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Wesley Evans

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314 Bringing Sexy Back


About Wesley Evans


    Brandon Jay Mclaren
  • RACE
  • JOB
    ARMA Magus
    New York
    Wes is of caramel complexion with a slightly toned body (as he has only recently begun a strict excercise regimen), and has an infectious smile. His hair is jet black and done in dreads that reach the bottom of his neck, though they are always pulled back in a ponytail. He stands at 5'7 and weighs 145 lbs.

    Fashion-wise, Wes wears whatever he thinks looks good, with no actual sense for matching or style. The clothes he wears are low maintenance; usually a t-shirt (with some silly reference to nerd culture), skinny jeans, and sneakers (or a hoodie in colder weather). He also wears thick rimmed, rectangle-lensed black eyeglasses.

    Though attractive, Wes' naive nature hinders his sex appeal. He has no commanding presence in a crowd, and attempts to keep it that way.
    Wesley Evans is the type of man that doesn't stand out in a room, and he prefers to keep it that way. Naturally shy, Wes keeps his opinions to himself more often than not, which has served him well in life for the most part. He is known to come out of his shell when especially comfortable with people he's speaking with, which usually means anyone that shares his interests (those being video games and comics).

    This anti-social behavior has resulted in a few mishaps. Because he doesn't get out alot, and most of his knowledge of how the world works comes from tv and comics, he's constantly making naive decisions when it comes to trusting people, and sometimes misreads other's emotions, resulting in situations being made worse than they already are.

    Backpack: contains 50 marble sized metallic ball bearings.


    Wesley is an Elementalist who specializes in metal manipulation. This includes ferrokinesis (the manipulation of metal and metal objects with one's mind), the ability to change the shape and form of metals, as well as the ability to strengthen or weaken metal objects.

    A constant training regimen as well as battle experience and access to texts on magic theory that Wesley studied both with the OFL and with ARMA after the split has afforded Wesley with 4 long years of improvement, resulting in more complex, destructive, and versatile skills both in his ferromancy repertoire and his natural ability. Passing mastery in bladed combat of all kinds to supplement his ability to create weaponry, as well as understanding of blood magic that has granted him access to his most powerful spell has prepared Wesley for a more prominent stance in ARMA's forces. At the behest of his friend Alec Walker, he finally has opted to carry a side arm for protection: the .45 Long Colt fashioned with a bottom barrel in an obvious homage to what Wesley considers one of the "coolest looking" guns.

    His spells are no longer hindered by electricity, and his Ferrokinesis is not limited by "levels". He has one upward limit in weight that he can control comfortably (one thousand pounds).

    Low level spells

    Metal Awareness: Being in tune with the mana that makes up metals, Wesley can sense metals around him. This allows him to feel the approach of metal wielding opponents, or seek out metals for his purposes. This spell is almost identical to the standard magus cantrip that enhances one's senses, but Wes can sense metals that have not been altered by magic in any form.

    Metal Manipulation: Wes can directly influence metallic objects he has come into contact with by mixing his mana with the existing natural metallic essence in the object, thus making the metal an extension of himself. The metal then bends to his will. Such spells include disintegrating of metal, repairing them, or changing the shape of the metal into another shape (like bladed weaponry or an armor coating for his limbs).

    Mid level spells

    Metal Enhancement: Wesley "powers up" a metal object he has touched, giving it supernatural properties. Bladed weapons double in cutting power. Solid metal defenses double in durability. Metals enhanced in this way take on an eerie blue glow. This is a sustained spell and, due to the intense amount of focus required to keep the metal enhanced, can not be used simultaneously with other spells for too long. Wesley currently can only enhance his weight in metal. Up to 145 lbs. worth of metal can be enhanced with this spell. The mana drain is a constant mid level cost (once per post), and constant use results in Wesley becoming quickly exhausted.

    Titan Mode: A natural evolution of Wesley's metal armament spells. Coating his body in a thick shroud of metal grants Wesley a durable battle form that also increases his physical strength and speed thanks to his ability to propel and enhance his movements with Ferrokinesis. The armor is less like a suit of knight's armor and more like a second skin, flexible and malleable as well as capable of absorbing force by redistributing it throughout the armor weave. The armor is controlled like his own muscles are, which results in Wesley having the power to instantly solidify it the same way that one would tense their own muscles. This amount of control allows him to shift and alter the armor as need be to redirect energy. In order to keep the shroud up Wesley must constantly pour mana into it to keep it active, and the physical strain of having the armor synchronized with his own muscles results in Wesley growing tired at an accelerated rate.

    High level spells

    Sanguinium: Wesley, thanks to studying all the texts on blood magic that he was allowed access to, in conjunction with extended tutelage from a blood mage, has learned how to create his own mystically produced super metal via blood ritual. Releasing the blood through a deep cut following a spoken invocation transforms his blood into a liquid metal state that is immediately controlled by Wesley as it leaves his body. The wound is sealed when Wesley himself wills his blood to coagulate quickly. Sanguinium takes an enormous amount of mana to perform, as well as a sizable donation of Wesley's own blood in order for the ritual to be considered completed. The metal that his blood takes the form of is stronger and lighter than any normal earthly metal and can not be melted. It responds to Wesley's commands faster than normal metal does, and is immune to the mystical manipulation of any magic source other than Wesley's own.
    The blood released to create the mass of Sanguinium is not a one-to-one ratio. A finite amount is created each time the spell is used, equal to five times the amount he actually sacrifices. Only Wesley's blood can be used to create the Sanguinium, and the metal substance evaporates an hour after the spell has ended. Although Wesley must release his own blood to cast the spell, he can use previously spilled blood of his own to add to the collective, further increasing the amount of Sanguinium he has access to without bringing harm to himself further.

    Side effects include exhaustion as well as loss of access to all of Wesley's mystical abilities for a week in which he's bed-ridden and anemic. Further attempts to use spells during this time results in a longer wait for his powers to return to him, by an extra day for each attempted use.
    Combat-wise Wesley has been trained in basic bladed combat. This makes him a passable combatant in knife and swordfights.

    Other than that, his introverted nature has made him a good listener, as he's spent most of his life listening to others rather than voicing his own opinions.

    Wesley's inability to speak openly about his feelings can also be seen as a positive aspect in certain ways, as he rarely ever loses composure.
    Wes' life was fairly uneventful prior to the Nevus incident. At best it was average. At worse, it was unbearably boring. Then again, this seemed to be for everyone born and raised in North Carolina, in a small town of Candor. He did admirably in school (especially in his art classes, as he took drawing seriously and was really good at it), and stayed out of trouble. For all intents and purposes, he was an ideal child for his parents. Or he would be, if it wasn't for the fact that he spent much of his childhood alone, wasting days away in the confines of his room, toiling away for hours at videogames, or sketching up his own little comic books. This personality resulted in Wesley drawing the ire of his parents, especially his father, as well as his jock of a brother. He felt alienated inside his home, as if he were a child living with irritable strangers. Fortunately for him, he found a clique in school of nerds and outcasts who shared the same interests, and Wesley and his little band of wierdlings became thick as thieves.

    For the most part he kept his head down and stuck to his studies and eventually graduated high school. Then, took a year to "figure out what he wanted to do with his life". Which actually consisted of him sitting around at his parents' home, jobless and bored. Knowing full well that he wanted to do something in the comic book field, and also knowing that he couldn't do anything about it at home, Wesley mustered up the resolve to move (coaxed by his father kicking him out) and headed to New York to stay with his older brother Kyle. Here, Wes enrolled in college and started taking courses in Graphic Design.

    College didn't exactly go as well as high school did. For one, Wesley wasn't built for New York life. He had been mugged twice in 3 months and his brother had become a more insufferable dick than usual (likely made worse by the harsh nature of the big city). Wes found himself irritable aswell, though it was from daily arguments with his brother and, as if things weren't bad enough the resonance hit. The world had gone crazy. Things he originally believed to be myths were running around feeding on his neighbors, and he wasn't about to be anyone's snack. If there was one thing he had learned from years of experience mowing down zombies in videogames it was that you didn't want to be in the city when the apocalypse hits.

    Wesley prepared his things to leave and rushed out to find his brother at his workplace. The subway trains were stopped and cars kluttered the roads, making navigation tough. Eventually he and his brother were reunited, and they joined the other fleeing civilians who were headed out of town. A road block kept all of the families herded like cattle as police (or what Wes believed to be police) were inspecting everyone before they could get past the checkpoint. Every one waited in line uncomfortably as the men flashed strange lights in the eyes of each person and, just as Wes and his brother were next up for inspection, the man in front of them let out a guttoral yell and assaulted the policeman. His strength was supernatural, and as the monster roared and thrashed maniacally, more and more people around Wesley and his brother began turning.

    Everyone scattered, including the two Evans brothers who were cornered in an old garage. Flesh eating monsters beat on the large doors seperating them from the madness outside, and their razor sharp claws began to make the barrier give way. As Wes' heartbeat hastened, the metallic objects that lay around inside the disgarded garage began to enter a state of unrest. Tools vibrated and clattered about in their boxes. Hubcaps and wrenches and tire irons began to fracture and stretch, crying out like rickety iron gates as some mystical force altered them. Once the door was finally pounded through, Wesley's heart skipped a beat, and all of the metal objects in the room rocketed outward away from him. The expenditure of mana for the first timer caused him to pass out. This show of magic seemed to frighten the beasts as they fled long enough for Kyle to grab Wesley and go back home.

    Weeks passed and the government seemed to have things under control. There were stories every day about humans gaining special powers and, here and there, Wes could notice odd things happening to metal objects around him. Metals reacted to his touch and bent to his will. Silverware would slide toward him as he reached for it, and metallic appliances and tools would mirror his current emotions. When angered, metals close by would shake or produce small barbs. When calm, they would flow slowly toward him. He kept these anomalies to himself, until one day after school he found Kyle speaking to men dressed like the ones responsible for the roadblock the day of the of the cataclysm. They interrogated Wesley about the events that took place in the garage. Surveilance video showed the paranormal activity that Wesley was responsible for and they asked him to demonstrate that power again.
    Wesley levetated his house keys for the men to see. They looked to each other, then back to Wes and Kyle.

    One of the men placed a briefcase onto the kitchen table and opened it. He pulled out a manila envelope filled with information about the Order of The First Light. A long, serious conversation was held right after, culminating in Wesley's decision to join the Order to master his new found abilities in a safe environment. Wes' life was spinning out of control, and he feared for what would happen in this facility if he agreed to leave (for all he knew they wanted to dissect him). Still, he couldn't risk hurting people with the powers he was manifesting, and this could be the very opportunity he needed to make his father proud. Finally.


    Originally an Inspector for the OFL, Wesley is one of many magus to leave the order and join the ARMA organization.

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    Wesley Evans
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    Wesley Evans
  • Typist's Interests
    Comics, Anime, Video Games, and drawing. I'm a big kid, lol.
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Been into RPing since I was about 15 through Yahoo Groups. Mostly anime oriented RP's, but I'm a fan of comic books and videogames aswell. Pretty much anything scifi or fantasy.
  • Role Play Sample
    Wes' eyes darted left and right as he turned his head on a swivel, taking in everything he could. His right hand tightened around the backpack strap over his right shoulder. His palms were getting clammy, which made holding on to his bag increasingly difficult.

    "Okay... okay. First day of the rest of my life. This is the place that's gonna turn me from mild mannered Everyman into some sorta mutant superhero." mumbled the apprehensive young man as he began to walk. His footsteps echoed on the pristine marble beneath him.

    The screeching of the rubber soles of his shoes brought unwanted attention his way, as random passers by glanced at him. It was natural curiousity, but like usual, it made Wes feel as if he was being judged. Like he had no business being there. And if he were completely honest with himself... he didn't have any business being there.

    These men and women were Magus according to the paperwork he was allowed to research. They were trained to perform all kinds of mystical feats the likes of which Wesley could only dream of. They were soldiers as well, tasked with using these powers to protect humanity. It wasn't the same kind of apprehension he felt in high school where he avoided the center of the lunch room because it was reserved for the jocks and the beautiful people. This was a different kind of inferiority complex. This was the kind of humbling air you feel when you meet someone you're convinced are better than you in every concievable way.

    After a deep sigh, Wesley shook his head before looking down at his sneakers. He started his trek toward the end of the hall again. What was Wes doing with his life? He wasted it away doodling and playing video games. Even his furthered education was wasted on the pursuit of arts, much to his father's dismay. But these people... they were being trained to be modern day Merlins! Images of men and women performing colossal displays of magical prowess bombarded Wesley's nerd mind. His vivid imagination ran away with him, and it began psyching him up for the future. He imagined people levitating cars with their minds... shapeshifting into animals... manipulating elements at a whim... it was all scary, but amazing.

    A slow smile spread along Wes' face as his gaze slowly rose back up to take in the image of large wooden double doors. He had an opportunity here. The chance to become something special. And he wouldn't waste it. With fists clenched tight he pressed on and knocked on the door.
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  1. Wesley Evans

    If on a Summer's Night a Dragon

    "What're we gonna do!? That things's still coming!" "Just... *cough* just uh... j-jus gimme a moment. I'm ready...*wheez*" groaned Spector as she struggled to get up from her prone position on one of the truck's seats, incapable of doing so due to her overtaxed body needing the rest. "Why aren't you pulling rank Greene? This is beyond Evans, he's gonna get us all killed! Aren't you here to reign him in? Get us outta here--" "Shut up! Look." Wesley and Liebowitz were talking amongst themselves, the younger magi's eyes wide open in surprise throughout the conversation. He shook his head eagerly and looked out of the window to seething dome of magic that was bursting at the seems with bloody gunk. "Okay... okay. I'm ready." Wesley smiled and placed a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Hey. You got this. Just make sure your timing is on point. I won't be able to keep this up for too long." He then headed back out with an order to the troops. "Okay. We all know it's the axe that's keeping him together. So... we get the axe. But it looks to absorb flesh. Yeah, it's been grabbing up dead flesh so far but that doesn't necessarily mean a human touching it won't get swept up into the collective as well so we're not gonna grab it with flesh and blood hands-" "So make that... that thing out there grab it!" called out Ruiz. Wes shook his head with a scowl. "That thing[i/] is probably tougher than all of us combined. Excluding me. And if he gets swallowed up into a big fleshy meatball we'd be fighting a big dragon meatball that none of us stands a chance against. Excluding me." Absolutely no one laughed at Wesley's overblown opinion of his powers. They did, however agree that fighting a zombified dragon warrior wouldn't be fun. "So... how then?" Wesley smiled, his eyes taking on a vibrant blue glow before he headed back outside the truck. The smile faded once his was out of view however. Johann called out to Wesley finally, asking to know how much longer it would take before he was ready. Rather than respond with words, he simply closed his eyes and let everything let the last remnants of his mana flare up. We've been fighting for so long I probably don't have the strength to use... that. But if I don't do something we're dead. That guy out there probably has the strength to get us outta this but... this is my mission. I've gotta earn my keep. Show them I deserve to be here just as much as any other member of ARMA. Prove I've got what it takes to get the job done. The leftover bits of metal all around the battlefield that Wesley had already been fighting with began glowing a matching azure hue as Wesley's eyes did before dispersing into millions and millions of miniature metal granules and colliding with his body and spiraling around him, encasing the whole of his body. "...I'm back. Thanks for the hand. Now... I need that axe. When the blue aura disappeared, there Wesley stood coated in metal from head to toe, now an adonis of a man, statuesque and imposing, though still not quite as much as the Dragonian. Just as he finished arming himself for the coming assault, the axe shredded through Cassandra's barrier to reveal a now perfectly formed human-esque obelisk of flesh. So completely restored that he had facial features, although still coated in blood. Of course he was still towering, and had more muscles in his own body than everyone there combined... but still, bones and other protrusions made his otherwise normal look horrifying. A roar escaped it's mouth as it broke into a full sprint toward the truck, only to be knocked to the side by Wesley, who rocketed toward it from it's side. The resulting collision caused the two of them to barrel over several times, crushing several zombies along the way. The two hulking brutes struggled to their feet, swinging boulder crushing blows at each other, neither attempting to dodge or block. Just continuous punches over and over to each other's head and torso area until the both of them, somehow, made it to a standing position before the beast pivoted and attempted a back-handed swipe with it's axe. The swing flew over Wesley's ducked head, causing a gust powerful enough to send a sheet of snow colliding with the truck and causing it's inhabitants to duck in fear while the truck creaked, it's body rocking on it's suspension. Straightening up over Wesley the beast pulled it's axe overhead and attempted to split Wesley straight down the middle with an overhead strike. One that was blocked by Wesley's own hands clasping hold of the handle. Just as he stopped the attack however, a well placed mammoth sized boot to his armored gut rocketed him back into the truck, causing it to skid backwards a foot or two from the collision, several of the windows on the left side shattering into the vehicle caused them to duck and cover but before the man beast could press the assault, Wesley outstretched his left hand to fire serrated shards of metal from his armored hand into the face and neck of the monster, stalling it enough for him to regain his bearings and activate yet one more spell. Wesley summoned Johann's mystical sword over to him through the truck's window and into his beast's torso, causing it to utter a guttoral scream before barely kneeling. Wasting no time, Wesley propelled himself at high speeds by his ferrokinetic powers, moving the metal coating him. Most of his metallic armament was flaking off and falling into the thick snow beneath him, but he still had his gauntlets, and that's all he needed. He placed his hands around the sword's handle and began to scream while lifting the blade upward. Smoke and flame spilled out into the air, but Wesley did his best to prevent the ignited sword from losing it's form and turning into a molten blob by holding it in a semi-solid state via his own metal manipulation powers. Finally, the sword flew out of the top of the monster's head, causing it's cauterized halves to fall to either side before a second swipe of the blade removed the hand that held fast to the axe. "Now Liebowitz! Do it!" At that moment, the shivering youth poked his head out through one of the now missing windows and removed his glasses, his eyes too taking an eerie glow. His however were was like the opposite of light. Pure blackness where his eyes normally were and, where his eyes focused appeared a circular void. The axe that fell into the snow, that was already attempting to draw more flesh to grow another hostbody, sank into the inky abyss that appeared beneath it before the void closed up and disappeared. Wesley fell to his knees as the rest of his armor fell to pieces around him, causing him to toss what was left of the sword away lest he suffer scalded hands. "...the hell!?" "I concur. What the hell, kid? "I tried to tell you guys... the way my powers work? Technically it's shadow magic, but according to the higher ups I'm an anomaly. See, my shadow is abnormal. It's... hollow. I can't create weapons out of shadows or absorb light or amplify darkness type spells like other magi, but I can use my shadow as a type of weightless closet that's always on my person. Organic material other than myself can't enter it, but whatever I put inside it can't come out until I remove it. Not even mana. I've learned to extend the shadow a bit via focus as long as I send it somewhere within my light of sight in case you couldn't figure out how I managed to activate the doorway from here." "So... the zombies can't sense the axe anymore... and we can move it without having to touch it, or fear of some kind of contamination." "And that humonculus type thing can't keep restoring itself because it's got no access to the axe. Whoa." "You shoulda said something earlier...." "Guys, guys... the big threat is over. I need you all to help our back up out here pick off the rest. I'm gonna... just sit here. Catch a breather. Maybe a nap. Ugh." groaned Wesley before falling back into the slow and finally taking the time to catch his breath.
  2. Wesley Evans

    If on a Summer's Night a Dragon

    Wesley watched as the enigmatic passerby instructed him to pull his forces back and for whatever reason, heeded the man's words. He may have been ARMA, but his Superman-like unphased air about him, disarming as it was, seemed to imply that he was strong enough to turn the tide of the battle on his own, and if he wasn't, at least he'd buy the rest of them time to re-arm and rest up. The man's odd language and accent was something he couldn't place, but it was secondary as far as importance anyway. Wesley paid it no mind and instead stepped back while holding the man's sword. He was going nowhere, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, pulling his attention away from the Dragonian before him. The axe was now no longer simply wading in a pile of blood and sinew atop a mound of muck coated snow. It was now held by a humanoid hand ( a muscular, impossibly proportioned hand at that) sitting inside the growing blob. The hand now connected to a forearm... and then an elbow. Before his eyes a hulking brute of a man was being formed. Before Wesley could remark about it his attention was gained again by the man before him who was also undergoing a transformation. He heard stories, and he knew they were amongst ARMA's allies, but this was the first time in Wesly's career with the organization that he lay eyes on an actual Dragonian. "Are you guys seeing this?" asked their driver. Those of whom could fit at the front of the truck did so, pushing each other aside for a better look at their morphing savior. They were all in just as much awe as Wesley, who stood with his mouth agape, searching for the correct questions to ask. Before he could however, more words from the monster behind Wesley caused him to turn back and face something far more grotesque than what he saw just moments prior. "Are you guys seeing this!? The man-like creature was still coated in crimson, but now had several smaller heads, arms, and legs protruding along it's surface. All of the close by zombified flesh and blood that it absorbed made up it's body, and the excess continued to pool into the collective and give it a larger, more gross form. It was now the amalgamation of several of the features that made up the zombies it was taking onto itself. Now at least ten feet tall the beast hefted it's battle axe high, attempting to swing it downward to cleave Wesley in two, but due to it's body still being amorphous, couldn't support it's own weight under it's newly manifested legs and instead, plowed the blade of the axe about two feet short of Wesley's standing position, causing a geyser of arctic water and ice shards to rise up and startle Wesley into backing toward the truck. So much for aiding with the fight. In response to Wesley almost being pulverized the armed members began unloading ammo pointlessly into the mass of gore restructuring itself to stalk their head operative. "Crap... okay man. Dragon. Dragon-man. Show us what you got. Thin the herd while I prep something that'll help me take out that... thing crawling toward the truck." called out Wesley while rolling over and sitting up to a standing position before running back toward the truck as well. After getting inside he raised a hand to hush objections before looking back to Cassandra. "I'm not abandoning him. I'm getting something ready. Hold that zombie Voltron down with a barrier for as long as you can. Don't let anymore dead link up with it. Right now he's not too big for me to take out, but I don't see any end to his back up."
  3. Wesley Evans

    If on a Summer's Night a Dragon

    Gunshots rang out from the men adjacent the large truck, perforating the ice caked corpses that shambled toward's Wesley who was, by this point, a red shadow of gory sick, highlighted against the purest white of the icy terrain around him. There was a time when he feared not having the gumption to bury a blade into a reanimated corpse. These were brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters of someone out there. They were people. At one point at least. Carving rotten flesh out of someone's beloved dead, to Wesley, was tantamount to pissing on a dead relative's grave. You're desecrating the dearly departed. Reanimation held a stigma about it for this very reason. Life was sacred, and when life was lost, the remains were meant to be respected. Laid to rest. Yet here he was making mincemeat of them in the literal sense; shearing and chopping them into unrecognizable masses of stinking entrails and bone. There was however, some modicum of comfort he could bullshit himself into believing. In his eyes this was another way of honoring them. Returning them to rest. Freeing them from their torment. His sentiment was mirrored by his team, those of whom that actually cared to think further than the mission. This was partly due to one of the magi telepathically linking Wesley's own plans and thoughts to them so that they could move in concert with nary a lost moment of reaction time. Brain synapses fired within each agent practically simultaneously. Blades flew quickly, separating heads from shoulders and occasionally outstretched arm from torso as Wesley knew which area to strike without having to look, thanks to knowledge shared with him by those with a greater peripheral view of the battlefield. Headshots mostly to maintain stamina. Of course he did not carve through the entirety of the horde himself. With the aid of his two appointed cryomancers, some of the walking dead were incased in frigid tombs, while others were routed by the resident speedster. Wesley however did have the greatest killcount thanks to his little grenade stunt at the outset of the mission. When the final zombie fell to it's knees, the Ferromancer smiled, revealing pearly whites that shown out of the crimson face housing them, before he himself dropped to his rear an placed his gloved hands on the ground on either side of him, where he let out a loud howl. "WHOOO! Talk about a workout... heh..." he called out in between labored breaths. Exhaustion was setting in and, before the neural link was broken, Wesley requested help from the team's healer, who made their way out to the center of the corpses where Wesley sat and began eagerly stimulating Wesley's taxed body and practically evaporated the fatigue poisons causing the pain and tiredness within him. "Ruiz, Hunnigan. I'm marking the area where the artifact is. I'm thinking it's about 30 feet down. That should be within the range of your spells if the both of you work at it. Pull whatever is down there outta the ice." An outstretched hand from Wesley caused his own blood soaked blades to fly over to the softened ice and stab down into it to mark just where the outskirts of the digging area would be. The combination o fa white aura aswell as a blue aura (Hunnigan and Ruiz respectively) intermingled and caused the sheet of ice to glow before it cracked an frigid water and blocks of frozen blood and ice started to gyser out as if a depth charge were detonated. Instead of dropping dangerous ice shards on everyone in attendance, the icey water pulled over to one corner furthest away from everyone, freezing in place in a steadily growing hunk of ice to keep from falling back into the hole. The water inside froze enough to make a tunnel deep down to where the artifact lay, evidenced by the frighteningly dense mana signature that everyone worth their mage status could sense once it was revealed. Wesley narrowed his eyes and reached out with his mind, sensing the metallic artifact and confirming it was their target. It was then that he levitated the artifact up out of the ice tunnel prepared by his agents and hovered it toward him, being reminded over the radio by Cassandra not to touch it. "Yeah, I know but... it looks so COOL!" he remarked back as he moved closer. The artifact was a handaxe. Ancient at that. Made with a wooden handle and a blade that despite being unmistakably metallic, was so crudely sharpened it looked to be no more than a vaguely blade-shaped piece of metal pulled out of vein and affixed to an intricate wooden handle. There was a single symbol etched into the blade, one that Wes would have to run by a symbologist to discern it's relevance, but that was for after they got back home. "Okay, I'd say that's mission accomplished. Record time too. Let's head out everyone." Called out Wesley as he sat the axe into the snow before standing up and wiping the snow from his rear. "Still dunno what those deadheads wanted with a battle axe." mumbled Wesley as he turned to walk toward the truck, only for Monroe to pat on his shoulder, urging him to turn and look back at the axe. Where the blade of the axe sat, an eerie red aura radiated. "Umm..." What's more, the blood from the zombified corpses began to pool on it's own around the blade of the axe before disappearing as if being devoured by the blade itself. The silvery metal shown a more vibrant red now and, in some language Wesley wasn't versed in he heard a whisper. "UMMM..." "We hear it too. That's.... German? No, no... it's Swedish or Norwegian or something. There's one word that keeps being coming up over and over. Blod. That's Blood in Norwegian." called out Ruiz. "Aw, hell." muttered Monroe. The whisper became a gleeful mantra before degrading into ecstatic repeating of the one word everyone recognized. Blood. Blood. Blood. "Okay, this is starting to make sense. Zombies can smell blood from like a mile away. This axe absorbs blood. No doubt it smells especially tasty to them. So we gotta find a way to shut this thing off." said Spector. "H-hey, guys? um-" stammered Liebowitz, though no one noticed him speaking. "Especially now that it's out of the ice. It's aura will be more potent, and that means if there are more dead around-" Just as he spoke, pained howls resonated from all around them, seeming to come from over the hills. Everyone placed their backs to each other in a circle and looked over the horizon to see more zombies. Easily more than twice what they had just fought through earlier. They began rushing toward them at full sprint as spry as if they were living, faster than the original wave did when they first attacked. "Crapcrapcrap! Everyone out! Cowboy up, we got a real fight on our hands!" "There are too many! We gotta get outta here!" Hunnigan reached out to Ruiz and grabbed hold of his sleeve to pull him back towards the truck, only for Wes to raise a hand to gain their attention and halt their movements. "The artifact would just lure them to civilization remember? We make a stand here until we can figure out how to stop this thing." The blood that flowed toward the axe began to bubble and congeal around the handle, though neither of the agents currently embroiled in a battle against the dead "Guys, look at the axe, I think-" "Not now Liebowitz, fuck!" growled Spector before she broke out into a blur of golden light that blitzed back and forth along the horde, cutting their numbers down along the way. The rest of the team kept together and fought valiantly, into the night, the blistering cold taking it's toll on them, though they did not waver. Still, they were surrounded, and it wasn't long before their speedster had to retreat to the safety of the truck to rest her overtaxed legs. Greene's shields bought everyone some time, to rest, but it wasn't long before she too needed to drop her guard if only for a moment. An hour later... Wesley dropped to a knee, breathing heavily as he struggled to keep his own metal constructs afloat. Before him his team were in dire straights as well, and, before they could be swarmed by the dead, he through the mass of metal he was using for his own personal defense and encased them all in metallic domes, protecting them from tooth and nail at the expense of himself being pounced from behind. "...fuck offa me!" he growled before planting a hard elbow into the head of a corpse attempting to bite the back of his neck. The fear of death gave him a rush of energy, enough to help him get back up to a standing position. Yet another zombie approached from behind him, but was carved down by someone Wesley didn't recognize. He looked back to the zombie that lay immobile next to him, a gash seared into it's head by whatever enchanted weapon this stranger was wielding. "Wesley Evans... ARMA. Who... who the hell are you?" he asked as he placed an index finger and middle finger against his temple. Urbach's mental link was dropped a while back, but Wesley secretly hoped that he would have noticed the approach of the stranger and had the presence of mind to scan him for friend or foe. No such luck.
  4. Wesley Evans

    Thrive in Spite

    Wesley's wounded puppy face faulted into that of shock when Clariee not only addressed him, but reminded him of their thusfar postponed coffee date. He glanced back to Alistair as if he were going to save him from making a bigger fool of himself, only to regret it immediately, as he again found himself shamed in the presence of his boss. He doubted the man could have suspected Wesley's social anxiety was this profound. "Uhh..." Wesley had only heard a bit of what Clariee said about having to get back to her hotel room, as well as how many days she requested for deciding on their next play. So she would be in town at least three days more. That was fortunate, Wesley thought, as he had plenty of questions he wanted to, but likely should'nt, ask. Wesley didn't expect a quip from Alistair about workplace romances as everyone knew ARMA was just one big supernatural love-in. If anything, the only questionable act taking place would be Clariee inviting Wesley to hang out after the palpably tense moment that was just shared by the three of them. This could only lead to drama. "Right, sure. Lot o' catching up to do after all." he muttered while shining a manufactured smile. He then headed toward the exit, nodding back to Alistair once more along the way.
  5. Wesley Evans

    From Yesterday

    Wesley waited as Pandora came clean about her transgressions, choosing not to speak until she'd brought everything to the surface. He knew what kind of organization the Order was, and he always hoped that secretly Pandora did too. That it would become apparent to her before she had become too ingrained in their ways. He hoped for too much. "Yes Pandora, that's what I'm saying. You've done bad things, but you had no real control over it. Even when you were in control it was because Nix knew you were so afraid of losing yourself that you'd conform to his wishes just to keep him from pushing you down in that dark place forever. This is Stockholm Syndrome. You think your captors care about you because they've treated you like shit for so long that any modicum of kindness they show you seems like sincerity. Like actual love. So you do what they tell you, even when you know it's wrong. I won't turn you away for that. I can't." Wesley was far from a psychiatrist. In fact, his definition of Stockholm Syndrom was a bit off. But he wasn't wrong about Pandora's misplaced loyalty. She believed she owed her allegiance to people who viewed her as property. And she was so much more than that. She needed to understand it. It would take a lot of work to convince her however, as made apparent by her proclamations of fealty to the OL, and a vow that ARMA was in fact her enemy so long as Nix was around. "Ya know, I'm trying my best not to even mention that little shit because this is the first time I've spoken to you in years, and I wanted it to be just that: a reunion between friends. I mean hell, when you visit your ailing grandma in the hospital you update her on your life. You don't talk directly to the cancerous lump that's killing her. Because that's all this little coward is. A mass of sick that does nothing but ruin the life of it's host." Wesley looked deeper into Pandora's eyes, going as far as to grab hold of her face on either side so that she couldn't turn away. "I'm going to fix you. WE are going to fix you. I don't care what they told you, we can get rid of Nix. And that little bastard inside of you will have to realize what it feels like to lose his life to ARMA not once... but twice. I know they gave you all kinds of lip service about how there's nothing they can do to remove him, but that was the Order. You've no idea what ARMA's magi can do." Wesley waited for that to sink in before letting go of Pandora's face and taking a step back. "Telepaths to suppress his thoughts? Necromancers to pull his soul out and place it in another body? Exorcists to send him where he belongs? I'm confident the only reason you're stuck with him is because subconsciously you believe you need him. Once you realize that's not the case, he'll fade away." Wesley thought back to he and Panda's training days and got an epiphany as quickly as he began remeniscing. "Wait a minute, when you animate a statue you place a piece of yourself inside. Why not put his dumbass inside of a statue and shatter it to pieces? Is that possible?"
  6. Wesley Evans

    In Memoriam

    Wesley averted his gaze not intentionally, but he was busy staring off into space in yet another pseudo daydream. It consisted of the same images he had been seeing for weeks now. Wesley himself standing over the broken, bleeding body of a faceless victim; the culprit of his brother's death. He didn't look back to Nevena until she mentioned Kyle, which caused him to furrow his brow and bite his bottom lip to stifle what would have been a loud, and profanity-laden response. "I don't care if I'm ready. It's going to happen. But it doesn't have to be any worse than necessary." As she walked past him to gain a drink Wesley stood up very slowly, and very painfully, before turning to face her. He'd had about enough explaining. He wanted an answer. "No. Nothing to drink. I just need an answer. I've wasted enough time sitting to talk to you as it is. I haven't slept in three days because I've been on the chase non-stop. This is the first time I've stopped for anything other than food. Meaning the time I've alotted for lunch today has to be spent hunting. Meaning I'm gonna be irritable throughout the day. So simple answer. Yes or no?" Wesley wasn't being hyperbolic by any means. The only thing keeping the magus from passing out was over indulging in mystically concocted stamina boosting tinctures. No time for rest? Magically negate your body's ability to produce fatigue toxins while offsetting the damage done to the overtaxed body with short trips to healing magi. The long time side effects of Wesley's personal abuse were yet to be accounted for, but his newly irritable nature was obviously the first of many. He walked toward the door and looked back while waiting. "Well?"
  7. Wesley Evans

    From Yesterday

    Wesley leaned into the hug and really poured on the affection, less like an old friend and more like a relative. Ignoring the allure of her body was far more difficult to do now that it was pressed flush against his own, and he found himself regretting his actions, almost immediately, as whatever nostalgic memories he had been remembering upon seeing her face were replaced with far more scandalous thoughts. He shook the thoughts away however, not wanting to corrupt a beautiful moment. After leaving her behind Wesley was sure that Pandora would have given up on him. Chalked things up to simply growing apart... but no. It seemed they hadn't missed a beat when it came to their friendship. "Aww! I didn't know you cared." he joked while letting go of their embrace. Perhaps a bit of his trademark comedy would lighten the mood? The girl looked pained, and though he didn't want to, the look on her face made him wonder about her possession. Surely she wasn't still being manipulated by Nix was she? What about right now? No. He wouldn't question her sentiment. He trusted Pandora and even if the voice couldn't be differentiated, he could just feel when he was talking to her. The real her. This was their Panda. His Panda. The young woman's mannerisms became restrained and unnatural as if what she wanted to say was caught in her throat; literally causing pain to her to try to force out. It was then that she admitted to something that Wesley already knew. As Pandora no doubt remembered, ARMA was made up of ex OL operatives. Wesley was one such operative. In his formative magus years he trained under OL instructors and successfully completed OL ordered operations. He met all of his current altered friends before the schism that split the OL. This meant that there was a bit of bad blood between both organizations. The kind of bad blood that made both sides watch each other on the sly. Wesley knew all too well that Panda was still Order. And it didn't matter to him. Though he could see how she would have believed that he didn't know. After all, he made no attempts to reach out to her. It could have made things difficult for the both of them. "I uh... I knew. And I'm sorry for not reaching out as well. When ARMA split off from the Order it left everyone on edge, and any attempt at contact would have raised eyebrows. Imagine the questions that would've come about if they monitored our calls? Was someone a traitor? Sharing information that shouldn't be shared? I didn't want to put you through all that. Also... I had faith in you. Just because you were surrounded by people on the wrong side of this... I don't even know what to call it... But it didn't mean you would be shaped by them. You had your reasons for sticking around, and I respected that. Besides, no one can make you do anything you don't want to do. You're stronger than that." A poor choice of words considering the fact that she was currently sharing a body with a foreign invader, but Pandora had learned to be guarded and untrusting throughout her lonely life, and the one positive thing that came from such a life was self-reliance. There was no way she would allow herself to be molded into something other than what she was, and he truly believed that with time she'd come join the Good Guys. But, the fact that she hadn't done so after so long was pretty much proof that she was deathly loyal. In Wesley's absence the people that helped her become a full blown agent in her own right were owed a debt of gratitude it seemed. It was the only way Wesley could come to terms with the thought of her staying with them. Unless there was something else tying her to that place... "Yeah. Panda's a trooper. And since no one can make you do anything you don't want to, there's no reason you can't just come join the cool kids. Come on, it'll be fun! We have cookies! Uh... had cookies. Alec ate all the cookies." Wesley paused for comedic effect before feigning a frown. "...I ate all the cookies. That's cool though! We can get more cookies!" Wesley could see that she was genuinely disheveled, so much so that his normal silly attitude might not be enough to calm her down. So he dispensed with the comedy, and lowered his voice to a more sensitive, concerned tone, with his left hand on her own shoulder to maintain the connection she felt during their prior hug. "I'm serious Pandora. I don't know why you're just now showing up out of the blue, and if I'm being perfectly honest I really don't care. What matters is you're here, and I want it to stay that way. Now come on, we're going to HQ to make this official. Wesley didn't know what the procedure was for allowing potential threats to come to the ARMA base of operations was, but he hoped no one would say anything. He let his left hand fall down to her hand and clasp hold of it to pull her in the direction he was walking to, his car parked not that far away.
  8. Wesley Evans

    From Yesterday

    A smile spread across Wesley's face as he closed the gap between he and his old friend. A lot had happened since they had last seen each other, and Wes had definitely grown... both as a magi and as an agent of ARMA. It seemed Pandora had grown just as much, if not more, as the air about her screamed more than just sexpot. Her body was more toned (though no less curvy than before) and her posture was that of someone less beaten down by life... and more in control. Yet somehow he doubted that. He heard rumblings in the past about her little Nix problem, and though he never actually confronted her about it, their conversations always held the implication in his words that he understood something was troubling her. Something uncanny. Something demonic. But he didn't feel that right at the moment. He wasn't being frightened off. That was good, because Wesley liked Pandora. Not in the "ogle every girl that walks by" kind of way. There were few women in Wesley's life that he could comfortably call friend. And all of them were cohorts. Kelly saved his life during the bombing. Though they hadn't talked to her about it yet, (thanks to not knowing how to approach the situation without it sounding like a profession of love), the speedster held a place in his heart that no other woman did, save for his mother. Keeley acted as a surrogate mother for Wesley not in the literal sense, but in her guidance and self-sacrifice for the sake of his future. And this sacrifice was dire. Not just time like Kelly did. This woman bled... burned... cried for him. That was yet another woman who he absolutely had NO idea how to articulate his love for. Clariee was... an enigma. She went from being the closest non-Alec person to him in the entirety of the organization to... a complete stranger. Still, loyalty meant she would always be considered a friend to him. Even if he mistook that friendship for more than it was. Cassandra was originally a friend of a friend, but she immediately became his secret motivational focus for how to become a badass. The woman had a rough life, but she still rose through the ranks of ARMA in spite of her lineage, not because of it. She'd bounced back from things far more heinous than what Wesley had to deal with, and looked damn good while doing it. AND she had a mother hen kind of air about her, not unlike Keeley. Perhaps loss makes you far more protective and less accepting of your friend's bullshit when you see them self-destructing. But Panda... Panda was someone who came to Wesley of all people, seeking help. She needed him and he was there for her, and for a brief moment Wesley felt important. Special. Wanted. Even if that aid was hidden under the guise of overt sexual exploitation. She would flirt with him a bit to get him to train her with in the use of her powers, but terrifyingly sexy woman or not, that was the least of what he remembered about Panda, and that's not why he spent time with her. Entirely. The two of them were artists. They saw the world in a way few people did. And when she wasn't trying to make him blush uncomfortably... when she wasn't chasing Kelly around (or being chased by Kelly for that matter) or having an especially Nixxy day and wanted to be alone, they trained. And talked. This is yet another one of those "if you had stuck around, things might be different Wes" moments of his life. It was unfortunate... but here he was. Here THEY were. He couldn't have lost his old friend forever. Could he? "You're not looking so bad yourself Panda. Come on, bring it in for the real thing." he said with outstretched arms. Yes, Panda still had it in her to fluster the man with her sexual wiles, but he missed her, and he could ignore the curves and haunting eyes for at least long enough to make her feel that. And while a hug was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, it helped to show that he was more concerned about Panda's mindstate than her body. He was ready to salvage this friendship, and hoped she would accept him. Though he'd have to be sure that the hug didn't last too long. After all... this was Panda. And Wes liked Panda. A lot. "I was just saying the other day ARMA got the short in of the stick when it came to hot Irish girls. PLEASE tell me you're coming home."
  9. Wesley Evans

    From Yesterday

    Dark eyes zoomed left and right in rapid fashion as Wesley Evans, ARMA's self proclaimed comic book enthusiast extraordinair scanned the books ahead of him in his pull list, excitement bubbling up within him as he checked off everything for that week. The glee was evident based on his face's grin, as it seemed to grow wider and wider upon each discovery. Sure enough, all of his books were there. In the post Nevus world, pull lists didn't quite work as they did back in the good old days. Literature was in fact becoming more necessary for entertainment purposes due to the unfortunate effect magic had on most forms of tech, and while some businesses still thrived in the new world, there were businesses that were not insured for an apocalyptic event, and those that weren't outright left behind were going to take time to return to their previous prominence. Comic books seemed to always teeter on the edge of irrelevancy however, and because of that, the business was taking especially long to make it's comeback. So instead, people took more to the collecting aspect of comic books. Starting over from old arcs and tracking them down all over the world. From ruined homes and comic shops, to museums. Famous writers even re-released scripts of previously drawn comics for artists out there willing to put pen to paper and revive the medium... and that's what Wesley was so into now. Retellings of stories he grew up on. Known endearingly by the nerd community as Post Nevus Print or Altered Print. Complete with purple "PN" emblem on the bottom left corner of the covers, right above the bar code. "YES! Final issue of Battle Chasers, PN edition! This guy's no Madureira but he's good in his own right. Now I own both runs! Alec's gonna flip when he... sees... this." Wesley's excitement flipped into confusion as he looked to the open door to the left of him only for a second, while talking to the store clerk, only to see a familiar face pass by. Eyes widened in disbelief before he slid the books into a rough stack and shoved them into his messenger bag. "See ya next Wednesday..." he muttered before tossing the bag over his shoulder and rushing out of the door. Wesley wasn't on duty today, so his dress was casual. But then, even on the job he dressed like he didn't care about his appearance. Most often his attire included basically a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Today was no different, though Kelly's return to ARMA reinvigorated Wesley's musical tastes a bit. Black Chucks and skinny jeans, and a black shirt he got from a concert she recommended with the words "I Want Your STD's" emblazoned across the chest certainly gave Wes a more punk rock feel than his dress usually implied about him but anyone that ever rode in a car with him would find dozens of Post-Metal Hardcore, Ska, or Nu Metal CD's to choose from (among other things)... right underneath the 50 or so Hip Hop albums he and Kyle (and recently Alec) accrued over the years. Come to think of it, Wesley didn't know how his car ended up being the Mystery Machine for the younger ARMA members (and Alec)... but it happened. Perhaps it was him emploring them to show him around New York when he first joined ARMA, shortly after moving to New York from North Carolina. Or... perhaps it was because they wanted him to feel included in their reindeer games. No one was gonna follow him to go comic hunting save for his best friend, but they were very inclusive when it came to their own escapades, and Wesley's eagerness to please often resulted in him showing up early for whatever it was they were going to do with a full tank of gas and a story for the road. And now he had at least 1 personal CD from everyone that's ever ridden in the car... which made it homey. His car WAS the hangout spot. Not a means to get there. Yes, that 94 Honda Civic had a lot of miles on it, and a lot of memories in it. Except there was one person in particular that Wesley regretted never pulling into that friendship circle. Someone who was more than welcome, but was working through personal things that kept her right out of arm's reach. Pandora Chapel, someone who reached out to him in the past, who he unintentionally cut ties with when he decided he'd be taking a stance with ARMA. What was an Order initiate doing in the ARMA neck of the woods? "Panda? Is that you?" called out the dread-headed young man as he increased his walking speed to catch up with the woman down the street from him a little ways.
  10. Wesley Evans

    Thrive in Spite

    Wesley dared not let his eyes wander away from the console adjacent his standing position, fearful of Alistair's reaction to him eye-humping their cohort any longer. He was rigid as a board, attempting to look calm and collected, but instead came off as a cardboard cutout. One that somehow could sweat and had a rapid-fire heartbeat. Say nothing. Do nothing. Don't move. Don't even breathe. Like he's a quippy T-Rex... Jolted from his mental mantra by Alistair's nudge, Wesley's eyes pressed shut tightly in anticipation of the lightning bolt that was going to drop through the ceiling on top of his head. Nothing happened though, so he swallowed his heart back down his throat and wiped the clammy residue in his palms down his jeans before looking back to Clariee and forcing a smile. He waited for her to exit first before he stepped in the room as well. A chivalric "ladies first" gesture, or another opportunity to ogle her? Who can say? Inside the room Wesley's eyes lit up like a child at all the mystical odds and ends springing to life thanks to Alistair's ward activation. Even with his status as a mage changing from fledgling to experienced, he still thought things like this were amazing. Everyone took their seats. Wesley leaned against the wall next to the door and placed his arms across his chest before crossing his legs leisurely, facing the position Clariee chose to sit in on top of the table. Perhaps distancing himself from them both would help him feel a bit more comfortable. Clariee began speaking on her job undercover and he could feel his excitement build. He was more than ready for tales of stealth and intrigue. Of Ninjas and gun fights and freaking sharks with freaking lasers on their heads. All that super spy shit. That excitement was short lived however when he realized undercover in this since didn't refer to rubber masks and fake IDs. In this sense it meant under covers... in bed... or wherever else she was when she put to use her natural assets. His stomach rolled. His heart sank. His mouth flew agape. He looked over to Alistair and, for the first time ever, stared daggers at him. Had his boss told Clariee to sleep her way to secrets or was that something she learned to do on her own? The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears, at least for Wesley. Years ago Clariee and Wesley had become fast friends; the first day on the job at that. There was a connection: two people from different parts of the world trying to find out what their abilities meant for them now, and where would they take them. The connection was perhaps deeper than that, as that one hot and heavy training session implied. The only thing that stopped the two of them from banging on the training room floor was the fact that they weren't alone. Or at least that's what Wesley thought. Had he been imagining it the whole time? Misreading the situation? Was it just a bit of harmless kinky fun that he was reading too much into? What would've happened if he'd kissed her that day instead of shying away? Would she still have for so long? Would she still let men use her body to get ahead on a mission? Wesley cleared his throat and began paying attention again by the end of the report, for fear of someone noticing how much of an emotional wreck he was becoming over... nothing. Clariee wasn't his. Her body, her choice. She could do what she wanted with it. The ice magus mentioned how dangerous things were throughout all of her time gone, and that cause Wesley to look back up and over in her direction. It eased Wesley's bruised ego a bit to know that she wasn't using her body as a bargaining chip for secrets alone. She feared for her life, and sleeping with the right person helped maintain it. Still... now he wasn't feeling betrayed. He was just feeling sad for her. And that made him feel worse than he did before. And here he thought he was living through hell with the death of his brother during the bombing some time ago. Fullmetal closed his mouth and straightened his posture before Clariee could notice his reaction to the increasingly depressing news. "...holy shit, Clair. The fact that you can talk about it so calmly... looks like sending our best cryomancer was the smartest decision. Only person who could keep cool in those conditions would be an ice magus, am I right?" Wesley didn't know if she was their best any way. But he could hear the difference in her voice from before. She'd been absent of warmth and comradery for so long she could do with candid praise. True or not. It also helped to hide away his actual feelings. He hoped. That's it kid. Play it off. Make light of the conversation with bad jokes. Hide those emotions. They're not doing ya any good. Nut up. Move on.
  11. Wesley Evans

    Thrive in Spite

    Wesley nearly jumped out of his sneakers at the sound of someone calling his name from behind. Their words made it evident that they arrived just in time to witness him perving out, and the voice he heard made his blood run cold. Of all the people to call him on his bullshit this was the worst possible person. His employer. Wesley turned to see Alistair Greene approach him with his trademark indifferent air, even if he was being serious about Wesley's cringe-worthy behavior. This surprised Wesley, especially after everything he'd done over the past year. Wesley had only recently returned from his hiatus and this was the first time he saw the boss since then. "I uh... I was just... Imeantherewas... because... n-no?" he stammered, voice heightened in a mixture of fear and surprise. He did a double take back to Clairee, and to Alistair again, before clearing his throat and composing himself just in time for Clariee to approach and shake his hand. A soft peck on his cheek caused him to blush and almost completely distracted him from his attempt at smoothing over the situation with the bossman. This was the longest he'd ever conversed with the man without simply receiving a message through other channels, or in the same room as his co-workers, and it was killing him that the biggest impression he'd ever made on the man was one that Wesley was essentially a 14-year-old boy with magical powers and an uncontrollable libido. Wesley breathed a sigh of relief when Clariee segued into an exit. Wesley already knew more than he was supposed to, which ironically, is what got him in trouble with the higher-ups prior to Clariee's return. It probably wasn't a good idea for him to tag along. Still, he did out of curiosity. After all, this was the first time he'd seen the woman in forever, and he wanted to know what that was all about. He stepped into the elevator and sidled next to the Clariee on the right where he hovered his hand over them lest he miss his chance to push said buttons because... again, Wesley was a big dumb kid.
  12. Wesley Evans

    In Memoriam

    There it was. It really wasn't that hard of a concept to get a hold of. Nevena repeated Wesley's request back to him and he nodded without looking back up at her. Thankfully she did not notice much the goings-on around the room with the metals reacting to Wesley's mana signature taking erratic spikes due to his equally erattic mood swings. Or perhaps she did notice, yet chose not to mention it. He was after all an agent of ARMA and thus, she likely expected him to have some sort of mystical ability. And she herself would understand that sometimes one's control over his or her powers could go haywire, provided their emotions got the better of them. It was especially common among the less experienced, or disproportionally powerful magus out there. He waited until he, and the metal objects in the room, settled down before looking back across the desk to the woman and responding to her inquiry. "I don't care. I'm done waiting. I'm done taking advice. If I'm being honest with us both... I deserve a lifetime of regret for what I did. I failed my brother. I was supposed to save him, and not only did I not, but I almost got myself killed in the process. Killing these bastards isn't about making myself feel better. It's about setting things right. Punishing those that deserve to be punished, and protecting those they would hope to hurt like they did my brother. And your friend." Wesley reached into his right jacket pocket and removed the medal he kept on his person every day since his brother's death. He glanced down at it before taking a deep breath and looking back to Nevena. "I know what you're thinking. If I deserve the pain, why try to erase the memories? Why not own my shit? It's because I've still got work to do. These powers may not have helped me protect my brother, but they can still be put to good use. And even though I swear I'm ready to kill, I know deep down that it's wrong. What I'm about to do is wrong. So wrong that it could ruin me. You know what they say about slippery slopes. Take one step in that direction and there's no turning back? I guess I just think if I don't know I've taken that step... the rest won't come so easily." Hearing his plan out loud made him cringe. Wesley really had lost his damned mind. Perhaps Nevena hadn't noticed as she too was getting emotional. When she settled down and questioned him again Wesley simply shook his head with a sigh. "In case I haven't made it obvious, I'm going to find the bombers and I'm going to kill them. That may or may not be an over-simplification of what's actually going to go down... but the result will be the same. I find them. They die. Whatever happens in between steps one and two... that's the stuff I'm afraid I won't want to remember." Wesley stood up from his sitting position, slowly, as his side wound was still tender. He leaned on his cane and let out a labored breath. "It sounds worse than it actually is. ARMA agents have killed before, just like policemen have killed before. We just have more creative ways of dealing with PTSD. Like, a women who can remove memories from people's heads." Wesley remarked with a smirk while tilting his head toward Nevena.
  13. Wesley Evans

    In Memoriam

    "Right. No need at all." Wesley replied in kind to Nevena's snotty remark. He didn't need, or even know, what the hell she was talking about. He had tunnel vision when it came to his crusade and while he was being petty and obnoxious, he didn't seem to be bothered by others doing the same. At least, he wasn't stumbling over himself attempting to make people like him the way the old, weak-willed Wesley used to. She went ahead with her explanation of her abilities, his interest piquing only when she got to the part about erasing memories. It seemed what he heard Keeley talking about was accurate. She hadn't actually given Wesley any information about Nevena intentionally, but Nevena didn't need to know that. "There we go. That's the ability that's going to help close this case." Wesley said while leaning forward from his previously lackadaisical posture. "I'm going to need you to remove a memory for me. Not one I have now... but one I'm going to have soon." The magus paused for a moment to give Nevena time to catch up. "I know you're smart enough to know that when we find these assholes they're not going to jail. Not for what they did our people. Not for what they're trying to start. They want a war. An excuse to try to wipe us all out. But their arms are too short to box with God, that's what I say." Wesley took a deep breath and counted to five, mouthing the words before speaking again, as throughout his little tirade he could tell he was losing composure, based on the metallic odds and ends in the room that were beginning to shake or hover in response to his mana spiking inadvertently. He didn't want to scare her off. "Have you lost anyone in the attack? Someone like us or someone just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Wesley asked. His voice was more calm and thoughtful, a 180 degree turn of personality from the man that barged into her office earlier. His gaze was fixated on the floor beneath him as he spoke. Wesley had gotten accustom to hiding his more sentimental side with a wall of vitriol, but when he couldn't, he hid it by hiding his eyes.
  14. Wesley Evans

    Thrive in Spite

    "Congratulations, ya played ya self." proclaimed Wesley in his best DJ Khaled impersonation as he began chuckling lowly while reaching back into his discard pile to remove a distinct card. Newer generation videogame systems still worked post Nevus, but hardly any of the online servers survived, leaving most systems that required license verification online to be unusable. Thus, older consoles were refurbished and gamer culture adapted... or, they focused on less high-tech forms of nerd entertainment: tabletop RPG's and trading card games. Today's card game of choice? Yugioh. And Wesley was on a role thanks to his zombie themed deck. "...aaaaand ANOTHER one!" called out Wesley as he slammed said card down onto the table, continuing his impression to the dismay of ARMA's redshirts. They argued amongst themselves for playing into Wesley's hand yet again. "What the hell kinda strategy is spamming Pyramid Turtles?" asked the one playing with a shake of his head. "Why the hell do you keep attacking them!?" his friend questioned. He smacked his shoulder in a way to slap some sense into his comrade. "To get them outta the way, they're all in defense mode and he negated all my insta-kill shit by just reviving everything I killed, I've got no other options!" "What you've got is a trash-ass deck. Heart of The Cards will only take you so far." chided Wesley as he bridged his fingers like a maniacal supervillain while looking at today's potential winnings. Two Slim Jim's and the last pack of cherry pop tarts in any vending machine in the entire complex (Wesley checked). Quite the haul. Wesley's co-workers seemed not to care so much about it as they had already begun standing and putting away their cards. They said their goodbyes for the day and headed out of the exit. Wesley smiled and collected his earnings just as the sound of more footsteps entering drew his attention. Not concerned with who it was he continued putting his deck back into it's case before a familiar fragrance caused him to pause. Glancing out of his periphery he noticed that it was indeed a female, headed deeper inside the HQ. Dark hair... shorter than he, and slender despite noticeable curves. Noticeably familiar curves. Wesley wasn't the mopey manchild he was a year ago and his personality returned to that of the horndog that he used to be. Thanks to that return to form, it resulted in him leaning to the side to get a better look at the female about to head out of the lobby toward the elevators and out of sight. Admittedly, he had become more sly with his ogling at least, so even if he was still a pervert he hid it well enough. "I know that ass... he thought as his grin grew wider. Wesley hurried from the table he and his friends were sitting at earlier and followed behind a few paces (he wouldn't dare ruin the show too early) before calling out. "Privjet agent Donya."
  15. Wesley Evans


    Wesley fumed as Alec did his best to be a best friend. To understand Wesley and console him without making things too saccharine or uncomfortable for either of them. The older, undoubtedly wiser man spoke earnestly with Wesley, but it felt to him like he was being talked down to. Like he didn't really understand. If he did, he would do everything he could to help, right? But he wasn't. He was making excuses. He hated it. Still, the fact that he was no longer willing to risk career suicide to help meant that he could be turned against him. Blowing up at him would not help. Other than to ease the anger that Wesley was feeling, if only a bit. So he bit his bottom lip literally and allowed whatever Alec was saying to enter into one ear and escape the other. He didn't need ear service, but attempted to pretend that it was helping. Even as Alec placed a hand on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and tensed up as if the warmth from his hand was some sort of fetid tentacle or scalding hot poker. He winced away but immediately looked up to force the fakest of smiles. He'd just blame it on his wound if he asked. How he'd bullshit a tap on the shoulder sending a surge of pain to his abdomen was beside the point. Alec asked if Wesley could needed help, and he opened his mouth to say something snippy, but slowly closed it and shook his head. He expected it to have a better reaction than "go fuck yourself." The only thing that got him to speak again was the mention of Titan Mode. He'd forgotten that the only person that even knew about his stronger spells were Alec. He'd have to keep his trump card under his sleeve though, as he didn't want more judging from people that were supposed to trust him. Even if he was giving them reason to lose their trust in him. "It's not my leg that hurts. It's my side. Every time I put weight on this side of my body I feel pressure on the stab wound that went through the left of my bellybutton. Cane helps avoid doing that." Wesley looked away before walking toward the entrance with his cane. "Though now that you mention it... walking around isn't necessary now that I can do this..." Wesley waved a hand toward a corner of the building that neither of them could see behind. Wesley didn't need to see what was around the corner. He could feel it. Seconds after his hand outstretched a metal trashcan lid spun around said corner like a flying saucer before skidding to a stop in front of Wesley's feet on the hard concrete; the harsh sound causing a cringe. "You knew about me gradually getting better at metal manipulation, but I dunno if I ever told you how much better. My max that I can levitate is about a thousand pounds now. Ten times more than I weigh, which was my actual limit when I first came here if you remember." He cleared his throat, feeling nostalgia creep in and cause a bit of a smile, but he'd be damned if he gave up on being a stubborn asshole. Not until he got his way. Wesley stood on top of the upside down trashcan lid and levitated it with no effort. "And I know what you're thinking. No Virgil jokes." Wesley laughed, but sped forward toward the entrance to keep up appearances, even though Alec would have heard him.


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