Kai Alexander Morgan

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491 Bringing Sexy Back

About Kai Alexander Morgan

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned


    Luke Evans
  • RACE
    Lycanthrope, Jaguar
  • JOB
    LMSW, Psychiatrist, Psychologist, Physical Trainer, teaches self-defense classes; retired Navy Special Operations
  • 'SHIP:
    Mack...? Current whereabouts and fate unknown.
    New York, NY
    Kai is taller than average but not exceptionally so; barely dusting over six feet. Despite his gently imposing stature, he always appears warm and confident with a quick smile and a playful glitter to his eyes. Preferably, he wears dark tees, a black Navy pea coat, a black knit cap, simple jeans and black boots. When he's working, he wears a casual suit with no tie that gravitates toward fall palette neutral colors. He is the epitome of a casual, confident soul and works very hard to appear as such.

    Hair is dark brown, when long it curls slightly, when short it's often vertical due to its thickness. He can be either clean shaven or with a slight scruff depending on his mood and lunar time. Eyes are deep green, rimmed in hazel and hooded underneath unusually expressive eyebrows. Upper and lower jaw have strangely pronounced canines- an oddity that was present even before the Resonance.

    Moving gracefully at his height he is also extraordinarily fit, purposefully keeping his weight down to maximize speed and agility. He has a multitude of scars without rhyme or reason: several bullet holes on his right arm and shoulder, a clip in his eyebrow and on the bow of his top lip, a slightly nicked left ear, a stab wound on his left kidney and a plethora of small scars around his hands and knuckles. He also has a slight divot in his right collarbone. He has no fingerprints.
    To the casual observer, Kai seems a calm and collected fashionable Brit whose slight Welsh accent is often mistaken for an English one. In truth, he struggles fiercely with control. Kai was born, bred, raised, trained and damaged in the former American Special Operations. He was an exceedingly faithful lion on a leash; unquestioning, meticulous and thorough in his execution of assignments. Orderly. Controlled. He paid a tremendous price. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, clinical PTSD and Dependent Personality Disorder now litter his consciousness. Kai lacks empathy, a serious symptom of his PTSD. Now, he battles a painful polarity over his need for order and service, and the emotionally charged sensuality to hostility in his L-infected new body. Every day is a conscious fight to find his humanity. The antagonism of his personality is staggering, constantly searching for for calm equilibrium.

    On one end of the spectrum, Kai is a master of finite control over himself and his faults. He is able to effectively and gently blend into his surroundings, always cordial and warm in public. He has taken his specialized skills and is attempting to use them for a purpose other than destructive order; becoming educated in clinical psychology and psychiatry. Kai’s interest has been honed to assist in the struggle of the new society to live in a post-Resonance world; particularly effective in counseling the altered, victims of abuse, addicts and violent offenders. His chosen profession has a greater purpose for him; he is trying to reacquaint himself with a human, civilian world and relearn empathy. He is learning to copy normal behavior, and be at peace with his new body.

    On the other end, Lycanthropy burns his blood- to those that study him a bit more closely there is a chilling darkness under the surface that hovers in his presence. Angry he wasn't strong enough to avoid infection, he has developed a terrible self-hatred of his fate and is very quick to snap at anyone he deems a threat. If they are inconsequential, physical violence suffices. If they can hurt him socially in some way, he will deal for the time being and take care of them later on his own terms. As a human, he felt nothing to kill- discharged for that very fact. His new body however craves attention, touch and violence on his strict terms. The urge to kill now excites him, and the emotion is terrifying. The fear of losing control is constant and crushing.

    Stress over this duality continues to escalate his already psychological points of concern. When alone, Kai will often scrub his fingernails, fingertips and skin until they bleed. He detests bright colors and strong manufactured scents; literally losing the ability to speak due to the over-stimulation of both diseases. The human irritation and infected personalities seem to collide. If stimulated as a human, Kai becomes agitated and dangerously impulsive to physical violence- escalating the closer he gets to the full moon. He satiates this by either training until he can no longer stand, or removing himself early to his monthly safe space out of the city.

    He is sensitive to questions about his past; he simply doesn’t wish to divulge what he did in the name of peace. On the outside, he is a well-adjusted, upstanding member of Post-Resonance society. On the inside, his world is dark, confused, impulsive, feral and emotionally vulnerable; but at his very core he is what he seemed destined to be, a relentless and aggressive hunter.
    Kai lives on the top level of an apartment complex in Inwood decorated exclusively in whites and pale grays. His home reflects his need for quiet order. Walls are white with few decorations or personal items; furnishings are mostly white in a modern and simple style. Bedroom is completely white, not an item out of alignment or order. He enjoys minimalism; everything is elegant, simple, and has a purpose. Every once in a while he will bring in a bright bouquet of flowers, tolerating them as long as he can stand before giving them to the elderly lady across the hall; to which he also buys groceries and keeps an eye on her.

    One of his favorite “normal” possessions is a home theater system, his collection of vintage symphony, classical and art music recordings a distraction that seems to tame the compulsive beast. Bach is able to catch his attention, whereas Chopin seems to calm him. Kai will spend his Saturdays scouring local vintage stores for more recordings he doesn’t have; something he doesn’t yet recognize as a hobby, only a stimuli that seems to make him feel more normal.

    He drives a silver 2009 G-Class Mercedes Utility Vehicle. The truck is always meticulous and well kept, even in the winter months. Inside is his monthly survival pack for his trips into the Appalachians during his shift.

    Most of his service weapons are still in his possession; taking them out once a week to clean. All of his weapons are stored carefully in a floorboard safe under his kitchen table in specialized sleek cases
    -BOW- Mathews Switchback customized to his measurements with adequate arrows and a custom quiver that attaches to his shoulder holster.
    -SNIPER RIFLE- Modified Barrett 82A1 with limited ammunition and specialized optics.
    -2 HANDGUNS- Para USA P-14-45 and carries an extra clip each when he carries. Custom inner pants and shoulder holsters.
    -2 BLADES- Rockstead UN-ZDP Japanese Fixed 5-1/2" Blade, Tetsukon Silk Wrapped Handle with specialized sheaths for his forearm and ankle.

    He has one plant, a beautiful African Violet he calls "Sophia". He found it tipped over and in atrocious shape when he moved in and has taken care of it ever since, nursing it into an impressive specimen with the help of Mrs. Kolcheck; the elderly lady across the hall. Kai has no idea why he calls it Sophia, only that the name stirs a distinct warm tickle in his brain.

    LMSW Office in Inwood, leases a Physical and Occupational Therapy treatment studio several nights a week in the same building for his classes. Kai becomes viciously feral, sexually possessive and protective several days before the full moon. Senses begin to enhance and his emotional state wildly fluctuates; blood, pheromones and strong scents increase the irritability. He always runs his self-defense classes in three week cycles to avoid the week surrounding his shift. Since his students are mostly women, he chooses to remove himself from their proximity until he recovers; retreating monthly to his safe space in the Pennsylvanian Appalachians until it passes.


    Lycanthrope, Jaguar

    In human form, Kai is physically exceptional, his training and consistent dedication to fitness keeping him in incredible shape pre and post-Resonance. As a result of the infection, his physical fortitude and skills are congruent with the average male Lycanthrope in all forms. He has no pack mentality, and is a solitary Lycanthrope. He is NOT aware with human consciousness while transformed at any time.

    When moving from man to beast, he is completely conscious when bones slide and flesh moves. Only during the last throes before the disease takes his human intelligence does the pain stop and animal instinct take over. He always takes every step to knock himself out cold with various concoctions of tranquilizers, but occasionally he cannot do it in time if extreme circumstances prevent his precautions. It is rare he is conscious when beast transforms painfully back to man, but it does happen.

    During the actual nights of the full moon, he is an overly aggressive Lycanthrope in full kill mode; he hunts fiercely and is incredibly agile in bursts of violent, destructive power. Human intelligence completely disintegrates and succumbs to the infection. If he does not sequester himself and successfully remove exterior scent stimulation from his surroundings before his shift, he will hunt down and kill the stimuli. Bloodlust never seems to be satiated before he returns to human form, and he wakes from delirium with an emotional rush that takes several days to shed.

    On the weaker days of the full moon, he doesn't quite get that far. His transformation will sputter out into a form that resembles the actual Jaguar cat- an oddly large and feral looking Jaguar trophy for whomever wants to put a bullet in his brain. Excessively territorial of personal space and "possessions" (persons or places), this form is still the most susceptible to tranquilizers. However if he burns through the tranquilizers, he wanders his territory like a guard dog- hunting, sleeping and otherwise terrorizing local populations and wildlife.
    -Military Special Operations training, Navy SEAL, Marksman, Honorary Discharge for “other physical and mental injuries”. Though the formal papers never reached his hands, it was an unavoidable impending end to his career interrupted only by the Resonance.

    -Multilingual- speaks fluent Arabic, Russian and Spanish, can identify all major dialects.

    -Licensed Master Social Worker.

    -Organized, methodical and a gifted teacher.
    Kai is the first American generation from a Welsh born family. His father already a standout in British intelligence, Kai was a natural successor to his legacy. Retired, his parents immigrated to the United States under a sanctioned new identity to live as a normal family; where Kai was born to accompany an older sister of ten. Parents enrolled him in military school very early in his education. He was content with strict and rigid regimens, and was most comfortable following orders; training relentlessly until new skills were mastered, and never questioning a chain of command.

    Early in his military career, he entered Navy SEAL training; excelling in marksmanship. Kai’s major role was the execution of highly classified missions to hostile countries. As the missions went forward, growing concerns about the stress to his mental health were raised upon each debriefing at the completion of an assignment. Further psychological examinations revealed that stress was shorting out empathetic pathways in his brain. Focus and training had allowed him to set aside emotion to complete assignments, but as a result he was losing the ability to process the consequences of his actions; escalating aggression and impulsiveness in response to innocuous perceived threats sealing his fate. Shortly before the Resonance, decisions had been made to reduce his operational tasks, then retire him from service. The chance never came.

    His final assignment overlapped the first Nevus. They needed the best, he was the best. Moving his way through barren and extremely hostile territory, the catastrophic Event sheared his world in two- literally. Africa- the root of the end of the world. His last moments as a normal man on earth were swathed in pain and terror. One foot in our reality, the other in something he barely has the words even now to describe. All have seen the Nevus, Kai nearly drowned in the depths of the tidal wave that crashed through him as it engulfed the landscape. His body caught in a tug-of-war between the two worlds until released back to this half of reality; broken, viciously burning with infection and near death. It was almost a year before he returned to what was left of the states. There was nothing to come home to. No command, no military. Nobody. He has struggled ever since trying to find direction without strict parameters, and cope with the emotional flood of his new body. Dreams are still filled with distorted visions of his moments ripped between two worlds, unable to explain, unsettled with knowing he is not quite "normal" like others of his kind... and unwilling to share in order to find answers.

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    Bodhan Marin
  • Typist's Role Play History
    Since the beginning of time
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  1. Blitz

    He couldn’t say it didn’t tempt him. To let loose completely with the intent to fight without abandon was always something that seemed attractive. Accepted for the brutes they were… not hiding, or running. He was different though. If he threw a punch, even once, there was no turning back. He’d come so far, and the thought of disappointing those that he’d counseled and supported all this time was the one thing that was holding him back. Did that mean that a shred of humanity still existed? That he was unwilling to go back? Or was he unwilling to let himself hurt others? All of the above? Weres were Weres. Problem was he had been trained before he was a Were... He would kill things. There were no bells in the world that could be rung to call him off. It was, just a bad idea. This whole thing was a terrible idea. An odd thing about his old habits, they never stopped ticking. Each rustle of movement in a radius around him was always a blip on his radar. Add to that mortal sense, Were ones on top of it made life sometimes unbearable. Especially scents and colors, they were enough to send him over the edge. Someone was coming close, someone the cat recognized "Mr. Morgan?" The vibrant green moved in her direction, never forgetting a face. Names were fleeting, especially after what had probably been several years. Hers though, had been unusual, and at a poignant point of his growing practice. "It's a bit late for a run. Everything alright? The last time we spoke you were running a self-defense class to teach people to fight against the supernatural. I really hope you aren't thinking about fighting in these barbaric games for small minded people." His eyes followed hers back up to the giant building. “Never too late for a run. Pandora, isn’t it, if I remember correctly. Please, call me Kai,” it was so easy for him to smile, to look cordial, to feel cordial. “I’m still helping people, moved closer to Manhattan, expanded my practice quite a bit.” Fingers went up to pull down the hood, adjusting his wool scarf and tucking it neatly before pulling the hood back up. Sigh was quiet. “Honestly, I hope the thing fails miserably. All the work I’ve done… somehow I know though it won’t. Probably will be wildly popular. Demystifying the dangerous. I’ve got my work cut out for me I think. What are you doing out on this incredibly fine evening?”
  2. Blitz

    January 22, 2021 Sidewalk Outside Satyr Stadium, 9:30pm. And there it was. The most stupid fucking thing that could ever exist. Wind whipped its sharp breath once through the street, almost as if it had been reading his mind, rifling the edge of his dark hoodie enough to slip the hood from around his features. Gloves were pulled off, then the Navy beanie as the normally clear kelly green slid from the massive goliath he was looking up at. It was brazen, and arrogant, and apparently unstoppable. Bare fingers rifled through his hair a moment before pulling the skullcap back on and over his ears. He’d barely broken a sweat in the last five miles, cold gelling what little there was almost immediately on the back of his neck. Hood pulled back up, gloves back on, fingers interlocked to reach high above his head in a languid stretch before thoughts returned to continuing his run. Even the layers under his zip-up had done nothing to elicit more of a sweat. He didn’t know why he came… strike that. He knew exactly why. Hiding for so long. Forced to hide for so long. Hunted. His presence a death sentence for the woman he loved that was now out of his reach again if she ever mentioned what he was to those around her. Now, what the world hated and feared was on display for all to see. The blood, the infection… splattered all over the ring like it was a fucking joke. Money passing between hands to see who had the bigger fangs, and cheered in bars like a goddamn super bowl. Lips pursed, tongue running across a canine. Apparently it was okay now to pretend to be powerful and also be infected. He’d needed to put his eyes directly on the pompous monstrosity for it to be real. It blew the door wide open for every single fear the population had about the infected. For the Vanguard to have all the fodder they needed to continue its rabid hatred, for the those that came to him terrified and hunted to have more demons to run from. More suspicions and fear for some, less threat for others to think the whole Were infected community were fluffy toys to be bought and sold in swag stores. The question was, what would he do about it. Kneeling, he adjusted the laces on his right shoe, retying it before dusting off the knee of his black Adidas running pants. This was a fucking nightmare. Few, if any had the eyes he did… every weakness, strength and point of entry locked into his brain before turning them back to the sidewalk to decide which direction he wanted to go. A Colosseum worthy of an empire, a modern day Caesar. Two thousand years ago it took sixty men and twenty three stab wounds to take down a god. He only needed one well-placed bullet.

  4. Land of Confusion

    Breathing had all but halted, twitched top lip over unusually pronounced canines for a mere human threatened to sheer off the white weapons... He was aware but not aware, frozen yet kinetic and urging to move in an explosion of deadly muscles, laughter echoing inside a hollow cave, the scent of shampooed hair mixed with metal and greasemonkey. Pancakes. Bacon and piano music. Smell of soap on freshly cleaned skin. Gun oil. His cheek twitched. Deep green, full of pupil watched her jump up. She knew he was there. Mack always had good instincts, but Mack was not Mack. Mack didn't jump, or sleep on park benches. He couldn't untangle himself inside. Relief, rage, uncertainty, empathy. His foot stepped forward out of the light, chest finally allowed to take the deep breaths he needed after running so hard. Hand on his hip, the other swiping the Navy beanie off his head and scrubbing fingers up the back of shorn hair as he "innocently" just "arrived" from a run. It gave him hope that his instincts had maybe started to do the right thing, the normal thing instead of crush a skull on impulse. "Mack?" It was audible, but so far away in his head. Play it like... everything was normal. Normal not normal. Normal without... well what they had become. Something was desperately not right. Gone without a trace that even he couldn't track. Months... "Mack, is that you? When did you get back?" Innocent. Easy. Cordial. In his head he was screaming.
  5. Land of Confusion

    Hooded green irises had been staring at the clock for almost fifteen minutes. What most would consider a regular object of methodical organization, he was going to smash into a thousand pieces in a few moments. The second hand had a lag that'd started around 4, late night back to back appointments kept him from fiddling with it to fix. Now, office assistant gone, gym closed, office closed, and every muscle was being held to a compressed quiver to prevent tearing across the room to destroy everything in his path to silence it. Depths of self control and rage were bottomless, the tangled fight leaving him still for sometimes hours. If nothing triggered action, he could take control. If agitated... something as little as a smell, or sound, all hell broke loose. Breathing. Slow. Sigh finally was pulled in, the balance of the internal battle finally tipped. Leather chair pushed back, hands on the dark wood desk as he stood. The battle was not over completely. The clock had to be silenced, and he would have to burn this off. Silent footsteps stopped at the shelf, finger delicately opening the glass face to stop the pendulum, closing it to the sound of gears ceasing to move the water torture that would have sent him into a rage two years ago. There had been a lull, when his world seemed to stabilize, now fully freight training again to an uncontrollable Were. The building was finally silent, the itch of agitation still sprinkling over his skin. Stepping into his personal bathroom, he changed quickly. Rugged runners, loose black running pants, a gray tee shirt peeled over his lithe torso. Black hoodie, fingerless gloves, black Navy skullcap. One key on a lanyard tucked into his hoodie. Hood up. Knife sheath on the inside of his forearm. Building locked, he bypassed his car for the alley and picked up pace. He had to run it out, which was next to impossible for a Were. Hours. Laps of the park spiralling inward, brain unconsciously tracking... irritation spiking, then resolving until a snap in his brain stopped the world on a dime. An entire demeanor snapped into mission mode, innocent runner instantly turning shadow and standing silently in the dark just out of the reach of the path light. Eyes on an occupied bench, brain folding over itself in scents it did and did not recognize.
  6. That which does not kill us makes us stronger

    Nostrils flared slightly, casual observer thinking he was just winded, closer inspection would see it couldn’t be further from the truth. He’d just given himself more information about her. Feline. The kelly green seemed to shift in color slightly as he blinked it away. “I have heard that is a beautiful country…I also think everyone is a transplant anymore” It was. “Now it’s full of dragons,” it was matter of fact and he had to snap himself back into the façade that everyone knew, gaining a relaxed smile as one was cast at Katy. “Yes, I think some information would be great. I am sure you both are so very busy especially with your own work Kai, so I do apologize for interrupting it, but I think this place might fit the bill for my needs.” An inaudible snap in his throat stiffened his hackles. Dominance. So that’s what this was, his cat was staking its claim. Most of the time in passing on the street glares were exchanged, but nothing ever came of any of it. Now there was one standing in front of him. On purpose. He knew he was unusual, the solitary Were particularly intolerant of others. He also knew that others were not and would pack with others. He’d never left any alive long enough to find out if that was his nature. Lashes blinked slowly as Katy almost skipped off to get Sage some information. His smile disappeared as he watched after her, then returned the flared pupils to the new member. “I want to kill you.” It was said so easily, not even a blink as the quiet sentence was passed to her. “That being said, there are few that can control it like I do.” Smile as he pointed out a cabinet to Katy’s questioning expression about the new paperwork revealed unusually pronounced canines switched on like a light. That’s what was tearing at him. He couldn’t hide, the switch between killer and the mask the killer wore was clearly visible to another Were. Everything he’d worked so hard to normalize, the animal he’d successfully been able to bury in a room full of humans was in plain view. “In the interest of full disclosure, if you stay here you’re in danger. No other Were I know would give you the courtesy of knowing.” It wasn’t the time to disclose the vaults just yet. He had to see if he could refrain from attacking her first. This was not good, not good at all. The feline didn’t know what he was feeling, was it death, the need for hot blood in his throat, the simple act of kicking someone’s ass into submission? …he was feeling very bitey, as odd as that sounded in his brain. He was rocketing back to a time when he didn’t care what he hurt, or who he took. He’d made so much progress…made so many promises… to someone he didn’t know was alive or dead. Teeth clenched in a long sigh, watching Katy return with the information. *npc* If you’ve made up your mind we can get you signed up right now!
  7. That which does not kill us makes us stronger

    The hackles. Every curse he knew in every language in kind flickered through his educated self, the primal self also reacted. Cat was alert, tail twitching in the metaphoric corners of his mind, and ready to kill. Kill was something he could not allow. It would ruin everything. Everything he'd built to sustain. After the mess of several months ago, the city was on complete and utter fucking edge. Any dream he'd ever had about fighting for some kind of equality and understanding was dashed for the moment. So. Control. Control over rage that was so potent even Katey seemed to unconsciously sense it, the concerned glance around the room a tell tale sign that even a human's primal senses could still be engaged. "Kai, that is an unusual name." "Welsh," he answered easily, a little surprised at how easily it did come. Maybe it was the self conscious need for his still present, yet faint accent, to be separated from the giant lump that was British- unless somebody was drinking themselves into a puking frenzy on St. Paddy's day or trying to be cool enough to wear a fucking kilt. The Welsh were overlooked quite a bit, and mistaken for everyone else. "Over the pond transplant I'm afraid." The handshake he dreaded became just that, dreadful, a full on baring of metaphorical teeth until his hand returned to his side. “I like this place you have here..." ....fuck "I am in the market for a new place to work out.” ...fuck... a duck. Say something Kai. Fucking Christ. He caught himself scanning the room, then glanced back to her, pulling the knit Navy cap he had on and rifling the shorn hair a few times. Skin was on fire. Obsessive thoughts of everything else than standing there at the moment and being polite were triggering through his muscles. She was feline. It was so much worse... "We're small, but get the job done. I can't lie, this gym is selfishly more for me than anything, I just thought there was a need for safety away from the general meatheads for my clientele base so I expanded. I teach self defense classes in the evenings, but my behavioral health offices are in the rear of the building. Antagonised, abused, assaulted, I counsel. Women mostly, though people who have been traumatised by the last ten years span all kinds, types and races." There was the jab. Now she knew he knew. Wasn't this nice? *npc* I can get you all set up if you like? Katey was the vision of welcoming. Fuck her hospitality. Goddamn it. Brain was ticking, unusually green eyes had become much darker, pupils large. Powder keg. A powder keg that wasn't going to blow no matter what happened. He was exceptionally at control. It was now up to the other Were to decide whether or not this was something she could bear. Other Weres could deal with their own kind, he, at this juncture, had never been one of them. Why in the hell had he built the vaults then? Wishful thinking? No.... a dreamer. The thought had always been philanthropy, now that one was standing directly in front of him, all that was beginning to crumble. They needed to talk, privately... but the world wasn't going to let that happen at the moment without definitive baring of identity. Fuck.
  8. That which does not kill us makes us stronger

    He could feel everything. EVERYTHING. The hearts of those spattered around the quaint gym pulsing, down to the vibration of the air when feet hit a treadmill. Focusing. Focusing. Making plans in his head to make sure he knew the habits of his patrons on the sign-in sheets and to avoid seemingly new members. It was bound to happen eventually, and Christ he’d built the damn vaults downstairs specifically to help other Weres. Problem was, he couldn’t be around other Weres. His brain, was logical. They were all in it together, he had to create a safe space for those like him to learn and understand their limitations so they could all survive and surpass the stigma. His gut, just wanted to rip out throats and roll around in their blood. The thought, raised the hair again on the back of his neck as he reached to turn up the speed on the treadmill. Muscles had already began to make the belt slip slightly forward as his strength pulled at the limitations of the electronics. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long without attracting odd brow quirks from other members. They knew he was the owner and was extraordinarily in shape… but… there were limitations to what a “human” could do. Teeth clicked on edge, eyes trying to watch the news on one of the overhead televisions. Aware… every move, every heartbeat, each bead of sweat. Katey giving the new member information, a tour… and finally- -blink proceeded feet stepping nimbly to the rails on each side of the belt in mid-stride to stop. Hands clenched on the railings, triceps twitching slightly under his tee-shirt as he watched the spin of the belt keep moving, chest heaving. He was growling inaudibly from the depths of his psyche, the powder keg so close to blowing. Katey was talking to him, introducing him, the owner, to… Sage... his top lip shivered slightly over unusually pronounced canines, still watching the belt. Head down… Just. Breathe. Katey didn’t know. It wasn’t her fault. The female Were had kept moving around inside his domain… there was no way she couldn’t know by now. Either she was taunting him, or… Lips pursed upward slightly to an easy smile, mask clicking on like a light, hand reaching steadily for the slide to pull the speed down to a fast walk. He stepped back on, picking up his water bottle for a long swig before responding. Control. As controlled as a compressed volcano. Fingers clutched the tee shirt over his stomach to pull up and wipe his forehead, setting down the water bottle and wiping his hands on the small towel hanging over the rail before he stopped walking and rode down to the end to step off. “Hello Sage,” he smiled easily with an outstretched hand and a swig of water. “Kai. What brings you here? Other than the obvious, of course.” Besides wanting to die?
  9. That which does not kill us makes us stronger

    It had become methodical, each stride perfect, a welcome lullaby to an OCD riddled brain. Breath was even in sync, much slower than he would have preferred, but letting the entire world know he could run flat for hours didn’t help much to blend into the new neighborhood. The whine of the belt on the new treadmill was a bit distracting to his nerves, power of his stride wanting to push it faster than the speed he’d set. Water was lifted from the cup holder without skipping a beat, watching the news. The rest of the place preferred to watch it CC, he could actually hear it when it was almost all the way down. Still talking about the giant clusterfuck a few months back. A whole new reason to hate Weres. It was everything they didn’t need, and required him to lock the place down tighter. That was exactly what brought the tick to his jaw as he ran on the furthest treadmill from the main door. Half a dozen were using the others at various speeds. The clink of free weights, even the sound of the showers in the small locker rooms on either side, tickled his ears with the burgeoning irritation. Katey, his gym manager was changing out the hand towels and wiping down equipment. Somebody was using way too much cologne in the men’s locker room. Eyes flicked to Katey and she nodded. She knew. Apparently people couldn’t read. No scents or cologne while in the gym. Owner had allergies, of course. Of course. He didn't want Weres in his place either.... of course that wasn't posted. It wasn't something he shared with anyone. They were everywhere however, walking amongst the normal. It was inevitable. Even though he fought for their plight, it was just something that brought him over the edge. First cologne. Now a Were. The cat that curled deep in his gut raised its hackles. The man, kept his pace and eyes on the news. Katey, being human, was just doing her job- greeting the woman that had just come through the door as she returned to the main counter. There was absolutely no way to tell her a Were was coming through the door. Katey was new, the woman had no idea who her boss was yet.
  10. Want to stretch ma legs

    She would have to approach him in his office or use the gym he owns on the front half of his building for his self defense classes and general membership- but still couldn't guarantee he wouldn't track her down later. At his business, he'd play nice.
  11. Want to stretch ma legs

    Hmmm... Kai kills other Weres, no talking or reasoning, he just does. It's one of those inflexible parts of his personality. Let me think on it with Sage if that's the one you want to go with. There has to be a reason he wouldn't be aggressive.
  12. Want to stretch ma legs

    Doesn't have to be with Sage though, but would be interesting. Never actually had him meet another Were on the board.
  13. Want to stretch ma legs

    Kai is extremely hostile toward other Weres... he is committed to helping them, but usually doesn't deal with them directly because he flips his shit. Still interested?
  14. Want to stretch ma legs

    Wanna play. Who's game?
  15. Brittle and Raw

    November 8th, 2019 3pm New York Center for Behavioral Medicine The light filtered through closed lids, breath controlled. Always controlled. Agitated, skin prickled. Not unusual, he always fought with it. Fought with sanity, fought with calm. Always fighting. Pretending. He was unaware fingertips had started to rub his temples, he didn’t get headaches, elbows resting on the grand mahogany office desk he was finishing his notes on. Fingers pushed through his hair to clasp at the back of his neck. Whispers floated past his ears. Dark. Fading in and out with the shadowed tendrils that were dancing in the afternoon sunlight filtering through his eyelids. *npc* Mr. Morgan, here’s the new roster for the next class. Inhale was sharp, lips almost sheared off his teeth as he looked up at her suddenly… unusually pronounced upper and lower canines always there. She was hyper sensitive to the mental health professional, very aware of what he was. Paper was brought back within her personal bubble until she assessed the situation. Thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose, a long breath taken before he smiled at her and reached out for the new list. [kai]Thank you. I’m sorry, I was up all night going through case files. The world isn’t going to get better on its own you know.[/kai] She smiled back and passed it off. He could lie better than anyone. Sociopaths could do that. It was such a terrible word, but it was the only word he had to describe himself. Especially lately. The nightly runs through the streets of New York to calm the agitation under his skin were starting to grind on him. If it was possible for him to be exhausted, it was now. He was painfully aware that in this state, he was just as dangerous. Physically worn down, the volatility was controllable. Mentally worn down, he was a powder keg. And this, whatever this was, made it worse. Months maybe. Felt different. The night. The moon, felt different. Fulls came and went, and it was always the same routine. This. Felt. Different. Routine would take him downstairs for five days in a few hours. Not a great plan, and he suffered for it. It was the best plan he had. Eyes narrowed on the window. Then it came, like a punch in the gut. Brows snapped downward. No. It wasn’t… no. Chair pushed back suddenly as he stood, muscles shaking under his skin. This wasn’t possible. Urgent footsteps only made it to the leather couch before the pain in his gut wracked him almost in two. Hand slapped the arm, knee hitting the floor. Nothing on this earth could take the Were down. Nothing. Except… [kai]Trina![/kai] Footsteps to his open office door were quick, incredibly confused. [kai]I need my case. NOW![/kai] She didn’t ask questions, appearing within moments to slide a silver case across the floor toward him, perplexed and incredibly terrified. He felt it bump his arm, back already on the floor in the euphoria before the excruciating storm. Trina knew the case was the panic button, and slammed the door behind her. The office was closed, the psychiatrist catching up on paperwork. She was the only other in the building. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t a full moon. Kai always clipped his extraction from the world close, but this was still too early. She trusted the man implicitly, but this wasn’t right. His door clicked open quietly, her eye peering in to see the unconscious Were on the floor. Nothing had happened. He was so incredibly still, seconds ticking by. Movement of his fingers made her heart jump. [kai]I can smell you…[/kai] Case clicked open, his eyes still closed a moment before flicking open and rolling to his side, a syringe with enough sedative to drop an elephant snapped between his teeth to pop the cap off and spit it out, [kai]GET! OUT![/kai] it was a snarl, an honest to god snarl, choking on her own breath as she backpedaled and scampered to the panic room. Suddenly on his feet, the Were's gate was almost drunk, stumbling out the door… slapping his hand on the panel that opened the elevator to the basement. Muscles were seizing so hard they threatened to break bone. Doors opening to the basement and scent of steel below. Shoulder hit the side of the door and he stumbled out of it, smacking to the floor. He was not going to make it to the emergency vault. This was not possible, it was NOT happening! The sound was sickening. Straight into flesh, the slap was merciless as the needle stabbed into the center of his chest, plunger depressed. Skull bounced once on the floor, the hollow echo incredibly loud in his ears, fingers going slack on the syringe that remained embedded in his flesh... the entire world swirling down a drain to complete darkness.