The peace that formerly reigned in Terra Nova has eroded, now little more than a memory. War ravages the continent. Disputes divide kingdoms; ideals divide families. The quest for power consumes absolutely and indiscriminately. None are immune to its allure.
Who will rise and who will fall? Only time—and ambition—will tell.
UPDATES
05.26.2023
2 month character creation hold for all existing members begins 6/5/2023. Ended 8/5/2023.
10.29.2023
Change in how times flows. Was 4 IC seasons, now only 2 IC seasons per 1 OOC year.
5 whole years of Heir Apparent goodness! When I started the site, I knew I was hunkering down for the long haul, but I never could have predicted the numerous twists and turns this roleplay site has seen. Hundreds of plots, characters, and members have come and gone, all leaving marks on the site. I am so very thankful for those who have invested. Because you keep coming back, keep getting on, and keep writing, Heir Apparent has the legacy it does today. Three cheers to us!
Post by Regan Lassiter on Dec 26, 2022 14:20:35 GMT -5
[ For @warren ]
Before getting paired with Grant, Regan had considered herself a solo operator. Now, after five years of relying on one person for just about everything, she felt a hole where her constant companion used to be. Regan had gotten used to processing most of her thoughts externally, and now with a new Coheedsman-shaped problem to solve, she was finding herself a little lonely in that struggle. Regan hadn’t ever been in the position of “trainer” before. She was learning through trial and error, drawing on memories of her own upbringing in the forces. But she found it wasn’t quite enough.
So Regan decided to seek out someone who would understand her plight. Who might even be able to give her guidance, regardless of how loathe she was to ask for it.
Regan wouldn’t bother Lieutenant Woodwick on duty. She’d inquire after his schedule from another soldier and then seek him out in the evening mess when he had some no doubt well-deserved downtime. Regan would stall for a moment before going to the table and dropping down on the bench opposite him.
The table Warren ate at was noticeably empty. A few of the older soldiers sat on one far end, grouped together and talking quietly amongst themselves. They weren't much different from Warren, barring rank, if only because they'd grown older while in the military and fought their fair share of battles themselves. The rest, though, avoided him at all costs when they had the choice to do so. The threat of extra chores and more exercises would push most soldiers away and he'd hardly complain at the end of the day when his mind wanted to do anything but focus.
He'd gotten something to eat and sat down with that and a cup of water, chose a spot on the wall and stared at as he chewed. In his mind he traced over multiple recent conversations, namely one he'd had with his mother about his promotion and being sent to Zulu Carr. It left him with less of an appetite, and halfway through his food he pushed the tray away finished off the cup of water instead.
It was then that Regan sat down in front of him and his eyes settled on her. He was immediately thankful for the well-timed distraction. "Ms. Lassiter," he said, reaching for his napkin and using it to clean his hands. "How can I be of service?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Dec 27, 2022 18:04:51 GMT -5
Regan stared at Warren dumbly for a moment, eyes going from his face, to his largely untouched food then back again. Eventually, she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat, wishing that she’d grabbed a plate herself—if for no other reason than to have a prop to mess with.
“I’m in search of some advice if you wouldn’t mind,” Regan said, sitting up, assuming a more authoritative air, “As you may know, I’ve been working with our new, uh, recruit from Coheed. Sorry to say that teaching isn’t something I’ve done a whole lot of. As you’re far experienced in this area, I was wondering if you could provide some pointers.”
Regan ran a hand through her hair, eyes fixed on Warren.
"I wouldn't mind at all," he said plainly, folding the napkin he'd used and sitting it on the table by his tray, before returning his hands to his lap. "You gave me your time when I sought you out, this is the least I can do for you in return." Advice. That was good. Allowing his mind to work through a problem and provide her with a solution was the perfect way to distract it from his own encroaching issues.
Regan's issue wasn't uncommon. A lot of people in positions of power were not expected to teach. Those underneath them had often already been training to take on that position and if they were not ready, they fell to the wolves. Plus, Regan was still very young. Leadership and mentorship came to you through experience, but that also made it difficult to advise on. "I've heard of him, and your responsibility to acclimate him. I do not envy you, that," he admitted.
His eyes scanned her face, watched her hand flicker through her short hair. She did that often, though in response to what he wasn't sure yet. Nerves, maybe, or anxiety, or self-doubt. "Everyone learns differently, unfortunately," Warren began. "Most Nevermerans are taught similarly, and nothing one must learn in the military will test ones intellect," he said with a bit of a smirk. "So my approach is simple. Yours may require something more...nuanced. Will you tell me about him? Perhaps what you feel makes it most difficult to guide him in the first place?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Dec 29, 2022 14:53:38 GMT -5
Regan leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as she listened. She hadn’t realized until that moment just how desperately she needed to talk through this. Not to complain, exactly, but to field her concerns. To have someone hear her, to understand just what she was up against, someone not in a position of judgment as to whether or not she was successful. Warren it the bill on all accounts.
“He’s been running wild in Coheed these past years,” Regan started in, “He’s used to working alone, seeking adventure, the stuff of barbarian fantasy. Working with a unit, the unglamorous day-to-day of soldiering—that’s the stuff I worry about the most.” She shrugged, sighing. “He’s eager though, I’ll give him that. Wants to learn, it’s just enthusiasm, that’s..difficult to contain.” She chuckled. "It's, uh, a little familiar."
She used to be exactly the same, once upon a time.
Warren really hadn't given much thought to meeting the man. Crazy. Wild-eyed. Blunt. He'd heard a lot of descriptors thrown around in relation to Regan's new...protege. None of them made Warren particularly eager to get to know him but he wouldn't complain, either. He knew as well as anyone that they could use as much help as they could get and if anyone could reign him in, a woman with Regan's strength could do it.
But he understood her difficulties. Teaching teamwork to any individual who was used to doing things their own way was often trial and error. "For someone who is used to having such freedom, containment likely feels like punishment. It discourages. It's better to find a way to harness and direct that enthusiasm toward something, rather than restrain it."
Her chuckle caused the edges of his own lips to tug upward for a moment. "The best way to teach someone is to relate to them. If it's familiar, then you should take into consideration your own experiences and see if it would be possible to apply them to your work with him." He mirrored her posture, leaning forward slightly against the table and resting his elbows along the edge. One hand moved up to rub passively at the stubble on his jaw. "How is it that you control your enthusiasm, Ms. Lassiter?" He asked, emphasis placed on the word because he wasn't exactly sure that she was attempting to contain the same thing that Othello was. "Do you direct it elsewhere, or do you attempt to contain it?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jan 3, 2023 21:40:04 GMT -5
Regan could relate to Othello more than she’d like to admit. She’d been unrefined and unwashed, dropped into an ecosystem where she was lesser than others. Unworthy. There had been only one way forward, and it had been back-breaking, teeth-grinding, painstaking work. And she’d done it. Sometimes that had resulted in success, more often than she’d like in failure, but Regan had plowed on all the same. Othello had that in him. How would he have made it here if he didn’t?
Like Regan, it seemed he was willing to fight for whoever gave him a home.
Warren’s next question caught her off guard. As was typical—and highly inconvenient—Regan’s face started to turn pink at the query. Enthusiasm was a word for it. The hellhound fire had made her ravenous for just about everything. And that itch to consume had presented itself in ways that were…not suitable for discussion. As if summoned by the thought of what it was craved, a low wolfish growl hummed in the back of her throat. Warren would hear it, just before Regan smothered it with a cough and another hand through her hair.
“There’s no containing it,” Regan said, in a way that was a little more cryptic than she intended, ‘Channeling it works, but even then. Sometimes it’s just about…” Regan shrugged, “Release.” The amber glowed distantly in her eyes before retreating again.
Warren had not entirely expected his words to draw such color to her face. It was never his intention to embarrass a lady, but he supposed intention didn't always make it through to reality. He kept his face straight. He kept his eyes directed toward her, but not centered on her. He listened, and nodded as he understood. Understood the concepts of what she spoke of, though not necessarily the specifics. Her verbal response was expected, though. He'd known when he'd asked. Such strong emotions could never be contained. Not really. Not for long.
The growl, as brief as it was and as quickly as she covered it up, was both familiar and unfamiliar. After their talk on the dock he had made his own assumptions. He still had no idea if they were true, and if they were, how she had managed to utilized the wolfs curse, but it meant little either way. Whatever was inside of her that gave her that strength seemed to have it's disadvantages. That was also no surprise. All power came with a price.
"I hope you do not think I'm belittling your struggle when I say this, Ms. Lassiter, but to some degree, there are many others who fight similar battles to yours. You are not alone in that." He took a moment to scan the area around them. He knew the mess hall was mostly empty, but he didn't want any passersby making her any more embarrassed by the conversation than she might have already been. "The containment of any overwhelming emotion is dangerous. It does damage, the kind that cannot be healed by potions. I would guess that effect is doubly true of people like you and the man from Coheed."
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jan 6, 2023 23:10:45 GMT -5
Regan leaned in after Warren glanced around the mess hall. As if summoned by its name, the wolfish instincts prickled at their very discussion. Regan tried to focus on other things, but that pursuit wasn’t very conducive to making conversation. She listened to Warren, leaning forward on the table with a smile tugging at one side of her mouth.
“Sounds like you know from personal experience.” It was intended to be a quip, one to deflect seriousness—not add it, but when it came out Regan realized that it wielded a little more severity than she intended.
He met her eyes, simply nodding. "Of course. I'm only a man," he confirmed, though he'd not bother to venture further than that. Not beside he necessarily minded. "But we're not here to talk about me, so..." he shrugged somewhat.
"I think what keeps us from exploding, or imploding, is the people around us. For whatever reason we may have. Because we're responsible for them, because we care about them, because we respect them and they rely on us. You have the strength to do what you like. You don't have to be here. But you are. Why?"
When it came down to it, they all had people to protect. "That's what he needs. Someone he's invested in. Someone that he can put first, before himself. A reason to care. Have you tried letting him get to know any of the other soldiers?"
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jan 13, 2023 16:07:59 GMT -5
Because she had nowhere else to go. Regan knew that wasn’t the answer he was getting at. She did care for her fellow soldiers, and, more than anything, she cared for Cassian. But the core reality was is that being a soldier was endemic to who she was. Without this, she was nothing. No one.
So she answered the second question instead.
“I could do more,” Regan answered honestly, “I should do more. It’s just…tricky. I want everyone to be safe. He’s good around me. He trusts me, I really do believe that. But I…” She sighed, “I don’t know. It’s not enough. I know that.” She paused before asking:
His frown deepened some, seeing how troubled she was over it. It wasn't just a problem she had to solve, it was something she was taking very personally and blame was an easy game to play with yourself, when you aren't sure if you're doing whats right. "You're doing what you feel you can. There's no shame in that. None of us have all the answers and I doubt anyone, even the King, expects you to have them. Anyone who expects that is a fool. This is uncharted territory for us. Our soldiers are usually born and raised here, taught here, trained here. What you're doing is new to everyone, not just you. You should be more forgiving to yourself."
He wasn't sure what Stormcrest had to do with this. Was she thinking of pairing him up with Othello in some way? He had just suggested she let him be around other soldiers, had Ber been the first to come to mind? "He's an average soldier. He has the potential to be a much better one, but he prefers to do the bare minimum necessary to get by. He's smart, quick, for his station. Fairly even tempered, as far as I can tell - at least, he knows how to temper himself, despite what he's feeling. Works well individually or with groups and can lead if put into the position to do so." He paused, then added, "and he's a good man."
Last Edit: Jan 14, 2023 15:54:18 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jan 16, 2023 18:29:39 GMT -5
Regan listened, nodding contemplatively. “We got to talking one day. He offered to, uh, ‘hang out’ with Othello. But,” she shrugged, “He seems alright but…I dunno, he’s young still. Little. I just want to make sure he can handle the whole thing.” She smirked, looking at Warren with a sparkle in her eye.
“For all Nevermere’s military excellence, we’re quite the misfit bunch, aren’t we?”
"He is still young," Warren agreed with a nod. "You're not much older, I believe?" He eyed her, the slightest smile touching his lips as he looked away then. He didn't feel the need to point out how alike she and Stormcrest might be, in some ways. If she'd spoken with him, she likely already knew. Those that grew up on the streets, without a silver spoon in their mouths, generally grew up much faster than those of nobility. "I can give you a list of older soldiers with a little more experience, if you think that would help."
His smile progressed into a short laugh at her comment, one that drew the attention of the soldiers at the other end of the table with wide, confused eyes. Warren paid them no attention. "Yes, yes we are. They say it takes a village. Unfortunately, sometimes the village kids are a pain in the ass."
Last Edit: Jan 17, 2023 16:04:51 GMT -5 by Deleted
Post by Regan Lassiter on Jan 18, 2023 15:49:08 GMT -5
No she supposed she wasn’t. It was strange to consider. Regan’s brow furrowed as if she were wrapping her head around the idea before she shrugged. She’d think about it. Regan had a feeling it wasn’t experience that was going to matter when befriending Othello. Endurance was probably a more necessary requirement.
Regan snorted as Warren laughed, looking at him with a little bit of surprise. For a second, the smile transformed him into someone else entirely. Regan couldn’t help but smile back.