Sanctuary - Characters / Lore [closed]

Name: Florence "Flo" Mitchell

Hero Name: Nightingale

Gender: Female

Height: 5'4

Weight: 64 lbs

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Green

Age: 27

"Listen, you don't need to mince words with me, James. I know it's bad. Just... tell me how bad."

"Flo, I just - I've never seen something like this before."

Florence sat in the sterile room, arms folded over her chest. She felt cold. It was always cold, in the hospital, but that usually didn't bother her, much. No - this wasn't the air. This was fear. She'd worked here long enough to know what was going on. By the time it reached this point, you weren't given a survival rate. You were given a prognosis. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, then stood, moving behind James. She'd worked with him long enough, too, to know what the look on his face meant. Concern. He never showed it around patients, but she wasn't a patient, was she? She was a coworker. A friend.

"Listen, Flo, I'm not even - not even sure what's happening in these. It could be leukemia, but that wouldn't explain these patterns. It's like something's eating away at your bones."

"Oh, come on now," she retorted, placing a hand on the scan and slipping beside him to get a better look. "You're not going to tell me I've got osteoporosis or something. I know what I saw in the last body scan. The growths around my spine were massive, James. I can - I can feel them when I lay on my back. There's this fucking pressure there. I can barely sleep through the night anymore."

James looked at her apologetically.

"The only other thing I can think of is FOP, but I've only seen pictures of that in textbooks. You'd need to go to a specialist for a second opinion -"

"I want a biopsy."

He paused.

"Are you sure?"

Flo nodded. She opened her mouth to say something more, but they died in her throat. James' face shifted from concern to pity, and she turned away, trying to hide the dampness forming in her eyes.

"I just want to know how long I have left."

---

The long, thin bones rattled in a cup at her desk. She stared at them, eyelids drooping from restless nights, face sallow and apathetic. These were the first ones James had taken out, two months ago. She'd sent a core sample from them in for testing. They'd come back healthy - though, structurally distinct from human bone. No cancer, no indication that they had been growing in a place they weren't supposed to, just - normal, porous bone. It had only taken a few days for them to grow back inside of her. She asked James to take those out, too. By the time the third ones grew, though, she didn't ask. She just let them grow. And grow. And grow. Tiny nubs jutted from her back now. Sitting normally in a chair was uncomfortable, laying down was impossible. Two days ago, she broken one of them accidentally while trying to pull on her jacket. It was excruciating, then, but the pain had settled into a dull throb, and already, the bone seemed to be knitting itself rigid again.

Slowly, she picked up the phone, other hand reaching - shaking - for the tiny, yellow business card with the faded edge.

"Hello? Yes. Florence Mitchell. We spoke earlier. Yes, that's fine. I can take off work this next Tuesday. Eleven would be perfect."

She set the card down, thumb running idly over the text.

"Of course. Of course. Thank you. Goodbye."

---

Nothing she could do. There was nothing she could do. She lay on her side in bed, fleshy appendages dangling from her back with an all to noticeable weight. She could move them, if she focused. Was her back changing, then, too? Muscles changing in density, shifting where they connected? How much more would change? Dr. Sherrick didn't seem to know. He said there was no way of telling. That it was different for everyone. Still, she resisted, plucking a new feather every time it broke through the skin, wrapping the tumors tight against her back with bindings every time she went out, no matter how much it hurt. She was losing focus. God, maybe she was even losing her mind. She couldn't look at herself naked in the mirror, could barely force herself to shower, and when she did, she didn't dare touch her back.

Feeling them meant they were real.

---

Florence sat at the edge of the hospital rooftop, wings wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the people milling about the entrance - there, just on time for his shift to end. She watched him as he stopped off to the side, settling in a bench, hands cupped around his coffee as he blew gently at the steam. She'd tried to send an email. Tried to leave a phone call. The first felt too impersonal. The second - too close. Eventually, she had settled for a letter. A letter she could pour her heart into, but never have to face the consequences for. Just drop it and fly away.

The paper fluttered down to the pavement below, and for a moment, she paused, making sure the man below found it. He glanced up in time for it to hit the sidewalk, then stood, picking it up off the ground. His eyes scanned the first line.

James, I'm sorry.

By the time he finished reading it, the rooftop had long been empty.

[nospaces]

Name: Charles Lemagne 

Age: Unknown

Gender: Male

Height: 1.84 Meters, or seven times the length of his own foot, depending on the system you're using.

Build: Slender without being overly thin.

Association: Formerly of the Vatican Order of the Shield, now retired, considered "in reserve." 

"I have had about enough of you and yours thank you much."


Abilities: 

Slow Regenerative Healing- Charles will heal from most injuries given enough time, but it's not battlefield applicable. It may account for his potentially unusually long life span.

Enhanced Durability- Charles is more durable than most, and certainly more durable than his build suggests. He can take impacts that would break the bones of others and stay on his feet in spite of significant wounds.

Enhanced Perception- The gene alterations made to Charles by the Vatican have gifted him extra sharp senses. He can see, hear, and smell better than a peak human. His vision in particular is especially acute. 

Battle Mapping- Charles can see how a battle is coming together and begin to anticipate the moves of his foes and allies alike. This makes him appear particularly fast, but in truth he simply knows his enemy well enough after a time to be able to anticipate their movements and combat decisions. In some cases he can do this sooner than others.

Master of the Sword- Charles has incredible experience with the arming sword and is also well practiced with both the hand and a half sword (his favorite) and the rapier (an effete weapon for feminine men, but a weapon none the less). 



He's tired of your shit.