The Zodiac Project:
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Name: Haung Zitao (often called 'Panda')
Zodiac sign: Virgo
Powers: Plant Manipulation, Plant Communication, Temporal Cognition, Nature manipulation (slight)
Hobbies: Gardening, Cooking, Cereal, Pandas
Personality: Private, refined, and sensible. Believes in preparedness. Meticulous with an attention to detail being his greatest strength - which his output reflects. Diligent and hard working, tends to err on the side of caution. Quiet, sometimes believes plants are easier to talk to than humans.
Model: Tao (EXO-M)
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His hair was perfection. Every strand lay exactly where he wanted it to. His freshly ironed, soft green collared shirt was buttoned all the way up and tucked perfectly into a creaseless pair of black trousers. His black shoes were laced up snuggly, and his cufflinks were fastened flawlessly at his wrists.
In short - the boy's appearance was meticulously well put together; he probably could have waltzed right into any elite private boarding school in the world and not have looked the least-bit out of place.
Now, you might be wondering why a boy like that would be perched atop the roof of a old, weather beaten, vine covered mansion in the middle of basically nowhere; eating a bowl cereal; switching off between observing the empty road below him and the dark cloud front that was slowly rolling in to block out the sun above.
Well, simply put, it was because this was his house - literally. He was the legal owner of this place - and he could do whatever he damn well pleased in, around, or on top of it.
Speaking of that fact, Zitao still didn't understand why they had to use /his/ house as the location of their little 'safe house'.
Yes, yes, he knew they had all decided that it was the safest location - since it was secluded from the city, and not easily accessible due to it being atop a small hill and on the edge of a dense forest that stretched on and on for miles behind it - but he still didn't see why they couldn't just go and rent out an apartment building or something.
But of course, that would mean spending money. And they couldn't /possibly/ spend money on trying to protect /their own freaking lives/. What on earth was he thinking…
Zitao silently slurped down the last of the milk in his bowl and let out a sigh as his spoon clattered against the inside of the now empty porcelain dish. If his calculations were correct - which they always were - the first bus should be arriving just about--
He cut caught off but the loud woosh of steam and squeak of break against tires as the bus slowed down to turn off the main road and down the unpaved side path that led up to Zitao's house, as if on cue.
"Looks like it's show time," Zitao muttered aloud to himself as he stood up with his bowl in one hand and dusted himself off.
He then turned and began to run along the ridge of the arched rooftop to the edge of the house - where, once he reached it, he jumped off the top of four story building and into the big tree that grew adjacent to it.
The dark haired boy disappeared into the mass of leaves and landed on branch as smoothly as if he had just jumped down a single step and landed on solid ground, rather than down from a roof top and on to a precarious tree branch.
Still holding onto his bowl, Zitao fixed his hair as he began to walk along the tree branches - each moving and coming up under his feet, forming a pathway for him as he made his way down to the open kitchen window.
The twenty-year-old slipped inside the window and hopped down over the sink and counter, and onto the dingy, cracked tile of the kitchen floor. He then stood up and placed his bowl in the sink and gave the tree a quick nod and two-finger salute. The rustling foliage appeared to wave back to him before two slim branches came in and pulled the window shut.
Zitao straightened his shit as he walked out of the kitchen, down the short hall way, and over to the front door. He retrieved his black overcoat from the closet by the door and added a tan scarf as his form of 'dressing up' for the occasion.
He then stepped out onto the front porch and stood with his hands in his pockets, the wind blowing his hair out of place again as the metal bus rumbled into view from the midst of trees.
"Well, this should be fun." He muttered to himself.