Roman

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

T E N - E I G H T Y
T E N - E I G H T Y

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_{^{"Handsomely charming, charmingly handsome, and the other one."}}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Gilbert 'Gil' Emory Galahad _________________________________________________________ June 13th, 2003 | 25 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | Male | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ Bristol | Bristol | United Kingdom _________________________________________________________ Lynx | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________ ◼ B U I L D || Athletic ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Brunette ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Steel Blue ◼ H E I G H T || 5'10" ◼ W E I G H T || 150lbs ◼ S C A R S || None ◼ T A T T O O S || None ◼ P I E R C I N G S || None ◼ O T H E R || N/A

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Born in Bristol, England, Gil Galahad was raised an only child in a well-to-do household with loving parents who undeniably doted on him a little too much. As the first and only to his extended family, he was lavished attention by his mother, father, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and eagerly soaked up every drop; he became performative at an early age, theatrical, engineering a steady flow of praise and adoration. His parents encouraged this behaviour, pushing him into child dramatics programmes and extra-curricular classes, fostering a latent talent for acting in hopes it would crystallise into success. Ultimately, adolescent narcissism paid off, and after a series of castings in small parts, a young teenaged Gil landed the titular co-lead role in the breakaway hit Romeo & Juliet & Zombies – the surprise of the summer, a throwaway zom-rom-com turned box-office smash hit – and was propelled into Hollywood gliterrati completely. Bristol was left behind for the sparkling hills of LA, his parents seeking to capitalise on his silver-screen triumph and flip their beloved son into Hollywood’s hottest commodity. Success in this endeavour was mixed; the film was beloved and represented a significant payday for the Galahads, but performances in follow-up castings as Gil inevitably transitioned from adolescent heart-throb to adult acting were received with more mixed reviews, and slowly but surely the roles tapered off, and then the worst thing possible happened; Gil discovered he was Hyperhuman. His agent, of a more pragmatic mind than his parents, rapidly changed tact; he knew Hollywood would throw Gil to the gutter, and was determined to get ahead of it. He sourced pro-Hype activist movements and progressive independent channels, pushing Gil’s emergence as a pseudo-‘coming out’ PR puff-piece – and it paid off, landing Gil a central role on the independently-produced Hyperhuman-focused soap opera, Crestwood Hollow. His character’s introduction was well-received by fans of the show, and his storyline – utilizing his powers to portray both sides of a classic (if melodramatic) ‘evil twin’ arc – saw hot-and-cold reactions, but brought his name some recognition again; Gil Galahad was a hot topic in Hyperhuman circles, and he loved being talked about. When the storyline tapered off, and Gil’s character Put On A Bus, he segued into Pro-Hype activism, becoming the face of a new campaign with "Working for Hyperhuman Artists & Thespians", or W.H.A.T., a progressive actor's union fighting for Hyperhuman actors, artists, and performers in general to be accepted into mainstream Hollywood. All of this ultimately lead to PRCU as the pinnacle of PR moves; as a ‘notable’ Hyperhuman for PRCU to tout in their enrolment brochures, and a clear path for Gil to boost his legitimacy, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and Gil began his academic career in September 2027, enrolling in an Acting Major – emphasis in Stage & Screen – and a minor in Sociology, to keep the ‘activist’ image alive. For the most part, Gil’s enjoyed his time at the academy, and he’s welcomed the adoration from devoted fans and co-activists; but for the most part, he’s just ready to get back to Hollywood and break ranks into the A-List once again.

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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ________________________________________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Q U A N T U M R E P L I C A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || EXPULSIVE __POWER SCALE || 02 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Σ Gil is able to store the atomic quantum-entangled ‘memory’ of any object he’s come into physical contact with, and is then able to manipulate matter and HZEs in his immediate vicinity to instantly reproduce a perfect replica of the object, as it was as the point of being ‘stored’. Gil’s most common use of this ability is storing himself, utilising the quantum nature of his power to copy not only his body, but his very consciousness, and produce a sentient, independent clone. L I M I T A T I O N S || Gil’s replications are dependent on available matter, HZEs, and his own energy levels to produce copies, and the size and complexity of the object impacts his ability to replicate; too many copies of too complex an item in quick succession saps Gil’s own strength until he can’t manifest anymore without fatiguing just as fast. Static material objects are easier, but at max current potential he can manage 2 full clones – Gil2 and Gil3 – but feels slightly woozy afterwards; any more just knocks him out. Additionally, Gil can only store a single object at a time, can only store objects he’s made physical contact with, and while he can store and replicate himself at any time, doing so ‘overwrites’ any currently-stored item. Gil’s clones are also bereft of powers themselves, unable to manipulate HZEs in the same way, so they can’t create their own clones – no recursive replication loops. Gil’s clones are able to self-sustain indefinitely, but they require sufficient nourishment to do so – roughly 1.5x the average caloric intake and healthy rest that a standard man of Gil’s size and stature would need. Without any sustenance or sleep, a clone can last 12-16 hours before crumbling, but grows exponentially weaker as time drags on. Finally, Gil can store and copy other people, but due to the complexities of the human psyche, is unable to replicate their consciousnesses like he can his own – so he only produces unsettling, brain-dead versions of their bodies, which understandably upsets everybody and is best avoided. W E A K N E S S E S || Gil’s copies aren’t enhanced in any way, and are only as effective or powerful as the original object is. Gil’s clones are independent copies of his consciousness, and while they’re aware they’re clones, they’re not necessarily automatically subservient to the original Gil. All of Gil’s copies are essentially half-HZE constructs, so anti-hype tech and weaponry that disrupts HZE ions is not only effective at inhibiting Gil’s powers, but also acts like spreading salt on ice against anything he's replicated. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil’s not super invested in PRCU as an academic institution and an opportunity for self-improvement as much as just using it to line him up for some stunt-casted roles in the growing pro-Hyperhuman movement within Hollywood, ultimately seeing the university as the best political move to claw back his waning fame and land in LA’s good graces again. He’s grateful for the place offered to him by the academy, but has taken it somewhat for granted and seen it as an easy ride thus far. Gil’s aware of the Hyperion incident and the controversies surrounding it, and Alexandria’s move to purchase PRCU, but is ultimately of a ‘doesn’t affect me personally so I don’t care’ mentality. Sure, he’s pro-Hype, but his plan is to graduate, break big back into movies again, and never look back. He’s pro-Hype and (carefully) vocal of his activism while it serves a purpose, but he’s also aware that he can pass as ‘normal’ if he needs to drift away from this latest cultivated image. Gil likes the university; he’s pleased to have the chance to graduate with an honest-to-god degree; he’s happy to support a progressive agenda, especially while the agenda favours him; but for Gil, it’s less about scholastic ambition, and more about making the smartest move to get rich and famous again. Will that attitude continue through the completion of his graduating year, or will he ‘go native’ and actually fall in with those he supposedly represents? Separately, I'm seeking to engage in a romantic sub-arc with Gil, finding that special someone that connects with the actual person beneath the LA-bred schmooze and superficial charm, forcing Gil to realise that true fulfilment and interpersonal connection runs deeper than reading a 4-star review from rogerebert.com, or fan-mail off tumblr. Ultimately, he needs someone to save him from both LA and himself, and only then can he grow and develop into a fully-rounded person.

S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ CHARISMA, EMOTIONAL CONTROL || Gil's long been a handsome, charismatic young man, able to charm nearly any audience, winning friends and successfully networking among many crowds. At the same time, he's been able to keep a firm line on himself and his emotions, tailoring his emotive responses to the situation at hand to engineer the best results. It doesn't work for everyone - he's been accused of being 'fake' on more than one occasion - but for the most part, he's well-liked and easily sociable. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ ACTING, VENTRILOQUISM || Performing from a young age, as well as taking classes, extra-curricular electives, and coaching, have helped groom a knack for acting into an honest-to-god skill. He's not oscar-winning, but he's good enough to have been casted and seen some critical success. A side-talent, and one he doesn't upkeep with anywhere near the same kind of concerted effort, is ventriloquism, an old hobby that he started as a lonely only-child, and kept up when he realised he liked the sound of his own voice. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L _________________________________________________________ A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ S M A R T C A S U A L || Ever-ready for a pop-up interview, outside of PRCU uniform Gil likes to maintain a well-groomed wardrobe of suit jackets, stylish shirts, and a mix of slacks and jeans. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ T H E E S S E N T I A L S || Given the nature of his powers, Gil likes to take advantage by keeping a couple of small essentials on his person for day-to-day use: cigarettes, matches, a business card, and a cash clip. Everything you might need to chat, flirt, or bribe your way out of a tricky situation. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B A C K - U P S || With no guarantee that useful items will be readily available when a potentially dangerous situation arises, Gil keeps a couple pragmatic back-up objects on his person in case he needs emergency access to something to copy, specifically for when schmoozing fails and he needs to defend himself - a self-defence folding knife, and a Glock G19 pistol (licensed, of course). Having practiced with both weapons, both in and out of PRCU, they're handy emergency items in a last-resort circumstance. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ N/A - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S

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_{E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?}

Gil knitted his brow, concentrating and looking like God's own prophet descending from Mount Sinai to dispense wisdom. Delivered with a practiced sincerity:
"Open yourself up to what the academy has to offer. There's so much more to learn here than just what your course has to teach you. Really take the time to better yourself, and it'll help you better the world around you as a result."

_{W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?}

Gil broke into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling warmly. He looked like he'd been waiting to answer this question his whole life.
"I just wanted to be a better person, improve myself mentally, philosophically, emotionally - and let myself deliver some better performances for the fans! But as soon as I arrived, I knew this place was truly special, and I'm hoping when I leave I can open some minds to the potential this institution holds for everybody, Hyperhuman or not."

_{I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?}

Gil raised his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair and really taking the time - or appearing to take the time - to consider the full implications of the question. Finally, with a polite, wry smile, he leaned forwards again, pointing a playful finger.
"Open-campus day for the whole world. I think there's a lot of people out there who just don't know any better, and this incredible university has the capacity to show them different. With everything this community has accomplished on Dundas Island, it's the modern Eighth Wonder of the World - they just need to show it off!"

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_{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "It takes more than talent to stay ahead." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	R I P L E Y, A R T H U R ( A R T I E ) || T A L E N T A G E N T R I P L E Y, A R T H U R ( A R T I E ) || T A L E N T A G E N T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil's agent, who landed him his breakout role in Romeo & Juliet & Zombies and has since guided Gil's career with a steady hand and cunning eye. An actor of some success in his own right in younger days, he's stepped to the side-lines in the latter half of his career and brought his talents for PR and social manoeuvring to bear instead, being instrumental in every major beat along Gil's journey through Hollywood so far. While he's certainly not a completely morally-upstanding character, his intentions are well-meaning and ultimately he's just a driven, ambitious man, who's realised the careful direction of others is an easier path to success than triumphing through his own efforts. ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.
▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "There are more important things out there than a good review." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	B A I N E S, E L E N O R A ( E L L E ) || E X C O - S T A R B A I N E S, E L E N O R A ( E L L E ) || E X C O - S T A R _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil's co-star from Romeo & Juliet & Zombies, the titular heroine who delivered a more critically-successful performance than Gil, but didn't flourish under the sudden spotlight as Gil did and ultimately faded from Hollywood, moving back home to Ann Arbour, Michigan. She and Gil kept in touch, though, helped by fond memories of a brief romantic tryst on-set and for a short time afterwards; Elle's down-to-earth, honest approach was the only thing that cut through Gil's superficial schmooze, and he worries that no one else will understand or accept his true nature. She's still willing to lend an ear, take a phone-call, receive some texts, but finds, increasingly, that conversations are less two old friends catching up, and more Gil talking about himself - and she'd rather leave her time in LA behind her, where it belongs.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.
▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Gil's a very talented boy. We're lucky to have him." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	G A L A H A D, A N D R E W || F A T H E R G A L A H A D, A N D R E W || F A T H E R _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil's dad, an accountant working remotely from his Bristol home for a London law-firm, but with a theatrical history of his own - in his younger days he performed in a series of theatre shows across the South of England, and this on-stage confidence is likely where Gil gets his dramatic leanings from. He's proud of Gil's success, especially the ways he's been able to take advantage of his Hyperhuman nature for further opportunities, but does worry that it may still all come crashing down, and Gil's chosen academic path with PRCU doesn't necessarily offer him the fall-back that Andrew himself had with accounting - on either his choice of degree, or his choice of institution. ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.
▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Whatever happens, he'll always be the star of my home." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅	G A L A H A D, R O S E M A R I E || M O T H E R G A L A H A D, R O S E M A R I E || M O T H E R _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil's mum, a kept woman between Andrew's sizeable salary and Gil's generous royalty checks. An intelligent and fierce woman in her own right, she keeps active within her local community and is well-read in Hyperhuman literature following Gil's emergence. There is an amount of restlessness that comes from her circumstances, but she's not ungrateful enough to begin to complain about her position, and is instead thankful to have a loving husband, a talented son, and the freedom to pursue her own passions.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

_{R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T
R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T}

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_{☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠}

▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Sometimes you can be a little too passionate." ☮ FRIENDS ☮ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

R O T H, L O R C Á N || F R I E N D S R O T H, L O R C Á N || F R I E N D S _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ "I like Lorcán; I like his passion, his zeal - he's a true believer. Guy wants to improve everything for everybody and it's hard to deny that kind of ardour for a good cause. But there's an undeniable naivety - and it's not Lorcán's fault - that comes with his kind of upbringing. You grow up in a utopia built specifically for your kind, you develop a blind spot for the real world, and boy-howdy does this guy have one hell of a wake-up-call waiting for him - if he hasn't already started cottoning on."▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

Roman's Scrapbin

Another time:

liquidity (inque)
scrap grafting - biokensis/cyborg combo
Momentum/kineticism
Forcefields
Stretcher
plant/earth form
gas generation

Roman's Scrapbin

MAYBE:

Friction control
Self-duplication imgur.com/a/jI5mC1W
item duplication

Roman's Scrapbin

T E N - E I G H T Y
T E N - E I G H T Y

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_{^{"Handsomely charming, charmingly handsome, and the other one."}}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Gilbert 'Gil' Emory Galahad _________________________________________________________ June 13th, 2003 | 25 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | Male | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ Bristol | Bristol | United Kingdom _________________________________________________________ Lynx | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________ ◼ B U I L D || Athletic ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Brunette ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Steel Blue ◼ H E I G H T || 5'10" ◼ W E I G H T || 150lbs ◼ S C A R S || None ◼ T A T T O O S || None ◼ P I E R C I N G S || None ◼ O T H E R || N/A

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Born in Bristol, England, Gil Galahad was raised an only child in a well-to-do household with loving parents who undeniably doted on him a little too much. As the first and only to his extended family, he was lavished attention by his mother, father, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and eagerly soaked up every drop; he became performative at an early age, theatrical, engineering a steady flow of praise and adoration. His parents encouraged this behaviour, pushing him into child dramatics programmes and extra-curricular classes, fostering a latent talent for acting in hopes it would crystallise into success. Ultimately, adolescent narcissism paid off, and after a series of castings in small parts, a young teenaged Gil landed the titular co-lead role in the breakaway hit Romeo & Juliet & Zombies – the surprise of the summer, a throwaway zom-rom-com turned box-office smash hit – and was propelled into Hollywood gliterrati completely. Bristol was left behind for the sparkling hills of LA, his parents seeking to capitalise on his silver-screen triumph and flip their beloved son into Hollywood’s hottest commodity. Success in this endeavour was mixed; the film was beloved and represented a significant payday for the Galahads, but performances in follow-up castings as Gil inevitably transitioned from adolescent heart-throb to adult acting were received with more mixed reviews, and slowly but surely the roles tapered off, and then the worst thing possible happened; Gil discovered he was Hyperhuman. His agent, of a more pragmatic mind than his parents, rapidly changed tact; he knew Hollywood would throw Gil to the gutter, and was determined to get ahead of it. He sourced pro-Hype activist movements and progressive independent channels, pushing Gil’s emergence as a pseudo-‘coming out’ PR puff-piece – and it paid off, landing Gil a central role on the independently-produced Hyperhuman-focused soap opera, Crestwood Hollow. His character’s introduction was well-received by fans of the show, and his storyline – utilizing his powers to portray both sides of a classic (if melodramatic) ‘evil twin’ arc – saw hot-and-cold reactions, but brought his name some recognition again; Gil Galahad was a hot topic in Hyperhuman circles, and he loved being talked about again. When the storyline tapered off, and Gil’s character Put On A Bus, he segued into Pro-Hype activism, becoming the face of a new campaign for Hyperhuman actors, artists, and performers in general to be accepted into mainstream Hollywood. All of this ultimately lead to PRCU as the pinnacle of PR moves; as a ‘notable’ Hyperhuman for PRCU to tout in their enrolment brochures, and a clear path for Gil to boost his legitimacy, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and Gil began his academic career in September 2027, enrolling in an Acting Major – emphasis in Stage & Screen – and a minor in Sociology, to keep the ‘activist’ image alive. For the most part, Gil’s enjoyed his time at the academy, and he’s welcomed the adoration from devoted fans and co-activists; but for the most part, he’s just ready to get back to Hollywood and break ranks into the A-List once again.

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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ________________________________________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Q U A N T U M R E P L I C A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || EXPULSIVE __POWER SCALE || 02 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Σ Gil is able to store the atomic quantum-entangled ‘memory’ of any object he’s come into physical contact with, and is then able to manipulate matter and HZEs in his immediate vicinity to instantly reproduce a perfect replica of the object, as it was as the point of being ‘stored’. Gil’s most common use of this ability is storing himself, utilising the quantum nature of his power to copy not only his body, but his very consciousness, and produce a sentient, independent clone. L I M I T A T I O N S || Gil’s replications are dependent on available matter, HZEs, and his own energy levels to produce copies, and the size and complexity of the object impacts his ability to replicate; too many copies of too complex an item in quick succession saps Gil’s own strength until he can’t manifest anymore without just as fast. Static material objects are easier, but at max current potential he can manage 2 full clones – Gil2 and Gil3 – but feels slightly woozy afterwards; any more just knocks him out. Additionally, Gil can only store a single object at a time, can only store objects he’s made physical contact with, and while he can store and replicate himself at any time, doing so ‘overwrites’ any currently-stored item. Gil’s clones are also bereft of powers themselves, unable to manipulate HZEs in the same way, so they can’t create their own clones – no recursive replication loops. Gil’s clones are able to self-sustain indefinitely, but they require sufficient nourishment to do so – roughly 1.5x the average caloric intake and healthy rest that a standard man of Gil’s size and stature would need. Without any sustenance or sleep, a clone can last 12-16 hours before crumbling, but grows exponentially weaker as time drags on. Finally, Gil can store and copy other people, but due to the complexities of the human psyche, is unable to replicate their consciousnesses like he can his own – so he only produces unsettling, brain-dead versions of their bodies, which understandably upsets everybody and is best avoided. W E A K N E S S E S || Gil’s copies aren’t enhanced in any way, and are only as effective or powerful as the original object is. Gil’s clones are independent copies of his consciousness, and while they’re aware they’re clones, they’re not necessarily automatically subservient to the original Gil. All of Gil’s copies are essentially half-HZE constructs, so anti-hype tech and weaponry that disrupts HZE ions is not only effective at inhibiting Gil’s powers, but also acts like spreading salt on ice against anything he's replicated. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Gil’s not super invested in PRCU as an academic institution and an opportunity for self-improvement as much as just using it to line him up for some stunt-casted roles in the growing pro-Hyperhuman movement within Hollywood, ultimately seeing the university as the best political move to claw back his waning fame and land in LA’s good graces again. He’s grateful for the place offered to him by the academy, but has taken it somewhat for granted and seen it as an easy ride thus far. Gil’s aware of the Hyperion incident and the controversies surrounding it, and Alexandria’s move to purchase PRCU, but is ultimately of a ‘doesn’t affect me personally so I don’t care’ mentality. Sure, he’s pro-Hype, but his plan is to graduate, break big back into movies again, and never look back. He’s pro-Hype and (carefully) vocal of his activism while it serves a purpose, but he’s also aware that he can pass as ‘normal’ if he needs to drift away from this latest cultivated image. Gil likes the university; he’s pleased to have the chance to graduate with an honest-to-god degree; he’s happy to support a progressive agenda, especially while the agenda favours him; but for Gil, it’s less about scholastic ambition, and more about making the smartest move to get rich and famous again. Will that attitude continue through the completion of his graduating year, or will he ‘go native’ and actually fall in with those he supposedly represents?

S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ CHARISMA, EMOTIONAL CONTROL || Gil's long been a handsome, charismatic young man, able to charm nearly any audience, winning friends and successfully networking among many crowds. At the same time, he's been able to keep a firm line on himself and his emotions, tailoring his emotive responses to the situation at hand to engineer the best results. It doesn't work for everyone - he's been accused of being 'fake' on more than one occasion - but for the most part, he's well-liked and easily sociable. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ ACTING, VENTRILOQUISM || Performing from a young age, as well as taking classes, extra-curricular electives, and coaching, have helped groom a knack for acting into an honest-to-god skill. He's not oscar-winning, but he's good enough to have been casted and seen some critical success. A side-talent, and one he doesn't upkeep with anywhere near the same kind of concerted effort, is ventriloquism, an old hobby that he started as a lonely only-child, and kept up when he realised he liked the sound of his own voice. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L _________________________________________________________ A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ S M A R T C A S U A L || Ever-ready for a pop-up interview, outside of PRCU uniform Gil likes to maintain a well-groomed wardrobe of suit jackets, stylish shirts, and a mix of slacks and jeans. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ T H E E S S E N T I A L S || Given the nature of his powers, Gil likes to take advantage by keeping a couple of small essentials on his person for day-to-day use: cigarettes, matches, a business card, and a cash clip. Everything you might need to chat, flirt, or bribe your way out of a tricky situation. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B A C K - U P S || With no guarantee that useful items will be readily available when a potentially dangerous situation arises, Gil keeps a couple pragmatic back-up objects on his person in case he needs emergency access to something to copy, specifically for when schmoozing fails and he needs to defend himself - a self-defence folding knife, and a Glock G19 pistol (licensed, of course). Having practiced with both weapons, both in and out of PRCU, they're handy emergency items in a last-resort circumstance. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ N/A - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?}

Gil knitted his brow, concentrating and looking like God's own prophet descending from Mount Sinai to dispense wisdom. Delivered with a practiced sincerity:
"Open yourself up to what the academy has to offer. There's so much more to learn here than just what your course has to teach you. Really take the time to better yourself, and it'll help you better the world around you as a result."

_{W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?}

Gil broke into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling warmly. He looked like he'd been waiting to answer this question his whole life.
"I just wanted to be a better person, improve myself mentally, philosophically, emotionally - and let myself deliver some better performances for the fans! But as soon as I arrived, I knew this place was truly special, and I'm hoping when I leave I can open some minds to the potential this institution holds for everybody, Hyperhuman or not."

_{I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?}

Gil raised his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair and really taking the time - or appearing to take the time - to consider the full implications of the question. Finally, with a polite, wry smile, he leaned forwards again, pointing a playful finger.
"Open-campus day for the whole world. I think there's a lot of people out there who just don't know any better, and this incredible university has the capacity to show them different. With everything this community has accomplished on Dundas Island, it's the modern Eighth Wonder of the World - they just need to show it off!"

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Ju-V

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Poe's legs burnt as she continued full-pace down stone hallways, fleeing something she was certain, but had already forgotten what, already sealed that away in sheer unconscious trauma-response. Now she was just running, carried by specific but unknowable fear, and the Finite Passage was more than happy to spool open further paths and corridors in front of her, quick to provide further space to put between her and whatever she had left, distantly, fading, behind her. She rounded corners and bounced off stone, seeding little fruiting bruises that she'd poke and wonder and wince at over the coming days, but all was a blur in favour of just running.

Something sharp pulled at her like catching the thread of your sweatshirt on a thorn and she whirled on the spot; in front of her, where there had been none previously, was an innocuous wooden door, smooth and walnut-brown, with a polished brass handle set above a polite but sturdy keyhole. Poe paused; she looked to her right, down the corridor she'd come from - endless gray, rock curving away to the great black maw at the edge of the world. She looked to her left, up the corridor left before her - faintly, in the distance, she thought she could see wall, but it was impossible to tell if that was an end or simply a corner. She looked back at the door, and found she was already grasping the handle within her white-knuckled fist. Utterly disconnected, she watched herself twist the knob and push through door, trading one corridor for another.

There were things on the other side, and all the mystery of the door's appearance was subsumed by a rapid resurgence of the fear that had been spurring her sprint.

girl in white, feels familiar, clinical, hospital, endless prodding and poking, needles and saws and tests and I'm running but running from what, running from that, can't remember what or why just run run RUN

creature is huge and monstrous and an insect, afraid of bugs afraid of monsters, can't be real lives in the labyrinth wants to trap you wants to destroy you, wants to keep you here to fade away and die be forgotten behind stone walls. run. don't let them close around you. run. run.

small girl is a joke, look how little you are Poe, look how pointless you are Poe, look how insignificant and lost you are Poe, just like a child, like a fairy like an imp, like a little girl who hasn't grown up doesn't know herself doesn't know where she is or where she was or where she's going. keep running. what will you find. you will find nothing. you are nothing. just a little girl, crying in the deep dark.

Poe turned away and ran and she realised, with a terrible deep fear, that the strangers followed. But Poe was fast; this was her mind, her labyrinth, and even if she didn't know it, it knew her and it gave her paths, corners, a great winding circuit to lose her pursuers but by the grace of god they were fast and they were cunning - and Poe wasn't sure they were real; and if they weren't, then they were her too, as much as the labyrinth was, and she'd never lose them. How do you run through yourself, from yourself?

Panic climbed in Poe in a recursive pattern, feeding into itself to amplify the terror, and she could feel her vision fading as the adrenaline and hyperventilation and sheer emotional overload threatened to blot her out completely; finally, mercifully, the Finite Passage threw her a bone: another door, picked for no discernible reason, and she crashed through it like a girl with no other options. The last things through her mind before she passed out completely were the small girl holding the door behind her and noticing she had wings, and the realization that the other side of the door lead not to more endless stone corridors, but to a bright, well-lit rec-room.

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Poe had had little time since coming back around following her - and her apparent compatriots' - latest impromptu trip through the Finite Passage, but she'd been caught up on the basics during her escort from the facility's infirmary to her erstwhile living quarters, a practical but comfortable two-person dorm room, surprisingly well-equipped despite the obvious unexpected nature of her arrival. They'd tumbled out of the labyrinth into San Francisco, specifically the AEGIS junior facility built from the once-crumbling walls of Alcatraz penitentiary itself. Said facility had, that same day, welcomed a new set of 'attendees', who'd apparently already managed to cause their fair share of dramatics during their still short-lived tenure; the arrival of Poe and the others was just the feather in the proverbial cap, and administration at that point had decided they'd quite had enough and quickly enforced a curfew, remanding everyone back to their dorms.

With where they were solved, the next obvious question was where they'd come from. Poe had low expectations here, given her addled state of mind, but AEGIS had surprised her here, too; facial tracking and recognition worked quick these days it seemed, and the cameras spread across Alcatraz had flagged her to the as-yet-elusive Director mere minutes after she crashed to the floor in the rec-room. Poe Navidson, in one minute held at another AEGIS facility based in Washington, the next tumbling out of the air on the other side of the continent. They'd reached out to her previous facility with an urgency that usual bureaucratic belligerence could neither stifle nor deny, and determined her identity, the length and circumstances of her stay, and a basic rundown of what was understood of her nature; everything else would be issued soon, once collated and encrypted. Apparently, there was a sizeable file dating back many years on the young Ms. Navidson, and she was something of a unique case. Even more peculiar, two of the other arrivals - Quinn and Kaiden - were due to be welcomed at the same facility that very day. What bearing this had on their inclusion in Poe's journey wasn't bothered to be speculated on.

It was with a sense of great relief, though this would not be revealed to Poe herself, that her accidental extrication from one AEGIS complex had resulted in her internment at another.

Now, all Poe wanted to do was fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and she had been assured that the the remaining doses circulating her system would allow her to do so with little difficulty; however, little difficulty was, at this present time, proving to be ironically prophetic. Quinn, her erstwhile roommate, was making a shocking amount of noise for one so unassuming in stature. Poe just curled up in her bunk, burying her face in her knees and pressing her forehead against the cool concrete wall, trying to block out the world around her and fall asleep.

"FUCK!" Quinn yelled, startling Poe and rattling her already-shaken mind. She looked over her shoulder, only to see the be-winged girl pointing at her, one aggressive and accusatory finger stretching in her direction. "It was you, wasn't it? With all that labyrinth bullshit! Come on now; conjure up one of those doors so I can get the hell out of here!"

Poe began to cry. She didn't know why she was here; she didn't know why she'd left the last place, didn't know if it was on purpose or by accident, if it was her choice or theirs, if it was the labyrinth's choice. And now, here she was, in a place she neither knew nor understood nor desired, trapped again with someone blaming and yelling, asking not only the impossible of her but the unfathomably terrifying. Go back into the labyrinth? Poe wished, every second with every fibre, that the labyrinth had never even existed - and this girl, this stranger, demanded of her to simply open it up - open herself up - and let her walk its paths in search of non-specific 'out'. For all Poe knew, the labyrinth was 'out', and that thought was more horrifying than any other.

"I can't." She answered, her voice smooth and calm and low, despite the steady stream of tears from her eyes as she sat up, turning around to face Quinn and her accusing finger. "It's not a place. It's not conjured. We didn't get here through a labyrinth. We got here through me, through my head! And I... I just want to sleep. Just for a bit." She faltered, unable to project strength any longer. "_{Please... I can't go back in there...}".

Roman's Scrapbin

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Poe's legs burnt as she continued full-pace down stone hallways, fleeing something she was certain, but had already forgotten what, already sealed that away in sheer unconscious trauma-response. Now she was just running, carried by specific but unknowable fear, and the Finite Passage was more than happy to spool open further paths and corridors in front of her, quick to provide further space to put between her and whatever she had left, distantly, fading, behind her. She rounded corners and bounced off stone, seeding little fruiting bruises that she'd poke and wonder and wince at over the coming days, but all was a blur in favour of just running.

Something sharp pulled at her like catching the thread of your sweatshirt on a thorn and she whirled on the spot; in front of her, where there had been none previously, was an innocuous wooden door, smooth and walnut-brown, with a polished brass handle set above a polite but sturdy keyhole. Poe paused; she looked to her right, down the corridor she'd come from - endless gray, rock curving away to the great black maw at the edge of the world. She looked to her left, up the corridor left before her - faintly, in the distance, she thought she could see wall, but it was impossible to tell if that was an end or simply a corner. She looked back at the door, and found she was already grasping the handle within her white-knuckled fist. Utterly disconnected, she watched herself twist the knob and push through door, trading one corridor for another.

There were things on the other side, and all the mystery of the door's appearance was subsumed by a rapid resurgence of the fear that had been spurring her sprint.

girl in white, feels familiar, clinical, hospital, endless prodding and poking, needles and saws and tests and I'm running but running from what, running from that, can't remember what or why just run run RUN

creature is huge and monstrous and an insect, afraid of bugs afraid of monsters, can't be real lives in the labyrinth wants to trap you wants to destroy you, wants to keep you here to fade away and die be forgotten behind stone walls. run. don't let them close around you. run. run.

small girl is a joke, look how little you are Poe, look how pointless you are Poe, look how insignificant and lost you are Poe, just like a child, like a fairy like an imp, like a little girl who hasn't grown up doesn't know herself doesn't know where she is or where she was or where she's going. keep running. what will you find. you will find nothing. you are nothing. just a little girl, crying in the deep dark.

Poe turned away and ran and she realised, with a terrible deep fear, that the strangers followed. But Poe was fast; this was her mind, her labyrinth, and even if she didn't know it, it knew her and it gave her paths, corners, a great winding circuit to lose her pursuers but by the grace of god they were fast and they were cunning - and Poe wasn't sure they were real; and if they weren't, then they were her too, as much as the labyrinth was, and she'd never lose them. How do you run through yourself, from yourself?

Panic climbed in Poe in a recursive pattern, feeding into itself to amplify the terror, and she could feel her vision fading as the adrenaline and hyperventilation and sheer emotional overload threatened to blot her out completely; finally, mercifully, the Finite Passage threw her a bone: another door, picked for no discernible reason, and she crashed through it like a girl with no other options. The last things through her mind before she passed out completely were the small girl holding the door behind her and noticing she had wings, and the realization that the other side of the door lead not to more endless stone corridors, but to a bright, well-lit rec-room.

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Poe had had little time since coming back around following her - and her apparent compatriots' - latest impromptu trip through the Finite Passage, but she'd been caught up on the basics during her escort from the facility's infirmary to her erstwhile living quarters, a practical but comfortable two-person dorm room, surprisingly well-equipped despite the obvious unexpected nature of her arrival. They'd tumbled out of the labyrinth into San Francisco, specifically the AEGIS junior facility built from the once-crumbling walls of Alcatraz penitentiary itself. Said facility had, that same day, welcomed a new set of 'attendees', who'd apparently already managed to cause their fair share of dramatics during their still short-lived tenure; the arrival of Poe and the others was just the feather in the proverbial cap, and administration at that point had decided they'd quite had enough and quickly enforced a curfew, remanding everyone back to their dorms.

With where they were solved, the next obvious question was where they'd come from. Poe had low expectations here, given her addled state of mind, but AEGIS had surprised her here, too; facial tracking and recognition worked quick these days it seemed, and the cameras spread across Alcatraz had flagged her to the as-yet-elusive Director mere minutes after she crashed to the floor in the rec-room. Poe Navidson, in one minute held at another AEGIS facility based in Washington, the next tumbling out of the air on the other side of the continent. They'd reached out to her previous facility with an urgency that usual bureaucratic belligerence could neither stifle nor deny, and determined her identity, the length and circumstances of her stay, and a basic rundown of what was understood of her nature; everything else would be issued soon, once collated and encrypted. Apparently, there was a sizeable file dating back many years on the young Ms. Navidson, and she was something of a unique case. Even more peculiar, two of the other arrivals - Quinn and Kaiden - were due to be welcomed at the same facility that very day. What bearing this had on their inclusion in Poe's journey wasn't bothered to be speculated on.

It was with a sense of great relief, though this would not be revealed to Poe herself, that her accidental extrication from one AEGIS complex had resulted in her internment at another.

Now, all Poe wanted to do was fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, and she had been assured that the the remaining doses circulating her system would allow her to do so with little difficulty; however, little difficulty was, at this present time, proving to be ironically prophetic. Quinn, her erstwhile roommate, was making a shocking amount of noise for one so unassuming in stature. Poe just curled up in her bunk, burying her face in her knees and pressing her forehead against the cool concrete wall, trying to block out the world around her and fall asleep.

"FUCK!" Quinn yelled, startling Poe and rattling her already-shaken mind. She looked over her shoulder, only to see the be-winged girl pointing at her, one aggressive and accusatory finger stretching in her direction. "It was you, wasn't it? With all that labyrinth bullshit! Come on now; conjure up one of those doors so I can get the hell out of here!"

Poe began to cry. She didn't know why she was here; she didn't know why she'd left the last place, didn't know if it was on purpose or by accident, if it was her choice or theirs, if it was the labyrinth's choice. And now, here she was, in a place she neither knew nor understood nor desired, trapped again with someone blaming and yelling, asking not only the impossible of her but the unfathomably terrifying. Go back into the labyrinth? Poe wished, every second with every fibre, that the labyrinth had never even existed - and this girl, this stranger, demanded of her to simply open it up - open herself up - and let her walk its paths in search of non-specific 'out'. For all Poe knew, the labyrinth was 'out', and that thought was more horrifying than any other.

"I can't." She answered, her voice smooth and calm and low, despite the steady stream of tears from her eyes as she sat up, turning around to face Quinn and her accusing finger. "It's not a place. It's not conjured. We didn't get here through a labyrinth. We got here through me, through my head! And I... I just want to sleep. Just for a bit." She faltered, unable to project strength any longer. "_{Please... I can't go back in there...}".

Roman's Scrapbin

Poe running away from the suited/lab-coated people in the labyrinth, endless corridors etc etc

crashes through the door ahead of the group as seen in collab post - mistakes Tachyon's white clothes for more lab-wear, scared of Mothman convinced it's a nightmare conjured up by the labyrinth, 'supported' by how odd it is to see Quinn as well at all of 11-inches-high, runs from them in fear. they chase, poe's getting more wound up, door manifests and she just takes it out of sheer panic - they end up following. entire crew crashes through into alcatraz ju-v.

time skip, cut to poe in the room, trying to figure out what's going on and handle this most recent development. she's already forgotten the other aegis officials she locked away, can't remember where she's come from or why, just knows she's here through the labyrinth (again). quinn shouts and winds her up, ultimately she snaps and yells back in tears.

Roman's Scrapbin

do some research on the fae

Roman's Scrapbin

_{#1.05: TBC}

Earth-93913003, Gotham City

---

GCPD Detective Arnold Flass leaned against the roof of his car as a cigarette hung from his mouth, trailing smoke up into the night air in front of his five'o'clock-shadow face. He ran a hand through his hair, greased and pressed back, and then took a drag from the cig. His eyes, muddy and narrowed, never wavered. There, across the empty and weed-ridden forecourt of the abandoned Gotham Bay meat packing plant, was the reason for his un-scheduled arrival here tonight: a busted-open door, hanging loosely on its hinges, the chain meant to secure it instead broken, warped, and discarded on the concrete ground in the entryway.

---

Flass getting out of car at meat packing plant to investigate - silent alarm has been tripped, Flass is on duty so sent by Cranston to check it out. Place should be closed for the night and is used for their drug ring operation so who's breaking in? Flass has an idea, but doesn't want to entertain it. Stubs his cigarette out and heads on in, pistol drawn.

Encounters the Bat. Ambush, scuffle, Flass actually manages to fight back, eventually overpowered and knocked out. Wakes up restrained and hooked onto the carcass conveyor; the Bat interrogates.

---

Roman's Scrapbin

Det. Arnold Flass
Ring of narcotic detectives who run a drug supply
Leader of ring (Lieutenant Bill Cranston) collects the supply and passes on to detectives to then supply a list of authorised dealers.
Dealers not on the list are busted by narc squad.
List comes from ‘The Penguin’ but no one’s actually met him or knows who he actually is.
Lead of narc squad resupplies every third Thursday during a night shift.

Ambushes Flass but Flass actually manages to fight back
Scuffle, Flass get knocked out. Wakes up in an abandoned abbatoir/meat-packing plant - one that the narc unit previously raided as drugs were being shipped inside carcasses. shut down the operation (as a 'win' for GCPD and some raises/awards for the narc unit) and then took it over for the Penguin.

‘Please god don’t kill me’
‘You’re praying to the wrong person’

Some Oswald stuff, some GCPD stuff with Jimmy and Harvey
‘I quit smoking’
‘You looked daft, Gotham only city where quitting hurts your life expectancy’

Flass brought before Penguin for blabbing.
Bird puns. ‘Squawking’, ‘canary’, ‘stool pigeon’ etc.