General RP A General Dumb Ass, A Toxic Heartthrob, and A Deadly Innocent (Kasumi & Knight_of_None)

[RhysTheFirebird]

@Kasumi
@Knight_of_None

Cyris Fiolyn

Name: Cyris Fiolyn
Age: 22
Sex/Gender: Male He/Him
Description: Cyris has auburn hair that contrasts with his pale skin, and striking amber eyes that seem to burn with intensity, though he rarely show emotion. His lean, strong build speaks of years of physical training, while his back is marked by deep scars, hinting at a past filled with violence and hardship. As an assassin, Cyris is known for his perfect aim and formidable combat skills, moving with precision and grace. Cold and detached, he maintains a distant, unreadable demeanor, only focused on hus mission. Emotions seem like an afterthought, hidden behind a mask of cold professionalism.

Cyris stares up at the walls of the school, amber eyes narrowed on the columns of stone. While an old building, it had an air of timelessness, one that made Cyris remeber his home. A pair of sun glasses perched on his nose, shielding his unusual eyes from view, he walks forward, bag strapped across his chest and hanging at his hip. Last month, it was vacation in the Philippines. This month, it was the assassination of a professor. Maybe next month is would be torture.

He shakes his head, combing his hair from his face as he leans forward on the balls of his feet, graceful, light, and elegant. He takes a step forward, shouldering his way through the doors of the collage hall, the Fine Arts Hall. He peers around, noting a few glass cases with awards, a wall of faces. A typical school setting and vibe.

A few students milled about, all quiet and waiting the minutes before their class started. Cyris had chosen the afternoon class, meaning he had a few hours before his own class started. Enough time for him to explore, maybe meet people who could give him more information.

 

[Knight_of_None]

(XD this name is peak)

Malik's hall was lively, a hall of the fine arts department that was ordained with dazzling works from talented students. Oil paintings that were formal portraits, merging the past and present, sculptures laid in glass containers to protect them from the harshness of reality. Some standing statues elwere even donated to the school to decorate the campus. The awards were positioned out to shine and catch the eye. The students abound were buzzing with opportunity, some whispering of their time they got to spent creating with Malik's studio. He managed multiple departments, keeping them on track from award to award, seeming to draw the best from his pupils. As Cyris passed the art department photograph, the line up of professors were atop a plinth of silver, and decorated in the light of a stained glass window of cool blues and glittering greens, the eye drawn to the center most point where a shaft of green light would encircle a man with a broad, bright eyes smile. He was handsome, with sun kissed skin, swept back dark hair, a white coat like a doctor except it was was battered and beaten with bright colors, smudges, hand prints of paint, and dabbled brush strokes. Underneath was a blue set of overalls, and a cream colored turtle neck.

To the world, this bright eyes man, this beacon of energy and welcoming arms, was a upstanding professor. But Cyrus knew deeper than that. He was a cruel man that would tear apart families, and render them irreparable. At least that was the word of the agency, and the client. How he managed to seduce both parents simultaneously....was unknown, and irrelevant.

 

[Kasumi]

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Alban Bell
20
Brown hair, grey eyes
Teacher’s Assistant, part time job at the university day care center

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Alban finally managed to put the little ones down for a nap in the daycare room. His coworker had arrived for their shift, allowing him to either leave for the day or take a break. He slowly, as quietly as he could, crept over to the door. He opened it slowly and left, closing the door behind him. He left out a little sigh of relief and happily trotted down the hallways, his aim for a certain new art professor’s lecture hall in the fine arts department.

He had arrived by the time a class ended, Alban slipping between passing students leaving the hall. A grin appeared on his lips as he finally spotted the male, Alban happily trotting up to him “Malik! How’s my favorite art prof doing today? I haven’t been able to catch you today! Mr. Popular~” he teased. Standing before the male, he brushed brown locks out of his face, grey eyes beaming up at the male. He smoothed down his black tshirt, his dark blue jeans fitting him nicely. He was quite comfortable with what he was wearing.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyrus lounged in a chair in the dimly lit hallway, the low hum of activity around him barely registering as his amber eyes remained sharp. His attention drifted as he scanned the room, picking up the subtle details of the passing figures. It wasn’t until a particular young man caught his eye that he straightened slightly. The boy moved with a sense of urgency, his steps leading him toward the very room Cyrus had been watching. There was something familiar about him, something that aligned too perfectly with the photograph burned into Cyrus' mind from the file.

Him.

Cyrus' lips curled into a faint smirk as he lazily stood, the movement smooth and unhurried. He closed his laptop with a soft click, sliding it into his bag. His decision was made in an instant—one witness would suffice if this boy was, in fact, the target’s latest conquest. Or, perhaps, a current attempt. Either way, Cyrus couldn’t resist the opportunity to add a little more chaos to the situation.

He shrugged his bag over his shoulder, reaching into it and retrieving a folded paper schedule. It was unnecessary, of course; Cyrus had already memorized the details, but the paper was a useful prop for what came next. He followed the boy at a distance, watching his every move with quiet precision, never missing a beat. As the boy disappeared into the classroom, Cyrus pushed through the door seconds later.

The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing the room with a resounding click. Cyrus felt the eyes of those present snap to him, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he casually removed his sunglasses, revealing his piercing amber gaze. His eyes landed on the professor, "Professor Malik. . ."


Then shifted to the the with a cool, calculating look. "Alban Bell,” Cyrus drawled, his voice low but carrying a certain weight to it.

He stepped forward, moving with a relaxed confidence, the lazy grin never leaving his face. As he approached the professor’s desk, gaze once again upon Malik, he yawned, deliberately slow, his expression almost bored.

“I’ve been eager to meet you, professor,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. There was no real eagerness in his tone, only a thinly veiled mockery. He leaned against the desk, his eyes flicking briefly back to the boy he’d followed, as if already assessing the possibilities.

The game had begun.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik turned his head as he was sitting at his desk as Alban had stepped into his painting studio, his students were taking extra time to work on their latest crafts, or mercifully using the room to cram frantically. His smile dazzled the instant he saw Alban, putting his hands underneath his chin as the Assistant spoke to him as if he was already hanging onto the younger man's every word. "Alban! I'm always pleased to see my next model!" He said playfully in return. He heard the door click and his eyes moved subtly as Alban looked back, his eyes tracing Alban's neck, his soft features, even along his chest for the briefest of moments. Malik looked away swiftly as he heard the other person coming, and he was shaking away the faint rush of blood he felt. He was going to reform, he would avoid scandals or heartbreak...he just needed a little more time to get to know the right person. As the next young man approached him, Malik's head tilted slightly, his grin and warmth fainting ever so slightly as he ran the face against his classes, but found himself unable to remember this new one. "Ah...I'm sorry. You must be a new face, I've rarely forgotten one" He said as he stood up, pushing his seat back gently. That was a lie. There was a variable attached to that. He rarely forgot a face that he was currently in the middle of trying to stuff or place himself in a position to get to someone else. Or. in the case of the school business, he took measures to further his class morale and connections. He leaned forward, folding out a hand to the newcomer. "I'm Professor Rose. I prefer Malik, it keeps me from feeling like an old man around such vibrant students." He said grinning again.