Shadrach clignait sur l'homme à mi-chemin, la tête inclinée dans une pose seulement légèrement moins confuse que l'autre haut-parleur. "Que s'est-il passé?" Il a lâché avec un peu de grimace. "Iunno. J'aime juste voir les choses telles qu'elles sont, maintenant que je ne peux pas sentir, nah. Juste... soyez conscient de l'espace qui tombe dans mon lieu de perception, maintenant que je n'ai plus à regarder le monde de l'intérieur d'une cellule cérébrale. La sensation de tout." La viscéralité de la matière, il continua, dans sa tête, mais Shadrach avait déjà couru loin de faire un point et il le savait. Mais ça n'a pas beaucoup d'importance. Il a tourné un autre regard en arrière sur l'adolescent aux cheveux pâles. L'arme qu'il tenait n'était pas moins une proclamation de colère pour le fait qu'il faisait face loin de Shadrach.
-- Merde, j'aurais dû regarder, murmura-t-il, regardant toujours l'épée. Et pourquoi il ne l'était pas? Avec une touche de frustration à ne pas y avoir pensé avant, Shadrach a ouvert ses autres yeux, ceux qu'il n'avait pas encore grandi mais n'avait jamais eu l'intention de fermer à nouveau. Ils s'éparpillèrent irrégulièrement autour de son cou, de ses paumes, des temples de son crâne; Ils s'ouvrirent le long de ses bras en longues fentes minces, laissant entendre qu'un œil était beaucoup plus grand que ce qui pouvait s'insérer dans un corps humain. Ils ont regardé. Ils se sentaient à l'aise. Peut-être aurait-il pu améliorer sa conscience visuelle moins visiblement, mais cela ne lui est pas arrivé.
Les yeux ont aidé à délocaliser sa conscience de tout directement devant son visage, et la première chose qui a frappé Shadrach était le mouvement, d'un côté à l'autre. Avec toute l'incompétence d'un homme qui n'avait jamais aimé les couilles, il leva le bras pour arracher l'objet à l'atterrissage, et avec toute la puissance gaspillée d'un dieu amateur, son bras éclata en vrilles rouges charnues qui attrapèrent l'objet comme un filet et le traînèrent près. Shadrach fit un petit son de "mmph" quand il se rendit compte que ce n'était qu'un autre corps sans âme, et sa main s'enveloppa en arrière, plutôt déformé mais encore surtout humain. Quelqu'un comme lui l'avait jeté avant de partir, laissant un trou dans un immeuble voisin.
"Oui, je pense que je suis sorti aussi," a hurlé le jeune homme, tirant les os du cadavre avec une pensée. Il les a serrés doucement vers le gars tendu avec l'épée pour obtenir son attention à une distance sûre. "Je vais trouver un endroit calme. Viens, si tu veux te calmer. Et mon nom était Shadrach, si vous voulez savoir." Shadrach a tordu la gravité par rapport à lui-même et a monté le bloc de bureau le plus proche dans un flou de déité liquéfiée.
Il voulait voir les étoiles sortir.
Name: Ivo Shadrach, he/him.
Age: 19.
Personality: Ivo's aversion to crowds has occasionally portrayed him as a quiet individual, but he's no less social than anyone- So long as he doesn't have to deal with too many people at once. In this way he can actually end up putting more effort into seeking and maintaining conversation than most, as a chance to chat in an environment he finds comfortable might not come around often. When he feels overwhelmed, he simply vanishes into his own thoughts and keeps doing whatever he thinks is most useful for him to do. When conversing, he is prone to change the subject to something more abstract or unusual suddenly and abruptly, though he tries to avoid speaking over anyone. Ivo laughs little, but smiles very often. It is difficult to say whether he is a friendly person, partially because he treats everyone like a friend, and partially because he seems so disinterested in what people are doing in their relationships and careers, much preferring to ask about their dreams, their emotions, their fantasies and guesses.
Interests: Ivo has long wished about overcoming the inherent materialism of his Avernalese upbringing and styling himself into a spiritualist, fanning the flames of a childish belief that there really is something under the bed, that mirrors winked at you when you looked away. The commercialisation of classical monsters held no appeal to him, and Ivo has always sought out entertainment that emphasises the unknowable and the forgotten. Lovecraft's sonnets were his bedtime stories, and old chants and ambient recordings were what he defined as music. Though applying his capacious memory to science was the only way he stood a chance of passing at his public school, Ivo secretly and privately wished that he'd forget everything and discover his own beliefs about the nature of the world, and did poorly in all but mathematics, which he enjoyed for its abstract, almost otherworldly nature. He keeps himself busy with sketches and poetic records of his emotions when he's alone in a new place, neither of which will ever be worth publishing. After many attempts to apply for work in novelty shops that sold dreamcatchers and practiced crystal healing, he eventually found his employment in a factory, hand-crafting gorgeous candles and perfumed soaps. He smokes irregularly with hand-grown tobacco, though what else might be in his cigarettes is hard to say.
History: Born to an old and somber family in Avernale, Ivo was raised in the shadow of his much older brother Ezra, who was very alike to himself, almost to the point of being twins. Like Ivo, Ezra did poorly in school but quickly found work, and left the family with barely a trace when he knew he was financially secure. Though difficult at first, both of Ivos parents soon surmounted their loss, knowing that Ezra had left only to seek independence, and not because there had been a lack of love or good parenting between them. A quiet expectation permeated the family that Ivo, too, would leave when he was able and no later. Knowing that Ezra had turned out well even without a successful education, they waited patiently as Ivo's grades collapsed, and did what they could to help him when he started seeking employment. Now that he has a job, they wait, neither impatiently nor regretfully, for him to take control of his own life.
Appearance: Unimpressive. Though he's more fit than he looks from long wanders and hours of overtime work, Ivo still looks like a twelve-year-old, with a bulky body and just the faintest touch of pudge still lingering in his face. His hair is short, dark and uncombed. While travelling to work on the day he died, he was suited up in a simple blue factory work jacket and trousers, stained by wax and dyes.
Notes: ayy lmao


Realm: Empty.
Form: Human.
Other: None.