#reatohq;task

[kvtia-blog]

― ❝ ★彡 THE ROSSI REMIX ❞ 

                         listen here

[rnedussa]

scarlett hill ;  tw death, drugs, alcohol

this is a story of what if's and and maybe's. it's a story of sorrow. 

      there's a crack in the mirror. it’s new, and so unnerving. she stares at it a little longer than usual, not sure if it belongs to the gilded glass or to her. it's the truest of reflections. the more she thinks about it, the more she doesn't want to think about it. instead paints her face to mimic perfection, downs whatever’s left in her glass and slips into something a little less comfortable, something that hugs her curves in all the right places.

breath smells of vanilla and red wine, words taste of bad intentions. she dances, she smiles. she speaks of promises, whispers solicitations so wonderful, all remain unaware of the subtle undercurrent behind every syllable. she makes him cling to her like grim death and as irony has it, he thinks he's in control. and that's how she gets them.

his biggest mistake is to char her down, strip her of her veritable power until she resembles nothing but a naive marionette in his eyes, strings for him to pull. they always fail to see how she's death in the gentlest form, heartache in its most brutal truth. her biggest mistake is her arrogance. she ignores the power he holds, the ties to the worst of the worst. when he looks away she bares her teeth, but he's got fangs of his own.

you're too proud, someone once told her. scarlett would like to think there's something inherently good about that. there isn’t. instead it's blinding. her inevitable demise. and so she does what she does best, goes home with him, comes home a thousand bucks richer and slips the same drug into her own drink, washes it down with white wine. she makes her escape from consciousness, from the routine that itches at her skin like a parasite.

the next days are blurry, just like most spent in las vegas. she drinks, drowning long-lost ghost, and in-between sips, she's gasping for air; worries one day her lungs will just give up on her. like everyone and everything else. she stumbles, singing of same old songs, thinking god, good god, why does it feel like i'm already gone? because she is, in a sense. and will be, in another; never noticing the pair of footsteps that aren't hers.

what she does notice is sharpness. feels it dig into her back, the blade so natural against her spine, like she has sheltered one of her own before. mist descends on her eyes, black fills the edges of her vision. she's been found, a victim of an inescapable act of revenge. it's something she hadn't given much thought, her vice always was living in the moment.

this is it, she thinks, welcomes death with resignation. still, a voice rings out in her last moment; calm, collected and every shade of the same old hope that she detests. leaves her with nothing but notions of what could have been and will never be again, because calamity. because heresy. because tragedy, sticking to her like second skin. she can't help but wonder.

what if she had a chance at life? what if she took it? and, oh lily, what if you were something better than you were?

      if only--

[reatohq]

FINAL PLOT DROP

BREAKING NEWS: Identity of Vigilante Thieves Has Been Found Through Valentine McDermot, CEO of Valitus & Divitis.

Cole’s name is displayed across the television, and everyone except for Romeo, Gemma, and Ferris are surprised. Ferris had at least tried to warn Ro that he should tell Cole what was going to happen, but both Gemma and Ro fought against this proposition saying that it was not worth it. Ferris taps his foot anxiously as information about Cole is thrown to the wind, but at least the rest of Reato is safe for now. As far as they can figure, Valentine only caught wind of Cole’s identity, rather than everyone else’s. You all collectively sigh, and know immediately what you have to do.

Release everything you have on that bastard and his company.

Cole doesn’t need to know for now what the trio have kept from him, it’s just a bit too uncomfortable to tell him now that you knew all along. Katia doesn’t even seem to notice the sweat beads running down your neck of the mysterious glances between one another. You all work together to make your first big story on the Reato publication. The news spreads like wildfire, and suddenly Cole’s identity being discovered is one of the least of your worries.

Just as the warehouse was becoming home, it’s time to pack up for a bit and spread out as far as possible. Where they won’t be able to find Cole more specifically, and so the rest of you can’t be connected. As you throw all your belongings into bags that you thought you’d never have to pick up again you watch the media frenzy.

Valitus & Divitis was unable to release their vaccine and are now being sued by the masses for endangerment. They’re being talked about constantly for their messed up doctrine just to gain money. Valentine’s been outed as a corrupt CEO who has been moving money into his own personal account. And, now he’s pretty much broke with hefty donations, in his name, being made throughout the entire country. Ouch... That one has got to hurt. But, there’s your good news. You’ve successfully taught V&D a lesson that they never would have thought of in their wildest dreams. You’ve taken a little bit of Valentine’s personal funds to make your final payment on the warehouse, and to buy the tickets for your great escapes.

Although Cole’s been compromised, the mission hasn’t. THE TEAM HAS WON THIS TIME after finding all of the information they needed.

CHECK UNDER THE CUT FOR MORE INFORMATION, A TASK, AND ALL THAT GOOD STUFF.

( Here are the OOC details of it all… The characters are now being split up across the world. They have taken up fake identities and will need to interact only through phone, text, Skype, etc. conversations. Otherwise, they are now taking up completely other lives in-game for three months, out of game until next Wednesday. Each character has been assigned to a random place, and they must write a task that involves the identity they have while they’re there and what it’s like being there. This can be done creatively, per usual. If you have any questions feel free to ask! And, most of all, have fun. )

Atticus Fisher - Rabat, Morocco.

Gemma Hwang - Rome, Italy.

Katia Rossi - Auckland, New Zealand.

Cole Tomlinson - Reykjavik, Iceland.

Romeo Vu - Vancouver, Canada.

Ferris Wright - Kaohsiung, Taiwan.

[attacuz-blog]

he’d been here b e f o r e; the memory trickled in from every curly black hair on his head. pads of his sneakers made contact with the sacred ground of the chellah and he remembered. his mother’s voice was a windstorm and his father’s a breeze when he handed his son enough money to buy a soda while they fought. the carbonation of his pineapple drink tickled his tongue when he read about the landmark in front of him on a sign nearby; the taste was bitter seventeen years ago and again when atticus wren took the very same sips. the sunshine and cold nights had followed his airplane from las vegas, but wren didn’t wear sweatshirts in its handhold; he wore sweaters and corduroys. looking down at the clothes of another person, atticus felt a gnawing sort of ease. it was relaxing to be s o m e o n e else. 

a quick glance to his phone presented messages from the people back in las vegas, and atticus’ h e a r t seemed tugged in their varying directions –– only for a moment, however, when he realized where he was supposed to be. his jog to work was the fastest it had been yet and he would have been late if it weren’t for the way his boss’ back was to his ungraceful entrance. slipping back into the kitchen, atticus tied his apron around wren’s clothes and tossed a dish towel over his s h o u l d e r, setting off to work.

atticus fisher left las vegas, nevada for rabat, morocco. he assumed the identity of wren aiza and is working as a busboy for a popular local restaurant. though a bit disoriented at first and missing his friends and sister back home, he settled into his new place, enjoying the adventure so far. 

[leaguerpg]

‘romeo vu-cation snaps’

[gemmahwng]

TASK: HIDING OUT.

italy, she thinks, is too close to france.

it’s been just a little over a week since reato temporarily split; for a while, rome is idyllic. each morning brings in a calm fog that sits light on the streets, and from her little flat, she walks past a train station to go to a nearby bakery. she sips at blistering hot coffee and nibbles at different pastries, keeping her head down. sometimes, the baker’s young son gives her an extra treat for free at the register. after the first few days, her surprise and suspicion turns to smiles of thanks.

“hello, miss sofia!” the little boy calls each time, then later, when the noon light starts to warm the roads and she has paid for her breakfast, “goodbye, miss sofia!”

from there, she starts walking to the pizza parlour where she works, passing the train station again. in these days, something itches at the back of her mind; a nagging sensation she can’t place, and it isn’t until the first week passes that she realises what it is.

the train station. the station, the station, the station; again and again and again. it sits there like a taunt, a jeer, a sneer. one weekend morning, she’s sipping at her coffee when the air horn goes off — she drops the mug and the ceramic shatters into a dozen shards on the ground. the baker and his kid comes to clean it up, and gemma suddenly goes still, like she’s in shock. she hears the little boy’s voice call out in worry. she slaps a few euros onto the table to pay for the cup and then hurries away.

the decision comes like a flash.

barely a half hour later, with a large paper bag in her arms, gemma sighs with some degree of resignation as she boards the next high-speed train from rome to paris — not part of the plan, she knows, but she can’t seem to help it. she blames the lot she drew, blames the distance between one country and another, blames the passive inaction of her hiding; blames anything but her own inability to stay away.

         less than half a day passes, and then she’s home.

paris, in the years that she’s been gone, doesn’t seem to have changed much at all. the streetlights are just starting to flicker on when she arrives, bathing her in their electric bronze. she steps out onto rue de dunkerque and can’t help but think, oh, how strange this is.

but she is not here to stare blankly, or to sigh wistfully, or to think sadly. no, not at all; she is here to visit someone very important.

she hails a cab and gives to the man inside an address she hasn’t said aloud for a long time. her voice cracks toward the end and she’s ashamed at how it does, but she settles quietly into the car and occupies her mind with pondering how unusual it is to sit anywhere but the driver’s seat.

when the rumble cobblestone turns to the crunch of gravel, gemma knows they are close. she pays the driver and steps out; takes a breath and walks the path she has committed to memory, even so many years later.

fifty-eight steps; in between, take two rights, then one left. at the exact count, her feet come together to a stop. in front of her: a dusted gravestone of smooth, black granite, golden words etched across the centre.

          adelais sofia presigny.                  1992-2013.

from her paper bag, she pulls out a bouquet. all roses and chrysanthemums — for love, for grief. gemma kneels onto the gravel path and lays the flowers prettily inside an old mason jar from the last time she was here. the previous flowers seem to have cleared themselves; withered out and blown away. she feels guilty at knowing how long it must’ve been.

“tu es ma lumière, addy,” she whispers in greeting; a phrase she’s not said in years. she brushes her fingertips against the soft petals, hand tracing a line all the way to the name carved in gold. she follows each line with care, like she wants to remember the feel of every individual letter. “you are my light. my golden light, like sunshine.” she hasn’t spoken french in so long, she thinks her words sound clumsy. unnatural. her accent is jumbled with the american one she’s feigned for so long.

“and like sunshine, you could shake the fruit from trees.” her laughter comes out in a peal; a light ringing like the melody of bells, free of weight, if only for a moment. “you make my heart heavy, the same way as ripe fruit is heavy. and when it is ripe, it is ready to fall to the ground, because it has seen enough. it has been enough.”

she thinks of reato — of what they’ve done, of what they’ve accomplished. she thinks of the mistakes she made, in between. her breath hitches. “and sometimes, sometimes when i’m only hanging on by a thread, when i’m little but a fruit clinging to its branch, that’s what i think too; that i have seen enough. that i have been enough.”

her hand rests on the top of the headstone; fingers wrapped tight around the edge, knuckles white, smile strained. she knows they made a plan to return to las vegas in three months, to come back, to continue doing their ‘good work’. but for just a moment, gemma considers lying here. falling asleep for the night. never going back. her hand trembles on the stone, drawing in a slow, deep breath.

“and so that’s what you are, addy: the promise that i have been, that all this hasn’t been for nothing. that even if, sometimes, i might pray for the breeze to turn and sever me, we were. we were. we were. and that is enough for me.”

gemma glances at her watch. it’s late, now, but she still has some time before the last train. she sits on the ground, heedless to the leaves and soil clinging to the fabric of her clothes, and leans her head against the cold granite. her eyes sting hot when she finishes, voice gentle, “do you like the flowers? they came all the way from italy.”

in time, she will have to go back. in time, she will have to pick herself up again. first, back to rome; and then, back to vegas.

but for now, she can sit here. she can rest. she can remember.

and that is enough. that is enough.

[leaguerpg]

task 3 ; 

Your sister dies and you cannot stop it from happening.

She leaves a message on your voicemail, frantic and stuttering. She tells you that your hands are dirty, that you do not know the depths of depravity that Valitus and Divitus have immersed themselves in, that she has found out things that she was never meant to find out. She tells you that she is in danger. She tells you that she is going to tell the world those secrets, even if no one believes her.

And even though you loved her best in this world, even though you had always tried to shield her from everything big and bad and scary, even though she had a face as sweet as the moon, a spirit as brave as could be, she is dead before the day is up.

You tell yourself, quietly, that you could not have stopped it from happening.  

(of course you could have, of course you could have—no! you banish the thought from your mind)

-

In another world perhaps, you deal with it in a different way, but, in this one, you go up to your mother. You square your shoulders.

“I know what you did,” you say, your voice wavering and accusing.

Her face is unreadable. She pauses, looks you in your eye, “Then, you know that I did it for you.”

You shout, you scream, you push her away. You point your finger in her face, you threaten to tell the world, but, when the night is over, she is holding you in her arms. You are on your knees, sobbing, and she clasps you tight to her chest.

“You are all that I have left, Romeo. You are my only child. Please, do not leave me too. You could not stop it from happening to her, but you can stop it from happening to you.”

As a teenager, you spent your years rebelling against her. You spat in her face. You flaunted your delinquency. But you always had a person in your corner. You always had your sister on your side. You always had a reason to be brave.

And though it twists your stomach, though the words taste bitter in your mouth, you look her in the eye, “Then, tell me how.”

-

You bury your sister. But more importantly, you bury who she was.

She was good and gentle and she stood for something in this world. Even though she was born frail, though she was relegated to a wheelchair, trapped inside your family home, she explored the world in ways that you were never able to. She made you strong and kind and brave and compassionate.

Now that she is gone, you have no need for any of those qualities.

You leave your objections, your feelings, your /anger/ at the world in the coffin that she will remain in for the rest of time and you walk away from them. 

With your mother whispering in your ear, you start a new life. 

-

-

-

The secrets you learn from staying with Valitus and Divitus are terrible in ways that you never quite expected, but you have learned long ago to be numb to it all.

At a business function, you speak to one of the other board members. You’ve known her since she was young and you’ve always been cordial, if not a bit distant. She has hair like gold and when she speaks, you hear the clatter of coins.

“We should get married,” she says earnestly, sipping from a champagne glass, “And then, our combined stock in the company would be more than anyone’s, minus Valentine’s.”

Before you know it, you are promising to love her forever under an ivory floral arrangement. You are buying a new home together. You are sleeping on opposite sides of the same bed. Though you know that you will never truly love her, she is right—your combined stock is more than anyone’s, save Valentine’s. And that is all that matters.

Your heart is empty so you try and fill it with what everyone else around you has. In the board room, you suggest upping the per unit price of a much needed pharmaceutical. You suggest diverting cash towards research funds to your own pocket.

You get richer and richer. You get colder and colder.

You wonder if you will ever feel again.

.

-

And then, one night, you hear footsteps in your home. You wake from your bed, you stumble into your office. There are people there. They are young, their eyes are cold and harsh, they are in your files, they are looking through your things.

You have never seen them before, but you know exactly what they are.

Thieves, yes. Criminals, yes. But not just after your wealth, your power, but your reputation. They are here to ruin you. Ruin everything you stand for.

And yet, you cannot bring yourself to be afraid.

You feel a rush of emotion. Things you have kept back for years flood over you. You are scared and uncertain. You are angry and sad and lonely. But not afraid. 

For the first time in years, you think of your sister. You think of how she must have searched to find out the terrible secrets you now know and are complicit in. You think of how she paid for it.

You will not, you cannot do the same to these people.

You bring a single finger to your lips before they can make a move. You look at them with world-weary eyes. 

It crosses your mind that you could help them. It crosses your mind that you could make things right, one and for all. But it is not right-- it is too late for you to do anything at all.

“My wife is sleeping,” you say, before you turn around to slip back into your bed, “please don’t be too loud.”

-

-

-

Weeks later when the headlines come out, you do not shirk from them. They call you a murderer, a crook, a monster --- but you have always been these things. Why does it matter that others finally recognize you for what you are?

You pour yourself a glass of red wine as the lawyers consult you on what to say. You repeat them with as much conviction as you can muster.

But then, as you walk from the courthouse to your armoured car, a voice calls out from behind you and you see a girl in a wheelchair whose face is as sweet as the moon.  No--- it is not her. You know that.

But it is close enough to shake you.

“How could you do something like this?” she repeats, her voice angry and tight, “How could stand by knowing everyone suffered and you profited off of their pain?”

For a split second, you forget everything you’ve practiced in plausible deniability. You know there are cameras there, you can feel your security guards pushing you further into the car, trying to stop you from saying anything that can be used against you, but you do not care.

“Because the world is heartless,” you laugh, “Because things are not easy or good and I am not brave. Because I am guilty and I have lived with that. Because I have made my peace knowing that I can never be redeemed.”

There is much more that you do not say, but your bodyguards have picked you up now, there are flashing lights, an uproar. You tilt your head back and close your eyes.

-

Your sister is dead and you could have stopped it from happening. You could have.

You know that.

But you were too scared to admit it, too scared to be alone and finish the job she started. You know you will pay for what you have done. You know that, in some ways, you already have. 

But you deserve it. 

-

-

-

[reatohq]

FATE - you might believe in it, you might not. The dictionary definition of said word is, “the development of events beyond a person’s control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.”  In Greek mythology, fate were the three women who spun the threads of destiny. They picked and chose who would live, who would die, and where certain ties would need to be cut. You might also call it destiny, chance, or luck if you’re trying to avoid the actual word, but we all know what it is.

Whether you believe things are beyond your control, or not, there is something kind of magical in how you found Reato, don’t you think? It wasn’t by some sheer accident that you were selected, did you really think that every person who signs up to be a part of an operation like this gets in? You were special, and Reato was special too, somehow you ended up being together. So, now here you are, by fate… You are now in something bigger than yourself, and you can’t really get out of it. So, what would life be like if fate hadn’t brought you here? What if, by some serendipitous chance, you found yourself in the same city you left that led you to Las Vegas. What would you be doing with your life?

For some the answer might be simple, for others it might be a bit more complicated. Our lives are marked by series of small and large events that connect us to a larger picture. Being brought to Reato is something that may seem like such a large picture, several smaller events may have had to be changed. Well, go back to a few months, or even years ago, and what in your life could’ve changed so much that you weren’t the person you are today?

Now’s your chance to explore that theory of the past. Isn’t it called the butterfly effect? When a butterfly flaps its wings, anything as grand as a hurricane might happen. And if something affected that flap, then there may never be a hurricane to mention. Here’s the flap of your figurative butterfly’s wings.

As the Twilight Zone may say, “There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.” Imagine you are floating through this fifth dimension; before you knew about Reato, before you came to Las Vegas to make a living, and before you knew where you were going to be today. Let fate run a different course this time, a course that’s different from what you’ve become.

Who would you have become if there had never been a Reato?

YOUR THIRD TASK IS EXPECTED BY FEBRUARY 12TH, 2018 !

( Here are the OOC details of it all… This is the chance for you to explore an alternate universe of sorts. The main question being, what would your character be like if they had not joined up with Reato? This could be shown in the form of an aesthetic, of a self-para, a playlist, a video, an Instagram edit, etc. The world is your oyster, right? The gist of it is, you’ll need some way to explain what and where your character would be if there hadn’t been the draw to Reato. Be sure to tag your post and I’m excited to see all the creativity y’all put into this! Let us know if you have any questions, and most of all have fun! )