convenience and hubris. Benjamin had wanted to test his art, to see how far he could truly push the boundaries of aesthetics and function. The fact that the morbid ring of keys let him wander through Monroeville’s art rooms at his leisure was just a nice little perk. He didn't need them. As long as he had a healthy supply of calcium built up something as mundane as a lock wasn’t going to dissuade him.
Breaking into the art studio was a cinch. A long, slender protrusion made of bone summoned from his knuckles, inserted into the lock. Rapid expansion and contraction that shot the pins up with some tension applied to the handle. It didn’t take much on the tattooed boy’s part to create a rudimentary bump key. As the handle turned in his hand Benjamin couldn’t help but think that even Mason would be proud of his display of lockpicking. The rest of his friends would be decidedly less excited about Ben’s breaking and entering. As long as he didn’t get caught that would be a non-issue.
He closed the door behind him and then began his usual ritual of preparing his work station. He refused to use the tools offered by Monroeville. They were shoddy and abused things. Instead, he supplied his own bony scrappers and picks. Set out neatly, Benjamin plopped a brick of oil clay in the center of his tools. With everything prepped Ben rolled up the sleeves of his ratty flannel and threw himself into his work.
The concept of time vanished in the face of his artistic fervor. In all the world there was only him and his creation. A twisted thing of an organic shape with gently sloping edges. Somewhere amidst the curving structure it resembled a skinless hand, outstretched and reaching for something unseen. Tendons too large and few to belong to a human composed its muscle. Its fingers ending in dulled points. Somewhere, from outside his domain of clay and abstract figures, something disturbed him.
A cacophony of clanging broke him from his trance. A tumultuous crashing from the room next door. He scowled, choosing at first to ignore the din. The door to his sanctuary was closed and nobody was addressing him directly. With no immediate threat to his creation or freedom, he went back to work.
-----
It was the song that finally roused him. A melodic sound echoing from the adjacent room. He looked up from the inhuman appendage he'd been working on and towards the other room. It was not often that something could steal his interests from his creations but it was not often that music filled the halls of Monroeville. He found the notes to be almost as enchanting as the call that had possessed him to steal away into the art room. Wiping his hands on the side of his pants Ben left behind his unfinished piece and walked to the other room, it's door cracked open.
For much of the performance, he stood there leaning against the doorframe. When the song tapered off Ben placed his hands together, clapping for the girl behind the piano. “Bravissima,” Ben said, sauntering into the music room. His skin and clothes were stained with the orange-red clay he'd been working with. A smile shone on his olive features as he took up a perch on a desk adjacent to the piano.
"Bravissima is a thing people say, right? I don't really know dick about music but that felt like the right word to use. A bit classier than 'that was really fuckin' good'." The boy grinned as he reclined on his recently claimed desk. He looked over the girl before him. She was a stranger to him, as many of those that roamed the halls of Monroeville were. Outside of his recently assembled clique, he was largely ignorant of the rest of the patients.
"Like the Mozart of Monroeville," his words were playful with only the slightest edge of sarcasm to them. At their root, they were completely sincere. The girl had completely captivated him with her performance.
Music was an escape, the only thing that has ever been able to cleared her polluted mind and allow her to wonder aimlessly without the fear of losing herself completely. A perfect outlet that channeled the emotions that were not her own into something that could be potentially beautiful instead of something haunting, unless she chooses to express it in that manner. The mild emptiness of the room created the perfect echo that was complementary to the song that her fingers brought to life. All the tension that she has been carrying around for months began to unwind from her shoulders and melted down her arms and into her slender digits that were dancing another the keys while her foot pressing against the brass pedal underneath.
So lost inside her own momentary happiness, she did not realize there was another near by. It was until the thunderous sound of clapping hands that snapped her back into her own reality and it startled her. Her eyes opened to find an unexpected face who was helping himself into her safe space, following him as he perched himself up onto a desk a few feet from where she sat. All at once, the tension returned as she could feel the prickles of unpleasant emotions start to creep upon her mind. Panic, fear, pain, it all caused her heart to start palpitate within her rib cage, the urgency of wanting to get away but felt glued to the spot. Were these her own feelings...or his? Her eyes were still misty from her song but they lingered on him as he spoke to her as if he knew her like a friend. Lost for a second too long in trying to place these intrusive thoughts and feelings, she realized she should say something back to him, seeing as he made himself comfortable.
"Like the Mozart of Monroeville,"
The statement got a reaction, a huff of air escaped her pale lips before a ghost of a smirk curled in its place. She took it as the compliment he was trying to give, but also felt alittle downhearted as well. How long were they all going to be held within these heavily guarded walls? Who was really being protected, them outside or us? How rare it was to steal away these small little victories that caused them happiness, something that should be free and easy to others.
"So Mozart, how'd you break in here?
The girl nervously licked at her cracked lips as she was now required to carry out a conversation. "My punishment," turning her eyes towards the row of instruments now perfectly placed and shined. She was just grateful that she had Amos for a orderly, who left her another to work. Some of the others were horrible people who enjoyed tormenting the others that were stuck here against their will.
Her gaze returned to the boy, now noticing that he was rather handsome and it made her feel even more awkward than she was before. She remained seated, using the piano to try and shield her and used it to distract herself. The dark emotions still looming over her mind, causing her to take a long look at him. If these were his...he hide them well... inside she still felt panicked and uneasy. She was able to resist the urge to run, for the moment. "What about you?" she turned his question around on him, her eyes turning down to the keys and she pressed a few to keep herself busy and distracted.
Post by Benjamin Townsend on Feb 2, 2019 7:55:38 GMT
at most I'm sleeping all these demons away
Well, if there was one thing Ben could say about his new acquaintance it was that she was reserved. She hardly made eye contact with him as she spoke and when she did deign it necessary to respond it was only a few syllables. That was fine with him, he had more than enough words that could fill the empty air between the two of them.
There was something melancholic about the girl something that seemed to run deeper than just the usual listlessness that Monroeville inspired. He could see it in her posture, in the way she sat behind the piano using it as a wall between the two of them. In the mournful dirge she had played for the empty room. Every sign and physical characteristic of the girl seemed to say that she wanted to be left alone.
Benjamin boorishly ignored those signs. All because of the ghost of a smile that graced her features at his inane joke. If she hadn't of smiled he likely would have left her in peace.
He nodded his head and let out a low whistle, extrapolating her meaning by her sparse, two-word response. "Really? Man, how do I get this punishment? Sure as shit beats solitary." Ben's eyes roved over the neatly placed and polished instruments that occupied the room. Suddenly, the calamity he had heard earlier made more sense, spotting a few of the nicks and dents in the brass accouterments.
He felt that his usual, playfully indirect manner of speaking wasn't going to do him any favors in this situation. "That begs the question of what you did to deserve this mighty cushy gig?" Most of Benjamin's punishments usually ended up with him locked up or facing down one of the higher-ups within the hospital's hierarchy of jailers. To be fair, Ben had a tendency to make his situations worse by becoming wildly confrontational and mildly combative.
The girl's question was momentarily forgotten as she delved into another song. This one, to Ben's untrained ears, was equally sorrowful. His motormouth idled as he sat, listening attentively to the song that poured out. He watched her from behind her wall of wood and ivory as she threw herself into her music. It was a sight he was familiar with, though never from this angle. Usually, others were watching him as creation flowed through him. To see it from the other side was a nice change. Eventually, just like all songs do, it ended filling the room with silence.
"Oh, sorry, got a little distracted. I may or may not have busted into the art room next door to get my hands on some clay." Ben shrugged noncommittally as he straightened his posture. "Before you ask," Ben lifted his left hand and forced a slender spike of bone to grow from the underside of his forearm. It writhed, altering its form until it roughly resembled a key. "I've got a skeleton key." He retracted the bone back into his body with his terrible one-liner delivered a lopsided smirk present on his face.
"So, Mozart, what should I call you or should I just stick with that? I kind of like it personally. If you like, you can me Benjamin or any derivative. I'm not too picky and if you've heard any of the rumors about me... aw fuck it, yeah they're probably true." Benjamin's reputation often preceded him a fact that he'd grown used to in his fifteen months locked away in Monroeville.
"Really? Man, how do I get this punishment? Sure as shit beats solitary.
Freya looked at him, taking the effort to lean to the side and peek around the music sheet that was displayed on top of the piano. They envied each other punishments. The headmaster clearly knew what they were doing. She would do anything to be placed in solitary, away from others and their overbearing emotional bagging that is forced upon her. "Be something you are not," she murmured, so low it was impossible for him to hear.
"That begs the question of what you did to deserve this mighty cushy gig?
Her fingers were her distraction, her tool to evade answering at the moment as she thought back to why she was given this punishment to begin with. Her answer was hidden within not answering. She avoids all things; social interaction with others, classes, head count. Skipping....I have been hiding out all week and got caught by an orderly in the basement" she felt it necessary to answer, the guilt of being pegged as rude or stuck up was beginning to rub her the wrong way. She was sure this was only the beginning of her punishment, but she was still grateful for the momentary peace it offered.
I may or may not have busted into the art room next door to get my hands on some clay. Before you ask, I've got a skeleton key."
She was not prepared to watch as a bone protruded from his skin, her eyes growing wide as her jaw went slack. Amazed and slightly horrified, it was until she heard his punchline that she snapped out of her dazed and looked back up at him. "Heh, clever" the corner of her lips pulled upwards at the corner as her eyes turned back down towards the keys at her fingers. "Working with clay takes some talent. Are you any good?" her blunt way of making small talk.
"So, Mozart, what should I call you or should I just stick with that? I kind of like it personally. If you like, you can me Benjamin or any derivative. I'm not too picky and if you've heard any of the rumors about me... aw fuck it, yeah they're probably true."
She thought to herself for a second, not minding having a nickname. It sounded better than her actual name. "My name is Freya, but you can call me Mozart if you'd like." Her eyes back at the boy as he introduced himself. Isn't it polite to shake hands when most people greet each other? She did feel safe behind the piano, but she could not hide there forever while he was making it clear he wasn't going to be leaving any time soon. So, she forced herself up from the stool, smoothing out her shirt as she made her way to the front of the piano. "I do not hang around long enough to hear any rumors, so you are working on first impression so make it count." her humor a bit sharp. "Do you play?" she asked, motioning towards the array of instruments.