We've enough interest to generate an OOC. So... I'll get on that.
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Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP) Page 5
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Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.
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22 min ago
We've enough interest to generate an OOC. So... I'll get on that.
AndyC Guardian of the Universe
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1 hr ago
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
S U P E R M A N
“I know the costume isn’t much. My mom’s making a new one for me."
Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Journalist ♦ Metropolis
O R I G I N S:
Clark Kent was always different. For as long as he could remember, he could do things that no one else could do, see the world in ways that no one else could see. While his mother and father always did their best to make sure he was accepted and loved, he never exactly had what could be called a ‘normal’ childhood in Smallville. Whether it was the time he flipped a tractor over as a toddler to find a lost toy, the time in fourth grade when he thought his classmates had all turned into skeletons because he could see through their skin, or the time on his fifteenth birthday when his feet lost touch with the ground and he fell up into the empty sky, Clark was always reminded that even though he was surrounded by people who cared for him, he wasn’t one of them.
Things came to a head when he was eighteen, and one of the largest tornados in Kansas’s recorded history blew through the state, threatening to obliterate Smallville and everyone in it. In what some journalists called a ‘meteorological miracle,’ the tornado stopped dead in its tracks, and then dispersed like it had been blown apart from the inside. While the story everyone gets told is that the weather just changed inexplicably, the town has kept the truth a secret for years: that night, Clark Kent fought the forces of nature itself, and by the accounts of everyone who saw it, he won.
After a long conversation with his parents, Clark left Smallville soon after, partly to protect the people there from out-of-towners asking too many questions, and partly to look for more answers about who and what he really was. For seven years, he’s traveled the world, helping people where he’s needed, and looking for anything to lead him to the truth. Along the way, his drive for truth and passion for justice has developed into a knack for journalism, eventually growing into a budding career as a freelance reporter. Unfortunately, he also developed a tail, as for the last three years, his activities as a “paranormal rescuer” (he’s still working on the name for it) have caught the attention of a rival reporter named Lois Lane. Just recently, Clark has returned to the US, to the bustling mega-city of Metropolis, for an interview at the Daily Planet. The only problem being that once again, Lois Lane is hot on his trail, and there’s only one spot open on the Planet’s staff.
I plan on playing Clark himself (as well as most of the principle cast) fairly close to what you’d expect, but with the expectation that all the pieces aren’t quite in place yet. This will eventually become the Superman we’re all familiar with, but not on day one. He doesn’t know about Krypton yet, he and Lois are rivals, he’s going to screw up and make bad calls and learn and grow into the \S/ before he’s really ready for it. Along the way, I’m hoping to lean into the manic energy of Metropolis, the fun will-they-won’t-they between Clark and his various paramours, and have some high-octane action with some fun disaster scenarios and some (hopefully) fresh takes on his rogues gallery.
Things came to a head when he was eighteen, and one of the largest tornados in Kansas’s recorded history blew through the state, threatening to obliterate Smallville and everyone in it. In what some journalists called a ‘meteorological miracle,’ the tornado stopped dead in its tracks, and then dispersed like it had been blown apart from the inside. While the story everyone gets told is that the weather just changed inexplicably, the town has kept the truth a secret for years: that night, Clark Kent fought the forces of nature itself, and by the accounts of everyone who saw it, he won.
After a long conversation with his parents, Clark left Smallville soon after, partly to protect the people there from out-of-towners asking too many questions, and partly to look for more answers about who and what he really was. For seven years, he’s traveled the world, helping people where he’s needed, and looking for anything to lead him to the truth. Along the way, his drive for truth and passion for justice has developed into a knack for journalism, eventually growing into a budding career as a freelance reporter. Unfortunately, he also developed a tail, as for the last three years, his activities as a “paranormal rescuer” (he’s still working on the name for it) have caught the attention of a rival reporter named Lois Lane. Just recently, Clark has returned to the US, to the bustling mega-city of Metropolis, for an interview at the Daily Planet. The only problem being that once again, Lois Lane is hot on his trail, and there’s only one spot open on the Planet’s staff.
I plan on playing Clark himself (as well as most of the principle cast) fairly close to what you’d expect, but with the expectation that all the pieces aren’t quite in place yet. This will eventually become the Superman we’re all familiar with, but not on day one. He doesn’t know about Krypton yet, he and Lois are rivals, he’s going to screw up and make bad calls and learn and grow into the \S/ before he’s really ready for it. Along the way, I’m hoping to lean into the manic energy of Metropolis, the fun will-they-won’t-they between Clark and his various paramours, and have some high-octane action with some fun disaster scenarios and some (hopefully) fresh takes on his rogues gallery.
S A M P L E P O S T:
Give an example of how you would write your chosen character. Try to focus on simple actions and a sampling of dialogue.
Before I even reach the lower east side of New Troy, I can hear the crunch of crumbling asphalt with every step he makes, followed by the sizzling of melted pavement.
I hear the crash of glass breaking, the groans and shrieks of metal twisting in his grip.
I hear the screams of people desperately trying to get away, some of them cut short with a sudden gasp, followed by nothing.
And I hear his voice, a pained, hoarse rasp.
"Sssssuuuu-perrrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
I don't know who or what he is, but he's calling me out, and people are getting hurt. I can't let that happen.
The buildings around me become a blur as I shoot through the air, stopping and starting as I home in on the source of the chaos. Handling sharp turns at speed still isn't easy for me, so more often than not I just cannonball myself down the long straightaways of the city's major streets until I reach a corner, come to a stop, then launch again at a new angle. I'd prefer to just go over rooftop level and fly more directly at the problem, but the last time I tried that, I nearly plowed through a Lexcorp air-train full of passengers, so I find it's better to stay at an altitude where I'm less of a collision risk.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
It takes almost a full forty-five seconds to navigate my way to the source of the commotion. He's made it all the way to Metro Square, and left a horrible mess in his wake. I can see cars that have been melted into slag, buildings warped and buckling as their facades have bubbled and burned away...shadows on the walls that used to be people...
...and I see the monster responsible for it all, shambling out into the center of the concrete-and-steel canyon of Metro Square.
He's wearing the tattered remains of what looks like some kind of hazmat suit, crumpled in a way that suggests it's been fused to his flesh. Most of the suit has been charred and blackened, but I can see patches of its original white, and the remnants of a S.T.A.R. Labs logo on the shoulder piece. Where pieces of the suit have been ripped away, there's a glow of sickly green.
"You called for me, so hear I am," I call out to the monster, trying to get its attention. "I don't know why you've decided to hurt these people, but--"
With one hand, the thing reaches up to its helmet, and rips it clean off. For a moment, the whole world turns green, and my skin starts to feel like it's on fire. My stomach lurches and turns, and it's hard to stay on my feet.
"...good God," I manage, as the green light subsides and I get a look at what was under the helmet. In the center of a pulsing green flame, there's a blackened skull, staring at me with empty eye sockets.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." it calls out again, its other arm shakily reaching out towards me. "Ss--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
A blast of that sickly green light erupts from its hands, and before I can react, it engulfs me, sending me tumbling backwards at least a full city block. I tumble end over end, only coming to a halt when I smack, back-first and upside-down, into the side of a garbage truck. After leaving a dent roughly the shape of my head and shoulders, I fall to the pavement, disoriented and sick to my stomach.
"What...what the..." I groan as I struggle to get up, my vision blurry and my muscles screaming.
"Superman!" I hear a muffled voice call my name. Four people in hazmat suits-- no, just two, I'm still seeing double-- approach me. "We know who that is! His name is Dr. Albert Michaels, he's a senior engineer at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he's somehow mutated himself into some kind of living radioactive plasma!"
"I'm thinking of going with 'The Atomic Skull' for a name!" the other suited figure adds. "Sounds pretty epic, right?"
"You can't get too close to him!" the first one says, ignoring the second, "They told us ten meters is instant death for anyone who isn't, well, you."
"Well, I can't just let him irradiate half the city, so I'm going to--" I stop, as I turn towards the two hazmat suits and realize I know those voices. "Wait a minute...Miss Lane? Jimmy?! What the hell are you doing here?!"
Great. Now not only is there a killer radioactive monster on the loose, but Lois Lane has scooped me on the story, so I can kiss that freelance paycheck goodbye. I'll see if I can't pick up a few more night janitor shifts at Lexcorp Tower to make up for it.
"Watching you stop this guy and save the city, what else would I be doing here?!" Lois answers as she helps pull me to my feet.
Meanwhile, I can already see Jimmy loading up another reel into his camera-- an old-fashioned film one so the radiation won't burn out his digital cameras. "Superman vs. the Atomic Skull, now that's a main event! It's a shame that Clark is going to miss this one."
"Oh yeah, my heart just bleeds for him," Lois says, her smirk practically visible from inside the polarized visor of her helmet. "Now go get him, Big Blue!"
For a moment, the painful burning of the Atomic Skull's radiation stings just a little less than Lois having a barb at my expense, but when she pats me on the shoulder, I can't help but notice her hand stays on my arm just a little longer than usual.
"Right," I say, a rush of confidence coursing through me as a grin reaches my face, "You two stay clear and get to safety. I'll try to make this quick."
As the Atomic Skull shambles in our direction, I line myself up in a three-point stance, chunks of debris lifting around me as I shift my gravitational field around me, pinching the gravity behind me and making it lighter in front. I can't quite explain how I know how to do it, but it's almost like squeezing a ketchup packet from one end until the other bursts open.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Skull rasps, its arms up and wide, that awful green radiation flaring out from him.
Just as the proverbial gravity 'packet' bursts in front of me, I shove off with my legs and shoot forward, faster than a speeding bullet. Lois said his radiation is instant death for most people. Fortunately, I'm not most people. I just need to tough it out long enough to get him out of a populated area, and then....well, I'll just have to wing it from there.
I crash into him at full speed, reflexively wrapping my gravity field around him to avoid accidentally tearing him in half on impact, and immediately the burning and nausea makes my world spin.
"All right, Dr. Michaels," I say through gritted teeth as I carry him up and out of the city, looking for somewhere safe to land before the radiation sickness makes me pass out. "I'm putting a stop to--"
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Atomic Skull says my name again.
Then he finally says something else. Something that, even with the horrible radioactive burning, makes me go cold.
"Hhhhhheeeeellllllp......mmmeeeeeeeeeee......."
I hear the crash of glass breaking, the groans and shrieks of metal twisting in his grip.
I hear the screams of people desperately trying to get away, some of them cut short with a sudden gasp, followed by nothing.
And I hear his voice, a pained, hoarse rasp.
"Sssssuuuu-perrrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
I don't know who or what he is, but he's calling me out, and people are getting hurt. I can't let that happen.
The buildings around me become a blur as I shoot through the air, stopping and starting as I home in on the source of the chaos. Handling sharp turns at speed still isn't easy for me, so more often than not I just cannonball myself down the long straightaways of the city's major streets until I reach a corner, come to a stop, then launch again at a new angle. I'd prefer to just go over rooftop level and fly more directly at the problem, but the last time I tried that, I nearly plowed through a Lexcorp air-train full of passengers, so I find it's better to stay at an altitude where I'm less of a collision risk.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
It takes almost a full forty-five seconds to navigate my way to the source of the commotion. He's made it all the way to Metro Square, and left a horrible mess in his wake. I can see cars that have been melted into slag, buildings warped and buckling as their facades have bubbled and burned away...shadows on the walls that used to be people...
...and I see the monster responsible for it all, shambling out into the center of the concrete-and-steel canyon of Metro Square.
He's wearing the tattered remains of what looks like some kind of hazmat suit, crumpled in a way that suggests it's been fused to his flesh. Most of the suit has been charred and blackened, but I can see patches of its original white, and the remnants of a S.T.A.R. Labs logo on the shoulder piece. Where pieces of the suit have been ripped away, there's a glow of sickly green.
"You called for me, so hear I am," I call out to the monster, trying to get its attention. "I don't know why you've decided to hurt these people, but--"
With one hand, the thing reaches up to its helmet, and rips it clean off. For a moment, the whole world turns green, and my skin starts to feel like it's on fire. My stomach lurches and turns, and it's hard to stay on my feet.
"...good God," I manage, as the green light subsides and I get a look at what was under the helmet. In the center of a pulsing green flame, there's a blackened skull, staring at me with empty eye sockets.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." it calls out again, its other arm shakily reaching out towards me. "Ss--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
A blast of that sickly green light erupts from its hands, and before I can react, it engulfs me, sending me tumbling backwards at least a full city block. I tumble end over end, only coming to a halt when I smack, back-first and upside-down, into the side of a garbage truck. After leaving a dent roughly the shape of my head and shoulders, I fall to the pavement, disoriented and sick to my stomach.
"What...what the..." I groan as I struggle to get up, my vision blurry and my muscles screaming.
"Superman!" I hear a muffled voice call my name. Four people in hazmat suits-- no, just two, I'm still seeing double-- approach me. "We know who that is! His name is Dr. Albert Michaels, he's a senior engineer at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he's somehow mutated himself into some kind of living radioactive plasma!"
"I'm thinking of going with 'The Atomic Skull' for a name!" the other suited figure adds. "Sounds pretty epic, right?"
"You can't get too close to him!" the first one says, ignoring the second, "They told us ten meters is instant death for anyone who isn't, well, you."
"Well, I can't just let him irradiate half the city, so I'm going to--" I stop, as I turn towards the two hazmat suits and realize I know those voices. "Wait a minute...Miss Lane? Jimmy?! What the hell are you doing here?!"
Great. Now not only is there a killer radioactive monster on the loose, but Lois Lane has scooped me on the story, so I can kiss that freelance paycheck goodbye. I'll see if I can't pick up a few more night janitor shifts at Lexcorp Tower to make up for it.
"Watching you stop this guy and save the city, what else would I be doing here?!" Lois answers as she helps pull me to my feet.
Meanwhile, I can already see Jimmy loading up another reel into his camera-- an old-fashioned film one so the radiation won't burn out his digital cameras. "Superman vs. the Atomic Skull, now that's a main event! It's a shame that Clark is going to miss this one."
"Oh yeah, my heart just bleeds for him," Lois says, her smirk practically visible from inside the polarized visor of her helmet. "Now go get him, Big Blue!"
For a moment, the painful burning of the Atomic Skull's radiation stings just a little less than Lois having a barb at my expense, but when she pats me on the shoulder, I can't help but notice her hand stays on my arm just a little longer than usual.
"Right," I say, a rush of confidence coursing through me as a grin reaches my face, "You two stay clear and get to safety. I'll try to make this quick."
As the Atomic Skull shambles in our direction, I line myself up in a three-point stance, chunks of debris lifting around me as I shift my gravitational field around me, pinching the gravity behind me and making it lighter in front. I can't quite explain how I know how to do it, but it's almost like squeezing a ketchup packet from one end until the other bursts open.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Skull rasps, its arms up and wide, that awful green radiation flaring out from him.
Just as the proverbial gravity 'packet' bursts in front of me, I shove off with my legs and shoot forward, faster than a speeding bullet. Lois said his radiation is instant death for most people. Fortunately, I'm not most people. I just need to tough it out long enough to get him out of a populated area, and then....well, I'll just have to wing it from there.
I crash into him at full speed, reflexively wrapping my gravity field around him to avoid accidentally tearing him in half on impact, and immediately the burning and nausea makes my world spin.
"All right, Dr. Michaels," I say through gritted teeth as I carry him up and out of the city, looking for somewhere safe to land before the radiation sickness makes me pass out. "I'm putting a stop to--"
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Atomic Skull says my name again.
Then he finally says something else. Something that, even with the horrible radioactive burning, makes me go cold.
"Hhhhhheeeeellllllp......mmmeeeeeeeeeee......."
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
MB, you know who I am, dammit.
MB, you know who I am, dammit.
Sep Lord of All Creation
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4 hrs ago
@AndyC competing with @Master Bruce. Who'll come out on top
AndyC Guardian of the Universe
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1 hr ago
@AndyC competing with @Master Bruce. Who'll come out on top
Hey, if I'm coming back into the cape-RP sphere, I'm gonna come back swingin.
1x Laugh
Sep Lord of All Creation
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4 hrs ago
@Sep Well, the main point of the story is to have that "The big bad is coming and we gotta be ready for him" edge. I'm looking into big alien warlord types. Would Ronin the Executioner sit better with you?
If you can keep it to the point where he's not gonna destroy the world then I have no issue with it myself.
Just remember everyone's in their forming years, back in the old Comics most heroes didn't face a world ending threat for ages. That's very much a modern movie thing where the hero is instantly against a galactic threat
OP
Master Bruce Winged Freak
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1 day ago
AndyC Guardian of the Universe
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1 hr ago
Actually, I might go for someone I've somehow never played, never even applied for. After all, if MB has his heart set on playing Clark...
...then turnabout is fair play.
....or I could always bring back my Raven/Starfire buddy-cop team, I dunno.
....or I could always bring back my Raven/Starfire buddy-cop team, I dunno.
Sep Lord of All Creation
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4 hrs ago
Actually, I might go for someone I've somehow never played, never even applied for. After all, if MB has his heart set on playing Clark......then turnabout is fair play.
....or I could always bring back my Raven/Starfire buddy-cop team, I dunno.
Maybe have a backup? I always think competition brings out the best for both players in terms of sheets
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OP
Master Bruce Winged Freak
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1 day ago
Meanwhile I'm over here thinking, "Shit. Maybe... Thor? Wonder Woman? There are options, surely."
We'll see how things shake out. It just got alot more interesting.
We'll see how things shake out. It just got alot more interesting.
AndyC Guardian of the Universe
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1 hr ago
<Snipped quote by AndyC>
Maybe have a backup? I always think competition brings out the best for both players in terms of sheets
Oh absolutely. I'm digging through my old pic folders on Imgur looking for inspiration, and I've got the seeds of like six different character applications in my head now.
Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
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<Snipped quote by Sep>
Hey, if I'm coming back into the cape-RP sphere, I'm gonna come back swingin.
No... I am coming back swinging...
1x Laugh
Sep Lord of All Creation
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4 hrs ago
<Snipped quote by Sep>
Oh absolutely. I'm digging through my old pic folders on Imgur looking for inspiration, and I've got the seeds of like six different character applications in my head now.
Oh me too.
Those two ideas are just the ones on the short list...
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Might tweak/tidy some things when it comes to the OOC but I literally went from nothing to this in 5 hours so I think I'm doing alright so far!
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
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F I R E B I R D
"Yes, I mind."
J E A N E L A I N E G R A Y – S U M M E R S ♦ T E A C H E R ♦ B A L T I M O R E
O R I G I N S:
Your suffering is dementia. Your aberrations are a fashion statement no one is listening to. Other people in the world are suffering more than you. Your identity is a conspiracy theory. Your truth is just a psy-op. Your pain isn’t real. You don’t exist. Jean’s suffering was like that of so many mutants: quashed and belittled to the point that most believe it to be the stuff of fiction and fantasy. Gaslit out of her own childhood, how could Jean Gray know otherwise? Drugged out on sedatives constantly so that her mind didn’t split Beacon, New York apart. Kept away from others as much as possible so that she didn’t cast her elementary school into flames. But while puberty is where many come to fight their bodies, that was where Jean’s finally caught up to her mind, not that she was allowed to know. As far as she was aware, she’d been ‘cured’ of her childhood insanity through prayer, her well meaning parents insisting that her ‘powers’ were mere hallucinations. They loved her, so how could they be wrong?
Her middle and high school years allowed her a semblance of happiness, but her powers were always a part of her. Her bursts of emotion led to odd flares she would never be able to easily explain away. But what she needed was not prayer, time, or even assistance and guidance. She’d needed a drive to master it, and someone to join her on her journey to accepting herself. She acquired a crush on Scott Summers even before an accidental probe into his mind allowed her to uncover his mutant powers, one bad fall away from vaporizing a city block. They lived on their own precipices, one bad day away from losing everything they loved. Just knowing about him and his struggle would help her: to know someone close was fighting their own fight. And to know her own feelings she had to come to terms with everything that was her just to make that short step of asking him out. Jean would one day extend a hand to help him. Years later they would be living out of a cheap apartment in Baltimore, struggling to raise their son in a chaotic world that was about to become so much more chaotic.
Inspired from the recent X-Men ‘97, I intend to write a story that strips Jean of her relationship with Charles, the X-Men, and (though I’m drawing from the name, unless plans change) the Phoenix, telling the story we start to see in ‘97 from the reverse. Not a Jean trying to settle down from being a hero to start a family, but a Jean with a family choosing to follow a path that allows her to use her powers for good in a new age, to give a much needed social justice to a peoples reduced to hearsay. All the while she deals with her own family circumstances as her intentions place more burden on her husband, and her battles put more strain on herself and risk the uncovering of her childhood traumas left buried for so long.
Her middle and high school years allowed her a semblance of happiness, but her powers were always a part of her. Her bursts of emotion led to odd flares she would never be able to easily explain away. But what she needed was not prayer, time, or even assistance and guidance. She’d needed a drive to master it, and someone to join her on her journey to accepting herself. She acquired a crush on Scott Summers even before an accidental probe into his mind allowed her to uncover his mutant powers, one bad fall away from vaporizing a city block. They lived on their own precipices, one bad day away from losing everything they loved. Just knowing about him and his struggle would help her: to know someone close was fighting their own fight. And to know her own feelings she had to come to terms with everything that was her just to make that short step of asking him out. Jean would one day extend a hand to help him. Years later they would be living out of a cheap apartment in Baltimore, struggling to raise their son in a chaotic world that was about to become so much more chaotic.
Inspired from the recent X-Men ‘97, I intend to write a story that strips Jean of her relationship with Charles, the X-Men, and (though I’m drawing from the name, unless plans change) the Phoenix, telling the story we start to see in ‘97 from the reverse. Not a Jean trying to settle down from being a hero to start a family, but a Jean with a family choosing to follow a path that allows her to use her powers for good in a new age, to give a much needed social justice to a peoples reduced to hearsay. All the while she deals with her own family circumstances as her intentions place more burden on her husband, and her battles put more strain on herself and risk the uncovering of her childhood traumas left buried for so long.
S A M P L E P O S T:
“I’m glad your dog is dead!”
“Shawn! Take that back!” Juniper broke down as recent wounds were made fresh again. The class erupted into a mixture of laughs and shouts. Jean stood, her red hair flowing behind her as she took Juniper by the hand and moved through the desks of 4th graders. They went silent as their teacher towered over them all, but as she reached Shawn’s desk, she crouched down, taking his dark hand in her free one. His expression fell to one mixed of annoyance and embarrassment. He tried to maneuver his hand away but Jean kept a gentle hold of it.
“Shawn, I know you’re going through a lot right now. I think all of you are, all of us always are. The world’s hard right now. It’s nothing like when I was a kid. But I think it’s because the world is scary we should try to be kind.” She gauged his reaction, his desire to not be here right now. To have kids so full of creativity and energy be bottled up in a classroom was torture of the worst kind, and global pandemic would leave scars none would ever be able to guess at the depth of. It had taken weeks for her to be able to convince them not to be engaged with the constant stimulus of their phones, their safe retreat where so many of their parents didn’t have the time to spend with them from long hours worked. “Do you want to try and apologize?”
Shawn remained pensive, guilt plain. Then he cracked a smile, but not from anything Jean had done or said. A fart resounded through the class, all tension unwinding as the kids burst into laughter. Jean lurched, trying to hold onto her balanced as she failed to contain herself. Many things changed, but some things never would. Jean was trying her hardest to leave an impression on these kids, but it seemed sometimes a deep speech full of optimism was less than a fart, and maybe for now that was alright. When the class calmed down, Shawn did apologize for making fun of Juniper’s recently deceased dog, a sad story she wanted to share with the class. Giving the class an opportunity to come clean on their feelings and let themselves be vulnerable in a safe space wasn’t an idea she thought was bad, but perhaps ‘private one on one teacher talk’ would have been a better move. Baby steps.
A short while later she sat at her desk, eyes mindlessly wandering across the water damage spots on the ceiling of the far too old ‘temporary’ classroom while she slurped at her beef flavored Cup Noodles, decadently garnished with about 3 cents worth of grated ginger, who’s flavor and health benefits was no doubt buried in preservatives and MSG. She dripped some broth onto her yellow blouse, and didn’t even care. Lunch break felt like her one solace in life, where she was able to turn her mind off. Turn off the safety. And not have to worry about her finances, her underfunded classroom, her husband and child back home. Load a bullet in the chamber. But dammit it was so worth it, she told herself every night as she tried to sleep in between Nathan’s wails. It was for the ki-
And then they’ll see me. Then they’ll hear me.
Jean’s mind, never quite shut, was drowned constantly in noise. The darkest thoughts, the most pleasant dreams, the inanely mundane babble. Like static from a TV or the rumble of an air conditioner, she tended to shut it out. Even the loudest most passionate thoughts would only be brief interruptions, like that of a car exhaust or firework. Easily mistaken for a gunshot, momentarily annoying, and quickly ignored.
But sometimes it was a gunshot.
Jean leapt from her seat, pittance of a lunch splattering on the floor. Her mind probed outwards as she spilled into the hall, hurling by a passing teacher and student. “Bathroom!” she yelled as she passed right by the nearest one. She ran across the fields, well away from the kids still in the cafeteria area, a few stragglers enjoying the playground before it became a carnival. Passing by a few bushes filled with webs and spiders, she found the back area where the fence divided school with the minuscule backyard of low end housing. A form dropped from the top of the fence, scrambling up and pointing a handgun right at Jean. He wore a heavy coat and beanie despite the higher than temperate weather, and she immediately noticed why. Green skin, no nose, big yellow eyes, fingers almost too large to even fit into the trigger guard. Her breath went cold. No amount of mental preparation could ready you for your first time staring down the barrel of a gun. But her mind contained a vast imagination. She imagined the 12 bullets in that pistol, yet to reach the chamber, flying through the air at her students. Her own breath went hot, and her eyes went yellow, for they were of the same breed.
She plumbed into his mind, and she saw. She saw him skulking through the midday on his way to this school. She saw him stealing the gun from a gang banger in the middle of the night, running from retaliating fire. She saw him leering at the bright world outside he wasn’t allowed into, a hate festering that Jean could only claim she couldn’t understand if she felt like lying to herself. She saw him, small, no older than anyone in her own class, retreating as stones were cast his way. She saw him tucked away in his parents basement until he was so hungry he had to escape, only to find his parents had left him. She saw him born a once normal boy. For a time, he could be happy in a world where no one knew what he truly was.
It was not a word spoken, a suggestion offered. It was a command implanted, because Jean didn’t know what else to do. She knew it wasn’t a solution, but she couldn’t think of anything else. She couldn’t alleviate his pain, she couldn’t take him in when she was struggling so much as it was. There was no place in this world for he who didn’t ask to be born a monster. He left the gun and crawled back over the fence like nothing was wrong. She waited for him to go before lifting the gun with her mind, drawing out the bullets and dumping them down a drain pipe, before drawing on her pyrokenesis and telekenesis as one, melting and crushing down the gun into a ball and letting it cool before hiding it in a bush.
The rest of the school day seemed to drift by. Her body felt numb as she went through her classes, her post-school meetings, her bus ride home. She packed it all down and away. Leftovers to dig into later. Going up the 8 floors to her apartment, she steeled herself and put on a smile as she reached the door. It opened before she even reached it. Head full of auburn hair, eyes blocked by the red lenses of his sunglasses, a light coat over a security guard uniform, he began, “Hey! I gotta go but Nate’s asleep right now and I made enchiladas! They’re in the fridge and I’ve already got the oven prehea- Jean?”
Scott was suddenly buffeted as Jean rushed into his chest, shaking with sobs. He wiped the surprise off his face as he sank to his knees with Jean, who couldn’t support her own weight any more. He put his arms around her without hesitation. I’m right here for you. I’m right here. And I’ll always be here. He repeated in his head. He wouldn’t find out the details in this moment, but through her sobs he would be able to make out the phrase that would define the coming years of their life.
“Something has to change.”
“Shawn! Take that back!” Juniper broke down as recent wounds were made fresh again. The class erupted into a mixture of laughs and shouts. Jean stood, her red hair flowing behind her as she took Juniper by the hand and moved through the desks of 4th graders. They went silent as their teacher towered over them all, but as she reached Shawn’s desk, she crouched down, taking his dark hand in her free one. His expression fell to one mixed of annoyance and embarrassment. He tried to maneuver his hand away but Jean kept a gentle hold of it.
“Shawn, I know you’re going through a lot right now. I think all of you are, all of us always are. The world’s hard right now. It’s nothing like when I was a kid. But I think it’s because the world is scary we should try to be kind.” She gauged his reaction, his desire to not be here right now. To have kids so full of creativity and energy be bottled up in a classroom was torture of the worst kind, and global pandemic would leave scars none would ever be able to guess at the depth of. It had taken weeks for her to be able to convince them not to be engaged with the constant stimulus of their phones, their safe retreat where so many of their parents didn’t have the time to spend with them from long hours worked. “Do you want to try and apologize?”
Shawn remained pensive, guilt plain. Then he cracked a smile, but not from anything Jean had done or said. A fart resounded through the class, all tension unwinding as the kids burst into laughter. Jean lurched, trying to hold onto her balanced as she failed to contain herself. Many things changed, but some things never would. Jean was trying her hardest to leave an impression on these kids, but it seemed sometimes a deep speech full of optimism was less than a fart, and maybe for now that was alright. When the class calmed down, Shawn did apologize for making fun of Juniper’s recently deceased dog, a sad story she wanted to share with the class. Giving the class an opportunity to come clean on their feelings and let themselves be vulnerable in a safe space wasn’t an idea she thought was bad, but perhaps ‘private one on one teacher talk’ would have been a better move. Baby steps.
A short while later she sat at her desk, eyes mindlessly wandering across the water damage spots on the ceiling of the far too old ‘temporary’ classroom while she slurped at her beef flavored Cup Noodles, decadently garnished with about 3 cents worth of grated ginger, who’s flavor and health benefits was no doubt buried in preservatives and MSG. She dripped some broth onto her yellow blouse, and didn’t even care. Lunch break felt like her one solace in life, where she was able to turn her mind off. Turn off the safety. And not have to worry about her finances, her underfunded classroom, her husband and child back home. Load a bullet in the chamber. But dammit it was so worth it, she told herself every night as she tried to sleep in between Nathan’s wails. It was for the ki-
And then they’ll see me. Then they’ll hear me.
Jean’s mind, never quite shut, was drowned constantly in noise. The darkest thoughts, the most pleasant dreams, the inanely mundane babble. Like static from a TV or the rumble of an air conditioner, she tended to shut it out. Even the loudest most passionate thoughts would only be brief interruptions, like that of a car exhaust or firework. Easily mistaken for a gunshot, momentarily annoying, and quickly ignored.
But sometimes it was a gunshot.
Jean leapt from her seat, pittance of a lunch splattering on the floor. Her mind probed outwards as she spilled into the hall, hurling by a passing teacher and student. “Bathroom!” she yelled as she passed right by the nearest one. She ran across the fields, well away from the kids still in the cafeteria area, a few stragglers enjoying the playground before it became a carnival. Passing by a few bushes filled with webs and spiders, she found the back area where the fence divided school with the minuscule backyard of low end housing. A form dropped from the top of the fence, scrambling up and pointing a handgun right at Jean. He wore a heavy coat and beanie despite the higher than temperate weather, and she immediately noticed why. Green skin, no nose, big yellow eyes, fingers almost too large to even fit into the trigger guard. Her breath went cold. No amount of mental preparation could ready you for your first time staring down the barrel of a gun. But her mind contained a vast imagination. She imagined the 12 bullets in that pistol, yet to reach the chamber, flying through the air at her students. Her own breath went hot, and her eyes went yellow, for they were of the same breed.
She plumbed into his mind, and she saw. She saw him skulking through the midday on his way to this school. She saw him stealing the gun from a gang banger in the middle of the night, running from retaliating fire. She saw him leering at the bright world outside he wasn’t allowed into, a hate festering that Jean could only claim she couldn’t understand if she felt like lying to herself. She saw him, small, no older than anyone in her own class, retreating as stones were cast his way. She saw him tucked away in his parents basement until he was so hungry he had to escape, only to find his parents had left him. She saw him born a once normal boy. For a time, he could be happy in a world where no one knew what he truly was.
“LEAVE THE GUN, AND GO HOME.”
It was not a word spoken, a suggestion offered. It was a command implanted, because Jean didn’t know what else to do. She knew it wasn’t a solution, but she couldn’t think of anything else. She couldn’t alleviate his pain, she couldn’t take him in when she was struggling so much as it was. There was no place in this world for he who didn’t ask to be born a monster. He left the gun and crawled back over the fence like nothing was wrong. She waited for him to go before lifting the gun with her mind, drawing out the bullets and dumping them down a drain pipe, before drawing on her pyrokenesis and telekenesis as one, melting and crushing down the gun into a ball and letting it cool before hiding it in a bush.
The rest of the school day seemed to drift by. Her body felt numb as she went through her classes, her post-school meetings, her bus ride home. She packed it all down and away. Leftovers to dig into later. Going up the 8 floors to her apartment, she steeled herself and put on a smile as she reached the door. It opened before she even reached it. Head full of auburn hair, eyes blocked by the red lenses of his sunglasses, a light coat over a security guard uniform, he began, “Hey! I gotta go but Nate’s asleep right now and I made enchiladas! They’re in the fridge and I’ve already got the oven prehea- Jean?”
Scott was suddenly buffeted as Jean rushed into his chest, shaking with sobs. He wiped the surprise off his face as he sank to his knees with Jean, who couldn’t support her own weight any more. He put his arms around her without hesitation. I’m right here for you. I’m right here. And I’ll always be here. He repeated in his head. He wouldn’t find out the details in this moment, but through her sobs he would be able to make out the phrase that would define the coming years of their life.
“Something has to change.”
P O S T C A T A L O G:
To be added.
Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
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When your kid's got impending surgery, but dammit you never get to play Spider-Man...
Sep Lord of All Creation
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4 hrs ago
I'll be working through weekend which means my samples won't be sorted till Monday.
If anyone wants either blue beetle or the flash I encourage them to apply.
It would help me make my decision
If anyone wants either blue beetle or the flash I encourage them to apply.
It would help me make my decision
webboysurf Live, Laugh, Love
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Hound55 Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
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D Man it is.
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Sep Lord of All Creation
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Nice. Batman
mattmanganon Your friendly neighbourhood tyranical dicator
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@Simple Unicycle Don't worry, there is such a thing as "People learning from their mistakes" and i'm hoping the GMs will give me the opportunity to prove that. And while yes i was planning on using John, it was more going to be in the "Old soldier looking for redeption" capacity, but at the end of the day, the decision is up to Sep and Bruce if they want to trust me with him and if they see the aggregious incident from 4 years ago as too much to trust me and then, as always, i'll abide by the GM decision. Also, being that John is his own character with his own story and rogues gallery, if someone specifically says "Hey, i got a John Stewart focused story i want to do" i'm sure we can work something out.
@Sep As i said, i would never dream of forcing a threat upon anyone else, and that's going to be the endgame scenario for the story. It would be the old:
Minion: "My lord, the planet is ripe for the taking! Shall we begin the destruction?"
Warlord: "The rings, you fool, all forces to Coast City, we need to secure the rings! They are too powerful to risk dividing our forces. We must focus entirely upon their fortress until the rings are in my grasp. Then the rest of planet will be ours... And then... THE UNIVERSE!!!"
Minion: "My lord, the Communications Decoys are in place. They will not be able to call for help and the rest of the planet will have no idea we are here until it's too late."
Warlord: "Excellent, there will be no escape for them this time!"
For the most part it's going to be the Power Rangers style "Warlord sits on his ship sending a monster of the week to attack our plucky young adventurers"
@Sep As i said, i would never dream of forcing a threat upon anyone else, and that's going to be the endgame scenario for the story. It would be the old:
Minion: "My lord, the planet is ripe for the taking! Shall we begin the destruction?"
Warlord: "The rings, you fool, all forces to Coast City, we need to secure the rings! They are too powerful to risk dividing our forces. We must focus entirely upon their fortress until the rings are in my grasp. Then the rest of planet will be ours... And then... THE UNIVERSE!!!"
Minion: "My lord, the Communications Decoys are in place. They will not be able to call for help and the rest of the planet will have no idea we are here until it's too late."
Warlord: "Excellent, there will be no escape for them this time!"
For the most part it's going to be the Power Rangers style "Warlord sits on his ship sending a monster of the week to attack our plucky young adventurers"
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