Naril

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

I'll be writing this evening. I...have an idea.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

I'll come up with a reason for Indira to be at the bomb site.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

I'll admit that I positioned Indy as a professor at NYU to give her and Eliza a reason to know one another. I don't necessarily expect that Indy is one of her teachers, but I do think that a "This is why you've been missing class?" scene when they both realize who the other one is would be precious.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

Indira Bhatia

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Name
Dr. Indira (Indy) Bhatia, Ph.D (Electrical and Electronic Engineering)

Secret Identity
Tensor

Gender
Female (And female-presenting)

Age
37

Date of Birth
20 August 1983

Themes
New Beginnings, Adaptation, Choosing Joy, All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault

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Appearance

Despite the fact that Indy is taller than both of her parents, she's still the person in the lab who knows exactly where all the step-stools are. Her hair is long and dark, with a few strands of bright, hard silver threading in among the tousled locks, which she keeps tied in a loose tail that's more practical than anything else. She has a lean, strong figure, unmistakably feminine, which she takes some care to maintain. Her features are, in a word, lovely, with wide, almond-shaped eyes the color of strong black tea, delicate eyebrows, and full, expressive lips - the whole usually set either in concentration or mild exasperation. Her hands are quick and clever, marked with small scars and callouses, the nails trimmed and only occasionally colored with polish.

Indy's dress sense at work is what would be expected of any professor, with a selection of slacks, jackets, and button-down shirts that compliment her dusky complexion. She otherwise very much prefers a jeans-and-tee look, often but not always with scuffed, dark boots. Both of her ears are pierced several times, and she has a seemingly-endless selection of studs, chains, and other small jewelry to display. Both her wrists typically hold some kind of bangle or bracelet, and she wears a variety of small rings on her fingers. While there are several scars on her body - especially recently - the only tattoos on her body are small crosshatch-like marks at various points on her skin, about the size of a pencil eraser.

Costume

Indira doesn't really have a costume, exactly - her ability to respond to anything requiring super-heroism generally is constrained by the fact that she has a job, so quite a lot of her adventures take place in slacks and sensible shoes, or after running out of the shop with metal chips caught in her hair and wearing a Van Halen t-shirt. So far, that hasn't been a problem.

Personality

Indira is almost terrifyingly competent, a polymath with the kind of ferocious intellect that would be infuriating if it weren't also tempered by perspective and a deep confidence that never spills over into arrogance. Her students - and, indeed, colleagues - tend to find that she is utterly merciless in cutting down evasion and prevarication, but that she is also a consummate educator who cares profoundly about making sure that her charges understand even the most complex subjects. Asking for help is something she treats with the highest regard; an attempt to bluster or buzzword your way past her is a recipe for a long, excruciating conversation.

Otherwise, Indy is someone that people tend to like to be around. She is fond of puns - the worse and more groan-inducing, the better, especially if they're across multiple languages. While she is a great storyteller, she might be an even better audience, with entirely authentic gasps and all the right facial expressions to make even the shyest person want to continue. She is kind, careful, and the kind of person who will drive you home, even if it's an hour out of her way. Her infectious laughter comes easily, and pairs well with her fondness for small measures of very expensive whisky.

Firm, but not immovable, of conviction, Indy is very much one of the Good Guys - she acts because it's the right thing to do, and considers it her responsibility to use her abilities in the service and defense of others. She likes people, and wants to think the best of them, but that is matched by a sense of pragmatism and almost total lack of naïveté. Sometimes, there really is no point in talking, after all.

Indy's social life is a complex balancing act. Since her abilities became clear, she attends fewer symposiums, and more of her advice to her students is done over text or email, but she manages to keep on top of her professional responsibilities; after all, she is aiming for tenure. Personally, the superheroics have left a hole in that part of her life. She has a a friend who is perfectly aware of what Indy's doing when she has to cancel on a party invitation and is a meaningful part of her life, but she hasn't been on a date in a very long time.

Backstory

I didn't mean to be a superhero.

I mean, I don't think any of us really woke up one morning and just decided that yes, today, I'm going do something beyond the bounds of mortal ken. We don't step into the world fully-formed and cloaked in our manifest destiny, with a triumphant score and dramatic lighting. For most of us, it crept into our lives a little at a time - a road, you could say, paved with good intentions.

When I was ten, my family moved from Mumbai to San Francisco, my mother's career in academia having settled in a way that living in the States would be more convenient than in India. My father's business, a cutting-edge medical technology company, could be administered easily enough from California, although I think he may have had more frequent flyer miles than any sensible person ought to after a couple of years. My sister, though, thought the city was too cold, even at the height of summer - at least, until she started to notice boys.

Even when I was young, I thought I understood the arc of my life. I loved the University where my mother worked, I loved the smell of books and the way my mind felt when I really understood something new. I knew those would be my footsteps, that I would carry on a tradition of learned women in my family that had gone on for generations. When I dreamed, I thought about winning a Nobel prize, discovering something that could change our understanding of the world. I imagined a life of books, small apartments, and symposiums, and I was content with that. Karma, though, can be a funny thing.

I was thirty years old when I first manifested superhuman capabilities, an only somewhat accidental result of an experimental therapy to correct an unusual, fast-moving neurodegenerative disease. There were surgeries, procedures that layered my bones and body with lattices of self-replicating molecular-scale machines; the whole process something so far past the description of 'experimental' that you couldn't find it with a map. After all, when you're facing down the possibility of not being able to control your own lungs, the concept of 'nothing to lose' takes on an entirely new depth. And, really, the calculus was simple: If I did nothing, I was going to die. This offered me a chance for an outcome where I might not.

I'll spare you the suspense: I didn't die.

The procedure didn't only make me better, it made me better; that is to say, super-human. The woman behind the project, who I only ever knew by the name 'Jac,' seemed entirely unsurprised by that. She said I was 'potential made manifest,' and the last time I saw her, she told me to enjoy my life. My father would never tell me how he had run into Jac, or how and why I became a subject of what apparently was some kind of super-science project. To this day, that's the only secret he's ever kept from me. All things considered, I think that's a small price to pay for a miracle.

And I took Jac's advice. I lived my life. Citing a miraculous recovery, and steering myself clear of the most inquisitive members of the medical-flavored faculty, I returned to my studies. I completed my doctoral program, and despite the way my mind and body's capabilities were expanding, defending my thesis was daunting. I'm convinced that nothing short of actual divine intervention can make that process anything but exhausting and harrowing. The whole while, I spent most of the time that I wasn't actually studying or writing papers in trying to discover the extent of what had happened to me, of learning to control the machines in my body, discovering that there were quite a few different things I could do with them.

I still wanted to teach, to learn, to expand the world in the ways I thought I could, and I accepted a job at NYU three years ago. The world was already starting to get stranger, with things that people couldn't quite explain, or took great pains to say never really happened coming on the nightly news with increasing frequency. The night before my first lecture, I found myself in that world, in the most direct way I possibly could have. The things on the news were abstracts, they were rumor, even if they were credible. But that night, I found out that I wasn't alone.

Unfortunately, the way that happened was by being attacked in the parking lot behind the university's electronics lab, well after midnight. He was every bit my equal, and in fact in some important ways, I was overmatched. I had never used the abilities I'd developed in any earnest way, but the human body will do a lot of things rather than die. Whether it was luck or adrenaline or some kind of test, I managed to avoid having my head crushed by a lamppost my attacker tore out of the ground without apparent effort, and grounded out lightning-strikes of power that rained sparks from utility poles for a quarter of a mile. If I took a split second of pettiness out on making sure one of those strikes immolated a car belonging to someone I really didn't like, who could blame me?

We fought to a standstill, and in the closeness and the reflected bursts of light, I saw marks on his skin; small, crosshatched tattoos, nearly invisible scars that followed some of the long bones of his skeleton. They were intensely familiar, because I saw the same marks every time I took a shower. I locked his arms behind him and forced him to his knees, though I had no idea what I was going to do with him in even the medium term. But I had to ask him, I had to know. I asked him who he was, and his answer made my blood run cold.

Potential made manifest.

All I remember after that is the wind being knocked out of me, a grunt of pain that I'm fairly sure wasn't mine, and the sound of sirens. By the time I came back to myself, I was alone in a parking lot, surrounded by wrecked cars, gouges in the asphalt, and a whole lot of questions I didn't want to answer. I jogged across campus to my car, slinking into the now-unlit pathways between buildings not long before the first police cars arrived, and I went home.

Everything seemed to become real after that. I was something other than human - and I wasn't alone. While I washed the blood off my face, I knew I couldn't keep myself to myself any longer. There was a world out there that needed me, that I could help, that I could change for the better. The world might not be ready for that truth just yet, but that wasn't a reason to hide. My life, my career, was just starting - I was a professor, a faculty member, an accomplished academic. And now, also, apparently I was a superhero.

I scrubbed the water off my face with a towel, looked at myself in the mirror, and stood a little straighter. There were purpling bruises under my shirt, a scrape on my cheekbone, a black eye spreading gloriously across the left side of my face. One side of my mouth pulled up in a careful smirk. Nothing broken, and new challenges ahead. Karma really can be a funny thing.

But first, I had a lecture in the morning.

Superpowers

- Field Manipulation: Indy possesses a suite of force field emitter systems, laced into the muscle and skin of her hands and forearms and constructed from the nanomachines in her body. They allow her to project semitransparent barriers in any shape or style she desires, but not of unlimited size. Her control over this is fine enough to allow for slicing through the bolt on a door, acting as a kind of strength-enhancing exoskeleton, projecting an anchored ramp to deflect a runaway vehicle, or any number of other expressions. If she had to stop a car dead, that would be a considerable effort, and possible only with some reasonable forewarning. The barriers are able to absorb energy across physical domains (kinetic, electrical, thermal, magnetic, etc.), which is dissipated as heat, distortion of the barrier, or stored in limited-capacity systems inside Indira's body. The effort required to keep the field in place increases with this dissipation, and is also directly correlated to the size of the field. This is something she makes dramatic use of in her heroic adventures, but also almost unconsciously in her daily life (away from 'normal' people). That might be anything from grabbing her phone from across a room, opening a door, or gently nudging someone out of the way at the theatre when her hands are full.

- Direct Connection: If required, Indy can connect directly to an electrical, computer or electronic system and manipulate it at the speed of thought. This is typically, but not always, via a physical connection with interface ports created on the fly, erupting through the skin on her forearms, which hurts, a lot. She is an accomplished attack suite artist and cryptographer, but that doesn't mean that everything will fall before her at a thought. This ability takes time, and requires virtually all of her conscious attention, rendering her unable to pay attention to much else.

- Enhanced Biomechanics: Indira has quicker reflexes, can move more swiftly, is stronger, and is much tougher than standard-issue humans. She is, after all, a superhero - though this suite of effects from her procedures is not to the same scale as other metahumans. A car hitting her at speed will break bones, and while she will heal more quickly than expected, this is still on a scale of days and weeks rather than minutes or hours.

- Technologist: In the last year, Indira has begun building an awareness of herself in the metahuman world. She is an armorer on commission, and some of the stranger tools in the world are her creation. Many of these are, in their own right, complex super-science, and each is bespoke. In this capacity, she makes a point to introduce herself by 'Tensor,' though this is also the name associated with her other heroic adventures.

Talents and Interests

In addition to her academic accomplishments, Indy is an accomplished bellydancer, a phenomenal cook, and an adequate musician. She sings (at karaoke, enthusiastically if not necessarily with perfect talent), and plays guitar well enough to entertain people around a campfire. In addition, Indira speaks English, Arabic, and Hindi. She has a a gentle accent in each.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

Oh, hey, neat!

This should be fun.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

This is the roughest character sheet I've done in a while, but it took me rather longer to break the story on her than I expected - and, well, midnight is coming. :3

A Professor Called 'Indy'

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Name
Dr. Indira (Indy) Bhatia, Ph.D (Electrical and Electronic Engineering)

Secret Identity
Tensor

Gender
Female (And female-presenting)

Age
37

Date of Birth
20 August 1983

Themes
New Beginnings, Adaptation, Choosing Joy, All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault

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---

Appearance

Despite the fact that Indy is taller than both of her parents, she's still the person in the lab who knows exactly where all the step-stools are. Her hair is long and dark, with a few strands of bright, hard silver threading in among the tousled locks, which she keeps tied in a loose tail that's more practical than anything else. She has a lean, strong figure, unmistakably feminine, which she takes some care to maintain. Her features are, in a word, lovely, with wide, almond-shaped eyes the color of strong black tea, delicate eyebrows, and full, expressive lips - the whole usually set either in concentration or mild exasperation. Her hands are quick and clever, marked with small scars and callouses, the nails trimmed and only occasionally colored with polish.

Indy's dress sense at work is what would be expected of any professor, with a selection of slacks, jackets, and button-down shirts that compliment her dusky complexion. She otherwise very much prefers a jeans-and-tee look, often but not always with scuffed, dark boots. Both of her ears are pierced several times, and she has a seemingly-endless selection of studs, chains, and other small jewelry to display. Both her wrists typically hold some kind of bangle or bracelet, and she wears a variety of small rings on her fingers. While there are several scars on her body - especially recently - the only tattoos on her body are small crosshatch-like marks at various points on her skin, about the size of a pencil eraser.

Costume

Indira doesn't really have a costume, exactly - her ability to respond to anything requiring super-heroism generally is constrained by the fact that she has a job, so quite a lot of her adventures take place in slacks and sensible shoes, or after running out of the shop with metal chips caught in her hair and wearing a Van Halen t-shirt. So far, that hasn't been a problem.

Personality

Indira is almost terrifyingly competent, a polymath with the kind of ferocious intellect that would be infuriating if it weren't also tempered by perspective and a deep confidence that never spills over into arrogance. Her students - and, indeed, colleagues - tend to find that she is utterly merciless in cutting down evasion and prevarication, but that she is also a consummate educator who cares profoundly about making sure that her charges understand even the most complex subjects. Asking for help is something she treats with the highest regard; an attempt to bluster or buzzword your way past her is a recipe for a long, excruciating conversation.

Otherwise, Indy is someone that people tend to like to be around. She is fond of puns - the worse and more groan-inducing, the better, especially if they're across multiple languages. While she is a great storyteller, she might be an even better audience, with entirely authentic gasps and all the right facial expressions to make even the shyest person want to continue. She is kind, careful, and the kind of person who will drive you home, even if it's an hour out of her way. Her infectious laughter comes easily, and pairs well with her fondness for small measures of very expensive whisky.

Firm, but not immovable, of conviction, Indy is very much one of the Good Guys - she acts because it's the right thing to do, and considers it her responsibility to use her abilities in the service and defense of others. She likes people, and wants to think the best of them, but that is matched by a sense of pragmatism. Sometimes, there really is no point in talking, after all.

Indy's social life is a complex balancing act. Since her abilities became clear, she attends fewer symposiums, and more of her advice to her students is done over text or email, but she manages to keep on top of her professional responsibilities; after all, she is aiming for tenure. Personally, the superheroics have left a hole in that part of her life. She has a a friend who is perfectly aware of what Indy's doing when she has to cancel on a party invitation and is a meaningful part of her life, but she hasn't been on a date in a very long time.

Backstory

I didn't mean to be a superhero.

I mean, I don't think any of us really woke up one morning and just decided that yes, today, I'm going do something beyond the bounds of mortal ken. We don't step into the world fully-formed and cloaked in our manifest destiny, with a triumphant score and dramatic lighting. For most of us, it crept into our lives a little at a time - a road, you could say, paved with good intentions.

When I was ten, my family moved from Mumbai to San Francisco, my mother's career in academia having settled in a way that living in the States would be more convenient than in India. My father's business, a cutting-edge medical technology company, could be administered easily enough from California, although I think he may have had more frequent flyer miles than any sensible person ought to after a couple of years. My sister, though, always thought the city was too cold, even at the height of summer - at least, until she started to notice boys.

Even when I was young, I thought I understood the arc of my life. I loved the University where my mother worked, I loved the smell of books and the way my mind felt when I really understood something new. I knew those would be my footsteps, that I would carry on a tradition of learned women in my family that had gone on for generations. When I dreamed, I thought about winning a Nobel prize, discovering something that could change our understanding of the world. I imagined a life of books, small apartments, and symposiums, and I was content with that. Karma, though, can be a funny thing.

I was thirty years old when I first manifested superhuman capabilities, an only somewhat accidental result of an experimental therapy to correct an unusual, fast-moving neurodegenerative disease. There were surgeries, procedures that layered my bones and body with lattices of self-replicating molecular-scale machines; the whole process something so far past the description of 'experimental' that you couldn't find it with a map. After all, when you're facing down the possibility of not being able to control your own lungs, the concept of 'nothing to lose' takes on an entirely new depth.

I'll spare you the suspense: I didn't die.

The procedure didn't only make me better, it made me better; that is to say, super-human. The woman behind the project, who I only ever knew by the name 'Jac,' seemed entirely unsurprised by that. She said I was 'potential made manifest,' and the last time I saw her, she told me to enjoy my life. My father would never tell me how he had run into Jac, how and why I became a subject of what apparently was some kind of super-science project.

But I took Jac's advice. I lived my life. Citing a miraculous recovery, and steering myself clear of the most inquisitive members of the medical-flavored faculty, I returned to my studies. I completed my doctoral program, and despite the way my mind and body were expanding, defending my thesis was daunting. I'm convinced that nothing short of actual divine intervention can make that process anything but exhausting and harrowing. The whole time, I spent most of the time that I wasn't actually studying or writing papers in trying to discover the extent of what had happened to me, of learning to control the machines in my body, discovering that there were quite a few different things I could do with them.

I still wanted to teach, to learn, to expand the world in the ways I thought I could, and I accepted a job at NYU three years ago. The world was already starting to get stranger, with things that people couldn't quite explain, or took great pains to say never really happened coming on the nightly news with increasing frequency. The night before my first lecture, I found myself in that world, in the most direct way I possibly could have. The things on the news were abstracts, they were rumor, even if they were credible. But that night, I found out that I wasn't alone.

Unfortunately, the way that happened was by being attacked in the parking lot behind the university's electronics lab well after midnight. He was every bit my equal, in fact in some important ways, I was overmatched. I had never used the abilities I'd developed in any earnest way, but the human body will do a lot of things rather than die. Whether it was luck or adrenaline or some kind of test, I managed to avoid having my head crushed by a lamppost my attacker tore out of the ground without apparent effort, and grounded out lightning-strikes of power that rained sparks from utility poles for a quarter of a mile. If I took a split second of pettiness out on making sure one of those strikes immolated a car belonging to someone I really didn't like, who could blame me?

We fought to a standstill, and in the closeness and the reflected bursts of light, I saw marks on his skin; small, crosshatched tattoos, nearly invisible scars that followed some of the long bones of his skeleton. They were intensely familiar, because I saw the same marks every time I took a shower.

I locked his arms behind him, and forced him to his knees, though I had no idea what I was going to do with him in even the medium term. But I had to ask him, I had to know. I asked him who he was, and his answer made my blood run cold.

"Potential made manifest."

All I remember after that is the wind being knocked out of me, a grunt of pain that I'm fairly sure didn't come from me, and the sound of sirens. By the time I came back to myself, I was alone in a parking lot, surrounded by wrecked cars, gouges in the asphalt, and a whole lot of questions I didn't want to answer.

Everything seemed to become real after that. I was something other than human - and I wasn't alone. While I washed the blood off my face, I knew I couldn't keep myself to myself any longer. There was a world out there that needed me, that I could help, that I could change for the better. The world might not be ready for that truth just yet, but that wasn't a reason to hide. My life, my career, was just starting - I was a professor, a faculty member, an accomplished academic. And now, also, apparently, I was a superhero.

I scrubbed the water off my face with a towel, looked at myself in the mirror, and stood a little straighter. There were purpling bruises under my shirt, a scrape on my cheekbone, a black eye spreading gloriously across the left side of my face. One side of my mouth pulled up in a careful smirk. Nothing broken, and new challenges ahead. Of course. Karma really can be a funny thing.

But first, I had a lecture in the morning.

Superpowers

- Field Manipulation: Indy possesses a suite of force field emitter systems, laced into the muscle and skin of her hands and forearms and constructed from the nanomachines in her body. They allow her to project semitransparent barriers in any shape or style she desires, but not of unlimited size. Her control over this is fine enough to allow for slicing through the bolt on a door, acting as a kind of strength-enhancing exoskeleton, or projecting an anchored ramp to deflect a runaway vehicle. If she had to stop a car dead, that would be a considerable effort, and possible only with some reasonable forewarning. The barriers are able to absorb energy across physical domains (kinetic, electrical, etc.), which is dissipated as heat, distortion of the barrier, or stored in limited-capacity systems inside Indira's body. The effort required to keep the field in place increases with this dissipation, and is also directly correlated to the size of the field. This is something she uses both in place of heroic actions and almost unconsciously in her daily life (away from 'normal' people) to bring her phone to her, open a door, or gently nudge someone out of the way.

- Direct Connection: If required, Indy can connect directly to an electrical or computer or electronic system, and manipulate it at the speed of thought. She is an accomplished attack suite artist and cryptographer, but that doesn't mean that everything will fall before her at a thought. This ability takes time, and requires virtually all of her conscious thought, rendering her typically unable to defend herself in a fight if she has to make use of this ability.

- Enhanced Biomechanics: Indira has quicker reflexes, can move more quickly, is stronger, and is much tougher than standard-issue humans. She is, after all, a superhero - though this suite of effects from her procedures is not to the same scale as other metahumans. A car hitting her at speed will break bones, and while she will heal more quickly than expected, this is still on a scale of weeks or months rather than hours or days.

- Technologist: In the last year, Indira has begun building an awareness of herself in the metahuman world. She is an armorer on commission, and some of the stranger tools in the world are her creation. Many of these are, in their own right, complex super-science. In this capacity, she introduces herself as Tensor.

Talents and Interests

In addition to her academic accomplishments, Indira is an accomplished bellydancer, a phenomenal cook, and an adequate musician. She sings (at karaoke, enthusiastically if not necessarily with perfect talent), and plays guitar well enough to entertain people around a campfire. In addition, Indira speaks English, Arabic, and Hindi. She has a a gentle accent in all three.

And for the other questions...

1.) 'Holding Out for a Hero' by Bonnie Tyler. Or, at least, that opening piano riff, right? :3

2.) An old sci-fi movie in an arthouse theater, the kind where the whole audience knows when to yell along with the characters.

3.) The Dome of the Rock.

4.) Her sister being caught in the crossfire of some super-powered nonsense.

All Together Now (Superhero Team RP)

Hiya!

I'm writing a character at the moment - I may wind up being the last to the party. We'll see how it goes!

Blood Debt - Medieval/Fantasy

Name: Kareth (Kay) Farel
Race: Dark Elf
Faction/Unit: Brand's Brood
Location: The Nightwood, outside Bosfyrd, in a bower, formed by druidic magic.
Synopsis of Role: Irrepressibly cheerful itinerant knight of the Church of the Path, indiscriminately doing good, defending those who can't defend themselves, and having a lot of fun while doing it.

The Institute: A Sci Fi Story About The Supporting Cast

Holy moly, I did not expect to see this back at the top of the checks.

I am super flattered by everyone's interest, but I'm not going to be able to run this for a while. Life is what happens when you're making other plans, after all.

This idea will return though, just probably like...maybe in the Fall.

Love you all already. <3

Essence of the World: Flesh Reborn [Adv. Roleplay]

Zee!

Name: Zafira (Zee) al-Rashid

Age: Apparently early thirties

Gender: Female

Race: Human (for a given value of human)

Sub-Class: Freelance guardian angel

Description: Approaching average height only in heels, Zafira manages a striking impression all the same. That isn't because of any particular externality, though her dark hair is fashionably tousled and her lean, dangerously feminine build is appealing. Her eyes are the color of coffee and glitter with intelligence; wide enough, it might seem, to take in the whole world. A full, expressive mouth curves against a complexion with the rich olive tones of the Middle East, her lower lip marked by a small scar. Still, all of this is background compared to the way she moves. Every motion carries a flawless, captivating grace, giving the impression that Zee is never more than an instant from moving into some complex, light-footed dance. Her body language doesn't exactly demand the limelight, but she does draw the eye with the way her hands move while she talks, or the tilt of her head, or the toss of her hair away from her neck. There are marks on her skin, the scar on Zee's lip is complimented by another small mark that cuts through her left eyebrow, with both being family to several other larger marks elsewhere on her body.

Zafira's wardrobe is, in a word, eclectic, since quite a lot comes from thrift stores, though everything she wears is well-made and fits well. She tends to choose closed-toed shoes (and prefers slightly heeled boots over anything else), and has an impressive collection of band t-shirts. In the rain, Zee is entirely unashamed about her umbrella, which has stained-glass cartoon dragonflies on it, and in cold weather she can be found wrapped in a vintage RAF greatcoat that fits like it was made for her. Both of Zafira's ears are pierced several times, and she tends to decorate her fingers and wrists with jewelry, from plain polished bands to elaborately-engraved bangles and bracelets. Quite a few are painstakingly-constructed magical foci, though that's really only clear to someone tuned into the supernatural.

History:

Savannah, Georgia, August 2012

"Don't ask me to do this, Zee."

Her voice was soft, her fingers laced together with mine. We looked out over the ocean, and I didn't need to look at Maddy to see the tears. Under other circumstances, tonight was of no particular significance - it wasn't Easter or Halloween or a Solstice - but that's the problem with prophecies. If you get someone mad enough, and powerful enough, to actually bend the universe to their will like that, they tend not to be all that interested in whether or not they're choosing a day with the proper dramatic importance.

"Why is it my choice?" I said, but there was a smile in my voice.

Maddy looked down, "Because I...I know what this means for you." She sniffled, "This all you've ever known. What you were made for, right? Keeping me safe, making sure I got here, and then walking into the new world together, all of that. And...if I walk away, I don't know what that means for you."

I followed her gaze to the thick slab of black glass on the low stone wall in front of us. For decades, it had been nothing more than a curiosity hanging on the wall of her bedroom and tonight, now, it glowed with a redolent, swirling light. Runes and sigils pulsed around the edge of the disk, and in the surging light in the center, I thought I could see faces, or half-glimpsed scenes.

"But if you ask me to," Maddy continued, "I won't. I'll pick up the Mantle. Because for two decades you've fought and bled for me, you've stood up to things I can hardly imagine and run off shitty boyfriends and you've held me when I was lonely and homesick. And if I walk away, I know I'm hurting you, because I'm taking away everything you are." She sniffled again, and I saw the light reflected in the tracks of a tear down Maddy's cheek, falling from the eye she still had.

I squeezed her hand a little harder, "I haven't always been perfect," I said, a wry expression on my lips.

"You look human," Maddy grinned, just a little, "That means you're at least a little bit human. Which means you're a little bit fallible."

I pulled my eyes away from the glass slab, and studied Maddy's face. I brought my free hand up, traced the lines the scars made across her skin along her cheekbone, ragged and pale. Maddy didn't flinch, but her green eye looked into mine. The pain and uncertainty there broke my heart.

"This prophecy's already cost you so much," I said, tracing a thumb over her cheekbone. I blew out a sigh, "I expect I should say something like 'but that's the cost of destiny.'"

Another sad grin, "But it's not just me - you've been paying the price for my destiny, Zee. And I have. And Mom and Dad have, and..." She turned her head away, and I dropped my hand. Maddy looked out over the ocean, carefully not keeping the disk in her view.

"And then what?" She wiped her eye, "You all keep paying forever, because I make a choice? I choose to make you pay that price? What kind of person does that make me? And don't tell me what the prophecy says, I know that by now."

"I'm tired of monsters," she said, "I'm tired of things coming out of my dreams or the woodwork or out of the shadows. I want to go out and catch fireflies without wondering what's going to charge from the darkness. I want Mom to stop praying every day, and I want to get married and have a daughter and tell her that the world's fucked up, but that we can change it."

"By walking away from your chance to do just that?" I asked.

Maddy sighed, and shook her head. "It's not the right way, Zee. It costs too much. It's...wrong."

I hesitated, choosing my words with care, "There are...people who would disagree."

"Yeah, well. I didn't invite any of them tonight. I brought you, Zee." She turned to look at me, and I saw her eye was dry. "It hasn't been much of a life, all these years, knowing what I am. But at least I've had one. You, though, you've had a purpose, and that meant you've always been behind me, bound by my destiny. And I want you to have more than that, Zee. I want you to have a life, I want you to have something more than a sword and bad sleep and wariness and pain on my behalf."

He voice softened, "I want your freedom. But I also know that freedom is terrifying. You have the answers of your life, and for that matter so do I, I just hate them." The ghost of a smile tugged at her lips, "I want your freedom. But I won't force that pain on you." She swallowed, "I...love you, Zee. You're important to me. That's why if you ask me to take up the Mantle, if you ask me to protect everything that's driven you for the last twenty years, I'll do it. If you ask me."

I was struck dumb.

She could lead the world, if she wanted to. I don't mean with the Mantle, though that was what it had been made for. I don't know if she realized it, but she was one of the people that you listen to, whose will bends the universe for them, just a little. She spoke, and for the first time in my life, I felt...doubt; something other than the perfect assurance that had always rung in my mind like a clear and crystal bell.

I looked down at the glass disk again, one hand reaching out almost involuntarily toward its smooth, pulsing surface, but there was nothing for me there. I saw no visions of the future, felt no stirring of grand ambition. It didn't care about me; I wasn't important. That realization came crashing down on me in a wave, and I blinked. I looked back to Maddy, and struggled for what to say. I took in a breath, blew it out, and I couldn't meet her eye.

She was the product of the prophecy, and for that matter, so was I. She was born under the right star, at just the right time, and the power of the prophecy wrapped around her - exactly the way a generation of people had expected. At the same instant, I stepped into the world, fully-formed and whole, ready to stand at her side. Maddy came into the world in a hospital, into a bright and unfamiliar world filled with impossible expectation. I remember stepping out of a shadow in an alley, the first sound in my ears that of a paper wrapper crunching under my boot. From that first instant, I knew that Madison was capital-I Important, because everything that made me said so. That fact had been my foundation, my breath and my blood.

For the last two decades I had been her guardian, and I had known exactly what I was meant to do. That certainty had a delirious perfection to it, a simplicity that narrowed my life to a path where I knew every step I would take. For twenty years, I had help raise Maddy, I had defended her, I had stood in the path of everything that would harm her, because that's what the prophecy said I would do. Because I was the guardian, and Maddy was Important.

An ocean of ink had been spilled about Maddy; it swirled through her life, wrapped her in words and expectations. Mystics, maniacs, family - they had all thought she was Important, too. She, in fact, was the only thing to be so. Everyone else was...extra, ancillary, unnecessary. Maddy was the one who mattered, because of course she did. Her parents weren't important, her teachers weren't important.

I wasn't important.

And of course, I had known that was true. I stepped in the path of some shrieking horror's claws because if I was hurt, it meant Maddy wasn't. I followed her family from one city to another, never really settled, because of course I did.

I wasn't important to the prophecy.

But I was important to Maddy.

And that changed everything.

With an effort, I tore my eyes away from the disk of black glass, and I looked at my ward. I saw the ragged scar that tore down the left side of her face, a permanent marker of the time I'd failed. I saw her fear, and her courage, and her love - and I saw a young woman who deserved more than shackles.

"Do you want pizza?" I asked.

"What?" Maddy said, "Zee-"

I gripped her hand, "Listen to me, all right? Gino's will still be open for another half an hour, and I'm starving. It'll take us fifteen minutes to drive there, but I think they'll forgive us. Sam's a friend."

Maddy looked confused, "Wait, did you hear-"

"I heard you, Maddy. And I'm flattered, and humbled and all of that." I waved my free hand dismissively, "But there's not a question here. You want me to make the choice?"

I unlaced my hands from hers and took a few steps away. I found what I was looking for without much effort, retrieved it, and took stepped back toward Maddy.

"Here you go," I said, and I handed her a heavy, jagged stone the size of a big fist. She took it in her hands, and I stood back.

"You're really sure?" I asked.

Maddy looked at me, then down at the glass disk, then back. She nodded, took a step forward, raised the stone over her head, her body arcing in one of human form's most primitive and simple displays of power. A part of me thought time would slow down or stop, or that something would happen - that a meteor would come streaking out of the atmosphere and knock the stone away - but there was nothing like that. Maddy shifted her weight and her arm came down, cutting through the air like a falling mountain.

When the glass broke, the sound wasn't the tinkle of a window pane or the pop of a bottle. It sounded heavier somehow, more muted. Each fragment fell, still filled with the strange whirling light, each still winking with a rune or some piece of a language I didn't understand. After a moment, the light seemed to run out of the shards, each flicker and mote rising into a small, tight vortex.

"Maddy," I said, "We might want to stand b-"

The lights whirled together then burst, silently, in an expanding ring of multicolored fire. It passed through Maddy and I without any obvious effect, and though I don't know what I expected, neither of us doubled over or burst into flame ourselves. Electric street lights flickered and buzzed when the ring passed, but returned to their normal sodium glow a moment later. After a few dozen yards, the whole thing dissolved, whirling away into motes of glowing glitter.

"Is that it?" Maddy asked. We both took a step forward, looking at the shattered artifact.

"I think so," I said, and nudged a fragment with the tip of my boot. It clinked like obsidian, but did nothing else.

Maddy leaned down and picked up another shard, "What happens now?"

I took a deep, long breath, felt the air swirl in my lungs. It felt clean and new.

"You talked a lot about certainty, about purpose," I said, "You were the Chosen One. I was your guardian angel. But you know what I'm still certain of?" I grinned.

"You still want pizza?" Maddy said, standing. She wrapped the fragment in a handkerchief and tucked it into a pocket.

"I still want pizza," I said, and grinned.

We turned away from the ocean and started walking back the way we'd come, the sound of the water at our backs. I felt...strange, and light, like something had changed but I wasn't entirely sure what. Maybe it was just low blood sugar. But next to me, Maddy stood straight, her shoulders back, and with every step she seemed to unwrap from herself, her arms swinging free at her sides. The city lights sparkled in her eye like reflected stars, and I saw a smile pull at her lips.

We were quiet for the long walk back to the truck, stepping up into our seats with easy comfort. I reached forward, turned the key in the ignition, and the cab jerked the way it always did, the way that I kept meaning to have checked. I turned the lights on, put the transmission into drive, and then paused.

"You know," I said, "I've always wanted to go to France."

Abilities/Skills:

- You're A Wizard, Zee: Zafira has an intimate connection with the currents and movements of magic through the worlds, a result of being conjured from raw magic by Maddy's prophetic destiny. Her command over that power extends largely into the realms of channeling power for defensive magic (shields and wards) along with lightning-flavored evocations. With time and effort, she's also capable of making various enchanted gewgaws, but that process is very time and labor intensive. Though she is considerably skilled in the Art, the more power Zee channels into any particular working, the more physically and mentally taxing it is on her. She is entirely capable of blacking out from this exertion.

- Old-Fashioned Girl: A guardian angel (note the lack of capitals) needs to have a sword, and Zee is no different. But because a weapon you don't know how to use belongs to someone else, she is also a competent close-quarters fighter. She isn't spectacular or effortless, and a dedicated student (especially creatures that have been fencing for several human lifetimes) will outclass her, but she acquits herself well, with or without her weapon. Zee in addition is very well aware of how to maintain and repair the weapon, even to the point of making a new one if necessary.

- Hard to Kill: She isn't stronger than a run of the mill human, and she isn't faster, but Zee is absolutely tougher than it seems like she ought to be. Not that she'll be shrugging off broken bones and bullet wounds, but the machinery of her body is harder to damage than even an exceptional human. She also heals from injuries more quickly, and more completely, than her neighbors, but that's cold comfort when she's still waiting for a broken arm to knit back together.

- I Know Him: The supernatural world is entirely within the sphere of what Zee considers normal. She's never not known there were vampires and angels, or that Bedazzled wasn't an accurate depiction of the denizens of Hell. Her knowledge is not encyclopedic, but it is extensive.

- Training Day: Zee is in remarkable physical condition - and she works for it, too.

- Someone to Watch Over Me: Zee still is a guardian angel, and has found she can attune that to other people at will. That connection becomes more significant with time, but gives her a subconscious awareness of an increasing number of things about the person's life. That includes things like knowing whether someone (or something) wants to hurt them, where they might have left their keys, or whether the family curse is real. She also can take no action to harm that person, and is compelled to actively defend them if they are in genuine danger. Over a long enough span of time (years), fate will ensure she's in a position to help. This connection is voluntary, and Zee can terminate it when she wants to (for example, at the end of an engagement with a client).

- Friends in Low Places: Zee has contacts throughout the supernatural districts of Loom, ranging from passing acquaintances among the Angels to information brokers in the Goblin Market. Some owe her favors. One wants to kill her.

- No Crossroads Involved: One of a very few hobbies Zee has had for most of her life, Zee plays the guitar, and she does it quite well. Most of her repertoire is bluegrass, blues, and old American Country music, though she's always learning something new. She sings too, and very well indeed, and is a regular fixture at coffee shops and restaurants around Loom.

Notable Belongings:

- 221B Rue Boulanger: Zee has a small, cramped, old office on street level in a part of town that's not exactly notorious, but doesn't have the best reputation all the same. There are two signs on the door, one of which is much sillier than the other. Both indicate that if you were looking for someone to help you with the occult, this might be a place to go.

- Fashion Swordward: Swords aren't exactly common fashion in the 21st century, and Zee usually doesn't actually carry hers. Instead, she summons it to her hand with a thought - provided she hasn't been caught in a magic circle, is under the effect of a drug or alcohol, or the ring she's made for this specific purpose isn't sitting on her dresser. The sword itself is similar to a European hand-and-a-half sword with a wire-wrapped hilt, balanced perfectly for her size and build. The entire weapon is adorned with bright silver design work, which is mostly decorative. It can be taken by others (Zee can only dismiss it if she's holding it), destroyed, and damaged, and is not normally a holy weapon.

- Foci: Some of Zee's jewelry are also potent foci for the kind of magic she's most proficient at. This includes charms to make shields easier to project, a complicated bracelet on her right wrist and palm for guiding lightning bolts from her hands, in addition to a pair of earrings that help not leave her concussed and deaf from the thunderclap. She can still do magic without them, but it's much, much more taxing. These objects were specially created by her over a period of weeks or months, and she does not have spares.

- Home Sweet Home: Zee has an apartment in the Residential part of the city. It's small but cozy, with a fireplace. She genuinely loves the place, and has made it a home in every way she knows how. That can be important for creatures with a sensitivity to thresholds...

- Independent Transportation: While she spent most of her life driving trucks on the wide-open streets of the United States, that really isn't an option in an old European city. Zee has long since taken to the motorcycle life, and owns an older but impeccably well-maintained motorcycle, which she uses for almost all of her transportation needs that aren't met by a bus or train.

- Sentimental Value: Zee wears a pendant around her neck on a thin chain, carved from the black glass that contained the Mantle. The pendant itself is carved in the shape of a single stylized angel's wing.