Zoey Boey

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Pandora had long since stopped making eye contact with the young agent, instead focusing the varnish of the wooden counter she was standing behind. When Christina stopped talking and asked a question, the orange-eyed woman blinked and looked up at the agent, seeming mildly surprised. "Oh, I get a turn to talk, too?" She asked, feigning incredulousness, like she had come out of some boredom induced stupor. Truth be told, she had listened intently to every single word, and had come to the conclusion she disliked Christina Lavender strongly.

She was the fifth of her kind to come her way, trying to wrangle Pandora out of retirement, using some tactic or plan or whatever. They assumed that just because she was still in fighting shape that her retirement was somehow immoral, undeserved, something to be rectified. It was drilled into these people that humans are only deserving of a rest once they have no more to give, and since Pandora had more to give, she wasn't deserving of a rest. They wouldn't be happy until Pandora sacrificed herself in some sort of grand redemptive gesture. The best way for people like Christina to die was young, beautiful, and optimistic. With a little look of shock on their face because they never imagined it could actually happen to them:, not after all they had done, no! Otherwise, they would live long enough to either become bitter, or fool themselves into thinking they had actually given the children they never got to raise a better world to grow up in.

But she didn't want to waste her time or her breathe expositing all of this to this tragically self-righteous young woman, since it would most likely go over her head. It would most likely be interpreted as petty insults to be brushed away with a dismissive, forced grin rather than anything to actually consider. Her servitude to the system was such that she could't even comprehend the idea that Pandora's self-chosen name was legitimate.

Christina was right, in that Pandora did want to join HERO. The last light of her life had spent some of her last moments imploring Pandora to take up her old torch. Mary Silverstone had made a promise that she intended to keep. The only reason she was joining was because of what she owed. HERO could have sent a letter or left her a voicemail and she would have joined all the same. But Pandora's apathy was such that she wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to go plunging headfirst back into hero work. Even on the back of a promise.

So for Christina to come in here with self-satisfied threats of ICOSA involvement, or attempting to shame her for her alleged "lesser actions", was annoying. Annoying in the way a fly is, when it has the arrogance to land on your food the fifth time after shooing it away. At some point, one just wants to destroy it, if only to punish it for is hubris.

And truth be told if this was the 90's, this kind of disrespect would make Pandora stick a finger in Christina's forehead and lower her IQ by 20 points. But now, that would go against her goal of joining these people. So she held back on the flyswatter, for now.

It was just the fact that Christina would assume her little speech there would be the reason behind getting Pandora to join was...annoying. Christina was annoying. Her organization, HERO, was annoying. The systems and people HERO was inplace to protect was, and you're not going to believe this: annoying. Unfortunately, they had set themselves up to be the only avenue of putting her abilities to good use. They had thoroughly squashed reasons like "being kind to one another" and "making the world a better place" and replaced them with "money" and "protection from the legal consequences of misconduct." Superheroing was a career opportunity. Blegh. Pandora was confident she had gotten a read as to the type of person Christina was, and it was one of her least favorite.

All of these demeaning thoughts, though, would result only in an unimpressed facial expression. Pandora spoke only a moment after asking her mocking question. "Yes. I'm in. You could have just asked nicely, and we would be halfway to HERO One by now. But then I suppose, you wouldn't get to feel like a big girl." She mocked Christina with a faux-sympathetic childish pout, tilting her head to the side. It was not good natured teasing. Pandora had decided already that she would never, ever, like Christina.

Not waiting for a response, the florist spoke:"I beg your pardon." Pandora floated silently from her standing position and through the ceiling. She had the intention of travelling to her bedroom.

There, sitting by the windowsill, was a proud red rose in a vase. The redhead did something she rarely did- genuinely smile- as she gently ran her fingers over it's bold crimson petals. "Apologies for the delay, sweetheart." She murmered softly under her breath to the flower. Carefully she removed it from the vase and tucked the green stem behind her ear and intertwined it with her hair, using her red strands as an impossible bobby pin to keep it in place. Then, she took off her green apron and lay it on the bed.

Phasing back downstairs, Pandora was no longer in her uniform and had the big red rose on the left side of her hair. Everything else, the short jeans, grey crop top, and overall buffness, had not changed. The lavender flower that used to be a HERO business card had fallen out of her jean pocket and onto the floor. Now the florist looked at Christina expectantly, wondering if they were going to head right to registration or if there was yet more displays of her 'power' she had in mind. Pandora would have to close up shop.

World of Light

Kasugano Sakura

Level 2: 3/20
Location: In Lumbridge, collaboration with Lugubrious
Word Count: 3,062
Points Gained: 3
New EXP Balance--- Level 2: 6/20

For one of the few people in the whole town devoid of Galeem’s influence, Michael did not look comfortable. The expression on his face suggested that he didn’t expect in a million years to be addressed by either Curly or Sakura, and in a billion years to want to answer back. Now that the girl could get a closer look at him, ‘gentleman’ was a more polite than accurate way to think of him. His clothing was quality, but neither up to date in terms of fashion nor well maintained. His stubble, his hairline, and general manner all spoke to a former big timer grown old and fallen on harder times, which a jaunt through the World of Light probably didn’t help. The way he tended to avoid people’s eyes suggested a reluctance -or inability- to come to terms with all of the weirdness that surrounded him, and a desire to keep it at length.

Still, when Sakura spoke to him, he got her meaning quickly enough. Glancing around, he scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Should be fine. The people just behave like themselves, as far as I can tell. Just don’t start any fights, ‘cause they sure as hell don’t back down from a fight, no matter who they are.” He went quiet and looked over at the pig merchants, making it clear that the burden of continuing the conversation lay on Sakura’s shoulders.

Sakura nodded, relaxing a little bit. Still a bit uncomfortable, but this person definitely seemed like someone she would pass in the street. Or at least give her weird looks when she was practicing her moves in public. "Okay, then, well...pleased to meet you!" She said, doing a polite little bow.

Sakura decided to just ask the big question first. "Is there any way to get things back to normal? Mister…?" She trailed off, giving the man a little room to answer her question and then fill in the blank with his own name.

“Uh, Michael de Santa,” the man replied, recognizing the prompt. In remarkable alignment with Sakura’s thoughts, he’d given her a brief but still visible look when she bowed. Evidently the gesture featured neither in his culture nor any he was familiar with. “And yeah, this guy called the…’Master of Masters’.” Michael recited the name as if it was ridiculous, which it was. “He told us when we arrived here that if we beat the champions of that angel ball thing, we can fight it directly. Once it goes down, things should go back to normal.” Now that he said it out loud, he didn’t know if he exactly believed it, either. At least in this world, though, it seemed like anything could happen.

A racket drew his gaze. Some ways down the town’s road, another pair of wooden carts pulled by cats approached the guild hall from the same direction as the bridge Sakura crossed earlier. A blonde teenage boy rested on both, one in blue and the other in red. At least one of them Michael recognized, and he pulled in a breath through closed teeth.

Sakura had listened excitedly, now that Mr. Michael de Santa had actually outlined a plan. Defeat the champions, then beat the final boss. It was like one of those video games her little brother played!

Sakura was about to ask another question when he turned to look at something. Her big brown eyes followed his gaze and she saw the carts. Being pulled by cats, again.

"What’s wrong? Are those good cats or bad cats?" She asked, looking back and forth between Michael and the strange sight. But Sakura had seen weird stuff in her time, so she was already becoming acclimated to this entirely new level of weirdness. Right now it was just inexperience and still some shock that was keeping her a little detached. Like some part of her was still holding onto the idea that this might just be a very vivid dream.

Michael shook his head. “I dunno about the cats, other than there’s a bunch of ‘em in this town here and they seem okay. But one of those kids went out with the others to take out the boss of this region this morning.” He frowned, his forehead creased with concern. “Must have gotten hurt. But it doesn’t make sense. There’s this...robot lady who was with them who can heal anything. And they went out in a monster truck. They must have been hauling him a long time.”

Sakura looked at the cats and the people they carried, and then back to Michael. Overall her head seemed to be going on a bit of a cycle. After a moment she raised a finger in the air, and then pointed it the cats. "Oh! I know. I saw them poof." She made a little poofing motion with her hand. She remembered them appearing on the outskirts of town with a robot. At the time she hadn’t thought much of it because at the time her brain decided to just skim over the bizarre occurrence.

"I dunno what I thought it was but, maybe those cats can teleport? I know like, three people who can teleport. Never any cats before, though. But I guess anything is at the table now." Sakura said with a shrug. She also noted him saying something about a robot lady and a monster truck, and a boss.

"So there are people trying to get things back to normal, though? Do you know when they’ll be back?"

An embarrassed look fought for control of Michael’s face. “Uh...yeah. The team I’m with. A bunch of us met over in another region, and then more came along as we went. I...well, me and Franklin, we...had some other stuff to do, but the others went across the plains this morning.” Regret tinged Michael’s voice. “I’ve got no idea when they’ll get back. They might just keep going in that direction when they finish. If, I mean. Last time we fought a boss, well...a couple of us didn’t make it. But I’m sure they’ll be fine. This time.”

As Michael spoke, Sakura glanced over her shoulder at Curly. Maybe she was being a bit presumptive, but from the way Michael spoke it sounded like he was one of the ‘amazing adventurers’. That’ll show her for judging a book by it’s cover! She assumed he was some American guy who lived in a big house in California and did nothing all day long, but it turned out he was actually an adventurer! What didn’t sound quite as good, though, was his mention of people not making it. He looked worried about them.

"Oh, well... You guys are pretty strong, huh? Do you think I could join? I could help!" She asked, preemptively adding on a bit of defence on her part since most a lot of people somehow got the impression that she wasn’t actually that good at fighting just from looking at her. Even if it was really dangerous, these people were the first path she had come across. If there was a fight to be fought she couldn’t just sit on the sidelines the whole time and do nothing. Maybe they could find her family along the way, too, if they travel great distances.

Michael nodded. “The others are strong, I’m just good with a rifle. But yeah, I’m sure they’d be glad to have you. I bet you have crazy powers or something, huh?” He only guessed, but by now he felt pretty confident in such guesses. In this world, anyone who didn’t fade into the background for sure had some kind of special ability. Normal people getting by with just their skills and some guns were a rare find. In a way it made him feel special, but the damage he’d done to his enemies so far had been with borrowed power. Michael the man was just a man who’d lost his edge. Trying not to feel inadequate, he told Sakura, “If you want to join the team, you’ll have a tough time catching up to them. They drove. There’s these Sesame Street-looking birds here that the people here ride called Chocolates...or something, but you’d need a car. Unless you can fly. It’s a big world. The kid who got sent back might be more helpful to ya.”

Above Michael’s head, off in the pristine blue sky, a wandering eye might catch sight of something out of place. It looked like a bird at first glance, but the shape wasn’t quite right. And with almost imperceptible slowness, it was getting bigger.

Sakura nodded along, her smile growing a little bit. She did have some pretty crazy powers! As he spoke though, she wondered how she was going to find these people. Let alone catch up to them. Still, it seemed like some of the travelling adventurers had returned somehow, so she could probably find out from them. Maybe finding a Chocolate bird would help?

Sakura chuckled a little bit."No, I can’t fly. Not yet, anyway!" She said jokingly, raising an eyebrow knowingly. "Well, thank you so much, Mr. de Santa. You..." She narrowed her eyes as she caught sight of the thing as it got bigger. "Do you see that?" She asked with a squint, pointing above his head at the encroaching shape.

What the girl said seemed like a joke, but Michael found himself half-believing it anyways. He didn’t get much time to think about it, though, as she seemed to spot something behind him. Desperately hoping he wasn’t falling for the oldest trick in the book and about to get punked, he looked over his shoulder. When he followed Sakura’s finger he saw that she wasn’t him for a fool. “Huh, yeah. What is that?” He narrowed his eyes, determining that whatever it was seemed to be getting closer. “Some kind of eagle maybe. Or a-”

“DRAGON!” Came a full-throated yell from one of the Lumbridge watch towers. The sentry waved for the villagers’ attention, pointing at the thing in the sky. “It’s a doggone fire-breather, dangit! Someone git over t’the guild hall ‘n holler at the adventurers! This ain’t a prank, folks!” A chorus of chatter and outcries rose in response, with a few of the townspeople making a beeline down the road for the castle situated there. The adventurers already out and about took to their heels, rushing to gather and equip their gear while heading toward battle positions. All the while the dragon got closer, descending straight for the town.

Sakura had startled, reeling back from the fact that she and everyone in town was about to be attacked by a dragon. Everyone was taking up their battle stations!

Oh, my gosh! Should I fight? I should fight, right? I should help! I’ve never fought a dragon before! Sakura looked around, whirling to try and find the right place to be. Eventually she tried to find Curly with her eyes and follow her, or failing that, look back to Michael for help. ”What should we do!?” She shouted, looking ready to zip off in any direction at any moment.

Everything was happening too fast. Pigs were panicking. Curly had already disappeared, having forgotten all about her new acquaintance out of panic for the townpeople’s safety. Adventures were pouring and stumbling out of the guild hall. But it was too late. The dragon hit the ground a little way from the town’s edge and slid for a short way. After coming to a stop, it sat back on its haunches and looked over the assembled people. Sakura narrowed her eyes and de-tensed a little bit. Not what she expected.

“Hello!” She exclaimed in a loud but distinctly feminine voice. “Sorry to disturb you folks, but have any of you seen my dear, sweet prince? Just a few moments ago I received this awful sensation, like something terrible happened to him…”

Sakura smiled, a little embarrassed for getting so worked up over nothing. The blonde-haired boy Sakura saw earlier stepped out from the baffled ranks of adventurers. He looked less confused, more embarrassed. “Mym?”

The dragon’s face lit up with joy. “Darliiiiiiiiiiing!” Power welled up within her and her body was consumed by flame. It blazed for a brief period before beginning to shrink, growing smaller and smaller. After a second it condensed into a beautiful woman in regal garb, bearing horns and a tail very much like the dragon who sat there a moment before. Without hesitation she launched forward onto her feet and sauntered straight to the prince, her tail swishing behind her. Before he could object he disappeared into an overaffectionate hug. “Oh, darling! For a moment I thought something bad happened to you, but here you are, safe and sound. As if the flames of our love could die!”

Euden worked to extricate himself. He tried to say something, but another boy beat him to it. “Euden, you didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!” he ribbed him good-naturedly. His tease helped break the tension filling the scene, turning pent-up apprehension into relief as people realized that they weren’t due for a dragon fight after all.

”Don’t we feel stupid now, huh?” She said aloud to everyone nearby rubbing the back of her head. ”It was a nice dragon lady the whole time!” Sakura stated the obvious, shaking her head with a grin on her face. She felt rude, but it seemed like the dragon lady didn’t care much.

After a moment, Sakura realised she would probably have to go talk to that boy named Euden since Michael had indicated him as a member of the adventuring team. So she slowly made her way closer to the conversation, kicking at dirt with her sneakers and trying to subtly detect if the dragon lady or the two boys had creepy red eyes or normal eyes. Or normal creepy red eyes. When she got close enough, she could see without much trouble that the older boy and the horned woman both had Galeem’s red eyes, but those of Euden -as his friend called him- were blue.

As Sakura closed the distance, she looked over at Euden. Trying not to interrupt- but also, really wanting to talk to Euden- she spoke up. Here goes nothing!

”Uh, hey, hello. My name is Sakura, and I heard you were an adventurer?” She asked, her voice trending upward in pitch as it turned from a statement into a question. She made eye contact with Euden, and then brought her finger up to her cheek and pulled on the skin to emphasise her natural eye color. She did that a couple times, leaning towards Euden.

The crowd was starting to thin, its members going off to resume their own business since what was going on between the prince and the dragon was clearly none of theirs. For his part, Euden blinked at Sakura repeatedly, his expression quizzical. It took him a few moments to understand. “Oh! You’re also…?”

He put that on hold a moment to try and push his admirer off him, “Mym, please! Not in front of everyone!”

“Oh, of course, dear!” She hopped backward, clasping her hands together. “I will happily save all my love for when everyone’s gone.”

“Thank you,” Euden breathed. He turned to Sakura, sheepish. “Pardon us. I’m Euden, and this is Mym. She’s a friend I haven’t seen in a while.” The shapeshifter waved, winking as though saying the prince surely didn’t mean just ‘friend’. “I’d love to chat, but my friends are in danger. They’re fighting the zone boss right now, and I need to hurry back.”

Mym brightened up. “Do you need to go somewhere, darling? I would be overjoyed to carry you!”

Sakura also brightened up, glancing at the dragon lady, Mym, and Euden, her friend. ”Oh, wow, you know that’s perfect because I- I want to come with you! I’m a fighter! I want to help turn everything back to normal, so could I come with, please? Euden?” Sakura asked excitedly, stumbling over her words a little bit. Truth be told she probably needed to do a bit of preparation, like going back to her room and grabbing her student bag. But if he was in a hurry because his friends were in danger, then this was her only chance. No way he would wait just so she could get a water bottle if lives were on the line. Sakura took more steps forward as she talked. ”Uh, Mym, too? Could I come with you guys please?”

Mym crossed her arms, looking put out. "I only wanted to carry my darling! To allow a human rider is a very serious act for a dragon. An intimate one, even!"

Euden have her a plaintive look. "Couldn't you make an exception? She can help us. We can't just leave her behind to walk the whole way."

Putting a hand against her cheek, Mym sighed. "Oh, dear...if you ask me like that, I just can't say 'no.'"

"Thank you, Mym." Grateful, Euden looked between the two women. "Let's get going."

After reaching a safe distance Mym transformed again. Almost tenderly she allowed Euden to climb aboard and take hold of her neck. When Sakura approached, however, Mym reared up and held out her clawed hand. "I'll carry you," she explained. "And don't worry, I'll be careful not to hurt you."

This was the first time Sakura had ever been talked to by a dragon. She felt like she was in a fairy tale or something. She looked a little apprehensive at first, looking at the clawed hand. Still, if riding on her back was offensive, it really was the least she could do.

Not like I’m afraid of heights or anything… Sakura reassured herself.

Sakura did another grateful little bow.”Thank you, Miss Mym.” She said, swallowing and letting herself get picked up.

Sakura was bad at lying though. Or concealing her true feelings. ”Just don’t drop me, please? I care about that more than I do about getting poked a little bit.” She added with a little bit of nervous laughter.

"You are welcome, and please rest easy," Mym assured her. "A dragon always appreciates someone with manners." Once her passengers were as ready as could be, she put her powerful wings to work and took to the sky.

Teen Titans: New Beginnings

I will post. I think I kinda forgot to post because I had to hold off and then kinda forgot and i dunnoooo? I will post tomorrow

《 H. E. R. O. 》

The shop was unresponsive. There was an air conditioner whirring, and a gramophone playing old songs.

...

Suddenly, the card twirling between her fingers was sucked out of her hand and behind her, by a sharp, silent gust of wind. Upon turning around Christina would find it flew precicely into the grip of one Jane Smith, one Pandora, one 'Mary Madison'. Looking particularly unamused by Christina's attitude and presence in her shop. Pandora's orange eyes flicked to the card.

"Christina Lavender, hmm?" Pandora asked rhetorically, giving the HERO agent a once over. She squeezed the plastic card in her hand, and then released it, the card having turned into a lavender flower, with it's vertically oriented tiny lavender petals. It, like the card she had altered, was made of plastic. Pandora held the flower in her hands and rolled it between her fingers.

Pandora walked around the other side of her counter. It seemed that inbetween the time Christina had announced her presence and her intentions, and the time that Pandora had silently crept up behind her, that she had done some thinking. This was inevitable, Pandora thought. Infact, this was almost what she wanted. If she wanted to stay hidden, she could have gone anywhere in the world. Instead she went to Castleburg, within line of sight of HERO One. Right now, though, Pandora was indignified. Annoyed that this woman had come in here so sure that she would find help. Annoyed that she was right. Annoyed that despite the fact that Pandora could easily turn her into silly puddy, it was Christina who held the real power of the situation. Still, it wasn't entirely lopsided. They both had something the other needed, she imagined. Pandora had the help that HERO needed, and HERO had the purpose that Pandora had sought out. While theoretically speaking this meant the negotiations should be smooth and amicable, Christina had ticked Pandora off. Not like that was a particularly hard thing to do. Now, the florist was aiming to make the agent work for her paycheck.

"You know what doesn't surprise me?" Pandora asked. "That the thing that finally brought HERO crawling to my doorstep was incompetence. You've come here, to my little flower shop, to plead for my help. It's degrading." She said derisively, looking at the flower in her fingers.

Pandora sighed. "As for your questions...yes, I do wedding corsages and bouquets. Thank you for your compliments, I take great pride in my work." She explained casually, almost slipping back into her American accent.

"Finally: No, you should not say Mary." She practically spat out this last sentence, her words full of venom. Pandora didn't like to threaten people. Normally she thought herself above such lowly behavior. But in this instance, Christina saying that name so flippantly, with that stupid look on her face, had struck a nerve. Now the florist was silent, waiting for this HERO agent to say whatever she had to say.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Winton, in the courtyard outside the Inn

Dareen nodded silently as Jandar and Denvar said that going to Kaeleer was the best plan. Indeed, it was hard to build up a resistance while in enemy territory. If they could escape and find help, at the very least regain their composure, that would be a good move. It was also an exciting prospect, because she had never been to Kaeleer before.

"All right. Well, I'll tag along if you'll have me. I've no where better to be." She said with a small smile. She was also secretly relieved that Xandar would not be following them. At least for now. He always made her somewhat uncomfortable. So if he was off doing his own thing, than so be it. He certainly was handy in a fight, but...the same could be said about a rabid bear.

"So, Kaeleer, huh? I've only heard stories. What's it like there? Good weather?" She asked, still sitting down against the wall. The task ahead was daunting, but Dareen was calm and ready to undertake it. She had spent her life fighting for reasons she didn't totally understand or grasp. The only difference now was that she was sure this was the right thing. That she was fighting for more than herself and those around her. It was a new feeling, and perhaps it suited her.

World of Light

Kasugano Sakura

Level 2: 2/20
Location: Hamlet's produce place
Word Count: 516
Points Gained: 1
New EXP Balance--- Level 2: 3/20

Sakura helped guide Ryu back to town. When he was left at the guild master's healing place, she waved at him as she left. "Bye, Ryu-san! I'll fight you once you're feeling better!" She offered excitedly, unaware that they already had fought.

Then Sakura followed Curly around town. She had seen some of these people before, but not while she was Sakura. Not, Sakura Sakura, anyway. She was under it's spell. If she was herself, she would have been trying to find people to help her find her family, or defeat that Galeem thing. At the very least she would have asked what the heck was going on! She tried to sift through her memories, but it was like they belonged to somebody else. A Sakura that looked, sounded, acted like her, but there was something missing. It was creepy. She remembered seeing herself in reflections, seeing her dull red eyes, and not thinking anything of it. Not really 'thinking' at all.

Sakura waved and said brief hi's and hello's to everyone that Curly did, trailing behind her as she investigated the town. Sakura liked Curly already, but she was a woman on a mission, clearly, so they didn't have much time to chat. There were all kinds of colorful characters that she would love to get to know. There were more stories and histories here than anywhere in the world. The people in this town looked like they weren't from Earth, or at least, not her Earth. Like from an alternate reality, a different world. It was amazing, and awe-inspiring. It made Sakura feel insignificant, but in a good kind of way. It was humbling.

But as time went on, and she saw more and more of the townsfolk, saw their dull red eyes, she thought about herself. How she wasn't really herself. They all seemed friendly enough, but the young woman slowly began to feel uncomfortable. Were all these people under Galeem's spell? Was her family under Galeem's spell, somewhere? Like puppets? Sakura's smile faded and she clutched her arms to her chest. Were these 'amazing adventurer' people also going to be under Galeem's influence? She wanted to go back to Ryu already, but not for the reasons she usually did. It felt like was surrounded not by people, but life-like drawings of people.

Finally they made it to their destination, and Sakura was greatly relieved to see the person Curly had in mind was free of Galeem's influence like she was. She smiled and then glanced around at everyone else. Michael could see the concern on her face.

Are these people the enemy? Would they want to kill me if said or did something against Galeem? What is Galeem? Who is this old guy? I guess I should start asking questions but...I don't want to say the wrong thing.

Sakura looked up at the older gentlemen, looked back at Curly and realised she had the floor. "Uh, uh...hello, sir. Is...is it safe to talk, here?" She asked nervously, quietly, trying to get her meaning across without explicitly stating it.

World of Light

Kasugano Sakura

Level 2: 2/20
Location: With Ryu and Curly outside of Lumbridge
Word Count: 459
Points Gained: 1
New EXP Balance--- Level 2: 1/20

Sakura felt a little bit better. Ryu was as perceptive as always. Sakura was, infact, very confused. But wow, someone really beat Ryu up. Like, someone villainous. But usually Ryu beats people up like that, so she stil wasn't entirely sure what happened. Her head was still swimming but she was blinking through it. He followed his gaze towards Galeem. Somehow, it felt like she had only just now noticed it, even though it was impossible to not see. The sight of it was awe-inspiring and made a pit drop in her stomach.

When Ryu mentioned it had her under it's spell, she dropped back a little bit and exhaled. That explained a lot. Her eyes were wide and she had a hand on her head. Heart racing, head pounding, hands trembling. It was a lot to take in. Normally, Sakura didn't believe in stuffing one's emotions down. But in this case, it was necessary to function. Shove, shove, shove, right into a bottle and stop the cap. There would be time to process this later. Right now Ryu was hurt, and there could be danger around any corner.

Suddenly, a robot lady approached, seeming concerned. "Uh, no, no. I didn't beat him. Not me. I would never hurt him this bad, even if I could." She laughed nervously, looking the woman up and down. Was she actually a robot? Sakura hadn't seen many of those, but she had seen people that weren't quite traditionally 'human' before, so she wasn't too concerned about it. Especially since the bizarre encounters she's had on her trip here were coming back to her. Sakura's composure was returning.

The japanese woman blinked at the strange side of a robot being carried into town by cats.

Okay, so weird stuff. Get used to it. The most important part, though... Sakura thought, her eyes trailing off of the robot lady and onto the glass angel in the sky. Is beating that thing up, from the sound of it.

She smiled lightly at the new person that Ryu seemed to know. Sakura joined Ryu, standing to her feet aswell. If he wanted, she would offer him a shoulder to lean on. "Hi, I'm uh, I'm new in town." She managed, stammering a bit.

"Eh...konnichi wa. My name's Sakura, I just came into town to fight Ryu... but there's no fun or honor in beating someone up who's already been attacked by someone else." Sakura greeted the stranger with a short bow.

"Yes, I could use some help. I need help with..." She hesitated, trying to find the right words. After a moment, she just settled for gesticuling vaguely at the entire universe. "I don't even know."

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Pandora's Potts was Pandora's favorite place in the world. It was a homely little spot, tucked away in a quiet corner of Passenger Island. It was a townhouse, crammed inbetween other retail stores and homes. The bottom floor was Pandora's Potts, the second floor was Pandora's home. Technically her legal name was Jane Smith, but everyone just called her Pandora. If it's up to her, no one finds out her name is Jane Smith.

Pandora lived and worked in her little flower shop, alone, by herself. She did everything. Managing, cleaning, flower care, going out and designing flower set ups for various clients. It was her own little space that she had worked for herself. Well, she cheated a little bit, but it's not like playing fair was ever apart of the so-called American dream.

As for the shop itself, it was made of wood. The storefront had a large glass window that let in a large amount of natural light. There was a wooden door with a small glass window that had a colorful Viola made from different pieces of colored glass. The place was absolutely overgrown, with porcelain and clay pots lining various shelves high and low, all of them with different types of beautiful flowers. Several LED lanterns were hung up and sat down on various places, giving the place a homey glow. There were many strange antiquities and knick knacks, like cuckoo clocks, coasters, figurines, cards. A gramaphone in one dark corner played old classical music. Paintings of landscapes and longdead people were set up in the few spots of negative space. It smelled like wood and the sweet scent of flora. It was a cozy place, entering it felt like entering another world. A weird world, that was old, a mishmash of different eras and aesthetics all crammed together.

Over the front door, in light orange letters in a fancy font, was Pandora's Potts. Spelt with two T's, always. On the roof of the place one could see vegation hanging over the edge and what looked like a greenhouse built on the roof.

The icing on the eccentric cake was enigmatic shopkeeper herself, Pandora. An enchantingly beautiful woman that looked like she was from a story book, with vibrant orange eyes and aubern hair that was tied up into a loose, messy bun. She walked around barefoot, with a heavy green apron draped over her toned shoulders. Underneath the apron she was wearing a grey crop top, so one could see the sides of her athletically built torso. Finally, a pair of very short jeans that accentuated her muscular thighs. This was her domain, and despite the fact it was a shop supposed to be entered and perused, one couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't quite welcome.

The redhead was currently in the far corner of the room, standing by a closed backdoor that lead to a laundry room and staircase into her home. There was a flower back there in need of attending too, and she was dilligently leaned over with a pair of small clippers in her strong hand, gently pruning it back. It was actually a collection of yellow-petalled stocks that looked like they were trying to erupt into a bush at any moment. There was a small parchment tag hooked into the pot that read "Forsythia, 11.99", clearly scratched in her own handwriting.

"You are so very pretty, you know this, Misses Forsythia? Oh, yes, indeed." She cooed gently, speaking to directly the plant. She was gently swaying her hips to the beat of the music as she did so. "But we can't have you growing too much, no. No, we can't. You grow too fast, don't you? You eager little flower. You just want to take over the whole world, don't you?" Snip, snip, snip.

It was done, and the woman leaned back, satisfied. Gathering up the loose buds in her hands, she squeezed them real tight. Them and the air trapped inside her palm turned to water. Opening her hand it flowered a few inches above her fingers as she manipulated the air to keep the water suspended. Tipping her hand she showered the flower in additional war. "There we go. Feeling better? Not so thirsty anymore?" She asked. No response except a slight rustling as some of the stems were bumped by falling drops.

"All right, that's done. All my flowers are done for the day, and it's only what..." She glanced around and her eyes found the cuckoo clock the wall above her cash register's desk. The little spot that only she was allowed to stand behind. It read 8:30 AM. Pandora had been up all night, like she very often was. "Plenty of time left in the day." Whether she was speaking to the flowers or to herself, it wasn't entirely clear.

Slapping the non-existant dust off her hands, Pandora quietly travelled upstairs, her bare feet padding along the carpeted wooden staircase. Her house was all soft lighting, soft carpet, and warm hues. Clocks, paintings, flowers, natural lighting. It was much less congested and busy than the shop below, giving Pandora plenty of room to breathe and relax. Wires were plugged into the wall that travelled and vanished into the ceiling above. It was clear a lot of thought had been put into this place in terms of interior design. The florist went over to a large, boxy TV, adjusting the antenna and pressing a button on the side. The dusty box thrummed to life. She spent a few more moments making sure the connection was clear before flopping lazily on the couch, picking up a newspaper and flipping through it. Right now, she was relaxing. She had a few clients reserved for birthday parties, weddings, or just people who wanted to pretty up their house with flowers. Pandora surprised herself with how sociable she could be if she just pretended to like people, but it was quite draining. Still, she liked poking her nose into other people's business and getting a vertical slice of their short lives and what they were doing with them. Her heels rested on a wooden coffee table.

About an hour passed of her just sitting quietly in this room, when the TV flicked to something more interesting than infomercials and cooking shows. Pandora's orange eyes flicked away from her newspaper and towards what looked to be some kind of signal hijacking.

"Mmm. This should be good. What's the villain of the week have in store for us this time?" She set her paper down in her lap and paid close attention. Some kind of studio. She raised her impeccable eyebrows, impressed, at the sight of Rainbow Dancer tied to a chair. Pandora had heard of that one. Quite famous, wasn't he? She couldn't quite remember the specifics. But the point is, this Mug had captured a live one and was looking to make an example of him on live TV.

"Oh, dear. Poor sod. No way he's making it out of this. No Mug worth his salt would allow this chance to slip through their fingers." She mumbled to herself. Pandora's dialect was English, her accent was light. Not as stereotypically posh as one might expect from a woman of her presentation, but rather a soft and singsongy Yorkshire accent. Her eyes switched from the display of terrorism on screen to a particularly interesting advertisement about electric toasters in her newspaper.

Her mind recognized the kind of villain this was she kind of tuned out. Whatever ideology he was hiding behind was bonkers. Really, this guy just wanted to be able to do whoever he wanted to whomever he wanted. She chuckled lightly at his comment about how "Hey, I'll kill you, but at least I'm honest!" Truly, it was better to be stabbed in the face than stabbed in the back. This guy wanted to erode public trust in H.E.R.O organizations so he could take advantage of the reduced power they might get. To do so, he's got this poor Bloke all tied up and ready to confess to some act of heroic brutality. Sounds like Rainbow Dancer has this coming, at least. "Uh oh. 'Ere it comes," Pandora anticipated what was coming next, watching as the masked man raised something over Rainbow Dancer's head. The 'reward'.

Pandora winced and laughed a little, a sympathetic one, like she was watching a funniest home video of a man bonk his head on something rather than one of a person being brutally murdered. "That's rough. Oh, yeah, that's real rough. Went straight through, it did." She tsked her tongue and shook her head, glancing back down towards her newspaper.

After a few moments she felt a pang of guilt and looked over to the open door of her bedroom. There, sitting in a water-filled blue glass vase, was a singular, beautiful rose, illuminated by the yellow light streaming in from the semi-parted curtains. Pandora tilted her head to the side, frowned, and then averted her eyes from the flower that judged her.

About fifteen minutes later, she heard a bell's jingle ring through her house. The bell above the front door had been activated, indicating a customer had entered Pandora's Potts. Setting down the newspaper and leaving the TV on, she walked quickly downstairs to meet the customer. A middle-aged white man who was handsome enough, awkwardly staring at all the flowers around him as he waited for her to show up.

"Hi, welcome to Pandora's Potts, how can I help you?" Pandora asked cheerily, seamlessly switching into a midwestern American accent, the kind you hear on TV shows and in movies. The man seemed a little taken aback by her appearance and cleared his throat. In his hands he was holding a pot- on of hers- with a withered looking flower inside. Immediately the fake smile seemed obviously forced as her orange eyes went cold. She walked behind the counter and set her hands on the wooden surface.

"Uh, yeah, hi. Uh, my wife bought this for our daughter- and, it's uh, it's broken." He said simply, extending it out towards her. "It's uh, it's dead."

Pandora blinked once. "Yeah?" She said, imploring him to continue. He seemed uncomfortable already, but wanted to stand his ground. "Well, we want a refund."

"You w-" She exhaled through her pink lips, staring down at the wilted, dead flower. Her fake American accent briefly slipped. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't give you a refund on damaged goods." The man frowned and furrowed his brows. "What do you mean? The flowers no good, I can't use it for anything. It's ugly." He extended out his arms, holding the pot, as if he expected her to just take it.

Pandora shook her head, her shoulders tense. "If you wanted it to not be ugly, you should have kept it alive. Your wife recieved explicit-"

"Can I speak to the manager?" He asked, interrupting her.

Pandora reached out and evaporated him instantly with a flick of her wrist. This puny mortal dared question her floral ability? He dare challenge her within her realm? She is Pandora, the goddess of this domain! She hast hath slain more men than thee has't seen full moons! Die, die, intruder! Return to the depths of deepest, darkest Hell from whence you came!

No, not really. Pandora just tensed up and had to play nice. He could leave a negative Yelp review, and any harm against her business would be a harm against her flowers.

Do it for the flowers, Pandora. Do it for the flowers.

"Sir," The 'American' said, "I am the manager of this establishment. I understand if you're upset." She explained professionally, reigning in her impulses. The man seemed anxious. He was probably intimidated by her beauty, the unnatural color of her eyes and hair, and the fact that it looked like she could beat him up even without those things. If one were to give him credit for anything, it was that he really wanted this refund.

"Yes. It made my daughter cry. It was supposed to be a birthday gift." He said, looking down at the flower.

"Look..." She briefly rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I can give you some store credit. Maybe we could help you pick out a new flower. You said your wife bought this? Do you have a reciept?"

"Uh, no." The man responded.

"Do you have the card that was used to purchase it?"

"Uh, no, it was my wife's card." He said, shifting uneasily.

"Well...okay. Okay." She inhaled and stood up straight, slapping the counter top, putting on a big smile. "Lucky for you, I recognize all my flowers, with or without a receipt. I can tell that's one of my own." She shifted her weight onto one leg and tilted her head to the side. At this point the customer relaxed a little, now that he wasn't going to have put on any more shows of being tough and that she wasn't pissed at him. (Externally, at least.)

"What's your name, sir?" Pandora asked as she walked around the counter and took the pot from his hands.

"Uh, Derek." He responded.

"Well, Derek, let me just take that from you. Could you follow me, please?" She beckoned him with her index finger. The two of them walked to the back corner where Pandora indicated the collection of stems and stalks that made up the Forsythia plant. "If you're going to buy a flower using your new store credit, I'd recommend this one. It's tough, and receptive to many different types of soil. It will bloom in the spring into a beautiful yellow color. Aslong as it gets plenty of sunlight, you can have a big beautiful yellow bush growing in your garden. It can also work as a privacy wall. Just bury this in the ground and it will grow to be big if you water it two times a week."

"Is it a bush or a flower?" He asked. Pandora's eye twitched.

"It's a bush of flowers. Tough, and pretty. Not a lot of maintenance. Once it gets going it practically maintains itself. It's named after William Forsyth, a-"

"William Forsythe, huh? I liked him in The Mob Doctor." He noted, rubbing his beard.

Pandora's smile was very big, and very wide as she watched the man pretend to mull this deal over. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Hmm. Well, okay. I'll take it." He said.

"Great!" Pandora clapped her hands together and picked up the flower soon-to-be-bush. Holding it in one hand she travelled over to large cabinent full of shelves organized in no outside discernable order. Pulling one shelf open she gathered a small plastic sack of small seeds and handed them and the plant to the man. "Great. These will make a great birthday gift to your daughter if she likes flower. A bush like this will last for years to come. If you ever want more help in building your garden, I'll always be here to help."

The man was being ushed out the door very subtly. Every step he took, Pandora took one forward and body blocked him from the rest of the store, slowly squeezing him out. "Uh, yeah, thanks, this is perfect. Thanks a lot."

"My pleasure, sir. Please feel free to return any time soon. I also help arrange weddings, parties, and any other social event. Pandora's Potts is the place to be if you want sincere, personal service. Okay, thank you. Bye, buh-bye now!" She said as, waving him goodbye. He smiled back, and the door closed behind him. Taking a few steps back, she did a full three sixty and went to strangle the empty air space where his neck just was, absolutely wringing the life out of it. Exhaling, she went over to the wilting flower and began tending to it.

"Oh, my poor baby. What did that nasty man do to you? You're all shrivelled up. No sunlight? Probably stuck you in her bedroom and left you there, I bet. Oh, you poor little thing." Placing her hands on it, she gently ran her thumb over the stem and color and life began to return to it, if only slightly. It was a start. This kind of starvation would require real care. Unfortunately she couldn't have it out in the open in the store, and her house upstairs wasn't condusive to healing from this kind of trauma. This little flower would have to be taken up to the greenhouse.

There was no actual way up to the greenhouse. Technically she wasn't even permitted to build things on the roof, but a greenhouse ontop of a flower shop was something not many people questioned. One would have to deliberately seek out infractions and so far no needling bureaucrats had called her out on it. It looked like a natural addition, and Pandora was certain it was totally stable.

Her special Pandora-only way to access the roof was via the bathroom. That was where she knew there was nothing waiting for her, she had it all taped off and everything. Passing by the TV to turn it off, she entered the tiled bathroom and closed the door behind her, locking it. Casually, she stuck her hands and feet into the side of the bathroom wall, climbed up and vanished through the roof while carrying the pot in one hand. The wall and ceiling molded and turned to goo to make room before sealing itself back together as if nothing had happened.

If the second storey of the house was for Pandora only, than the greenhouse was super duper Pandora only. No could could enter this place unless they had superpowers. The greenhouse itself was full to bursting, a small glass hut full of flowers of all kinds. The perfect place for creating and maintaining life. Around the perimeter of the greenhouse and inbetween the three foot high wall around the edges of the roof was various types of exercising equipment. Treadmills and bench presses and dumbells. A small personal gym, isolated and open air.

There was no door into the greenhouse. Instead Pandora phased through it like she did the roof. Placing the pot down she drew water from the air, concentrated it into water, and showered the injured plant with water. Running her thumb gently over it once more, the flower stood slightly straighter and had more color returned to it's pink petals. "You just say here, little fella. You'll feel better soon. I'll be back in a few hours to check up on you."

Sighing, she phased through the glass walls of the greenhouse. Picking up a nearby 30 pound dumbell, she absent-mindedly lifted it up and down in her left arm as she looked over what she could see of her street. Most of the other buildings were a similar height to her own. Pandora sat down and rested her right arm on the edge of the wall around the roof while playing with the dumbell in her left hand. She could see the towering downtown of New Athens. Turning, she could see Savior Island.

"Ugh. Savior Island. How far up one's own ass can one get? 'Savior Island'." Pandora complained derisively under her breathe, staring at HERO One anxiously, enviously, guiltily. She let her cheek fall onto the back of her hand and stayed there for a while, her orange eyes occasionally flicking down to the street below to see if any customers were entering the building.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Brooke Everette

art stolen from kiikiibee.tumblr.com. check them out for cool drawings

Name
Brooke Victoria Everette

Hero Name
VICTORY

The Knight in Shining Armor

Nicknames
Vicky

Gender
Female

Age
29

Date of Birth
May 24th

Physique

Brooke has dark skin, with black, curly hair, and rich brown eyes. Her hair is short on the left side, and longer on the right. She has full lips that smile, purse, and frown easily, and when parted, show her front right tooth is a little chipped. She has a slender, agile frame, the type of person that could do a standing backflip. (She can, by the way.)

She's always seen wearing a pair of thin-rimmed, large, circle-lens glasses.

When she isn't wearing her glasses, what will immediately become obvious is her lazy eye, or rather, amblyopia. Her right eye, when, not corrected by her lenses, drifts towards the center of her face, looking towards her nose. This is called esotropia. It limits her depth perception and in her opinion, makes her look very silly. So she likes to keep her glasses on.

Blood Type
B-

Occupation
Professional Hero

Side
Hero

Affiliation
HERO

Tier
A

Personality
Brooke Everette is a bubbly, easily excitable, high energy goofball of a woman. She wears her heart and her emotions on her sleeve. She is extremely passionate about philosophy, history, as well as nerdy garbage. When talking about her favorite subjects, she tends to raise her voice and gesticulate wildly. In social situations she can be easily flustered, and often stumbles over her own words and misspeaks. She isn't very self-aware, but she is just self-aware enough to be embarassed by the mistakes she makes. Good friends make her calmer and a bit more collected.

Brooke is very empathetic to everyone around her, and this extends to her enemies as well. Unless proven otherwise, she assumes the best of others. Needless to say, she cares a lot, about everyone, and everything. When she does something, she throws herself into it entirely. She can be surprisingly objective driven and can cut through the crap, after figuring out what it is and figuring out how to speak properly. Her feelings can be easily hurt by people she respects. In summary; she cares. A lot.

She is a dork for superheroes; simply put, a fangirl. She is totally into it. The costumes, the performance. Old school heroism, the kind that most consider sentimental and cheesy, is her favorite kind. Optimistic and kind, she wants to help others. She has zero tolerance for bullies and evil-doers. When an injustice occurs, she is right there to stop it, no matter who it is being done too. In justice, she is not naive. Experience has taught her when to bring the hammer down. Literally, in some cases.

The heroic streak runs deeper than that, though. Brooke doesn't just worship heroes, she truly is one herself. She loves it. She lives for it. When in a high stakes situation, the bluster melts away. The corny one liners, the heroic poses, the act- it becomes real. Brooke performs poorly under pressure, until lives are on the line. Then, you could never ask for a better ally in a fight. She cares so deeply about this Silver Age guff it stops being embarassing and instead becomes inspiring to others. Brooke doesn't change in a fight, but rather, things become clear, and she can become the person she wants to be. The greater the challenge, the greater Brooke can rise to meet it. Her resolve is remarkable. Perhaps it is some as of now inexplicable part of her power, but it seems that no matter how hard Victory gets hit, she always stands back to her feet. Probably with a genuine, honest to God battle cry. In the 21st Century. Most people just don't do it like Brooke anymore.

If there is one downside to all of this, is that she becomes antsy in peace time. She's always looking for something to do. Brooke becomes bored easily. She hates being bored. Absolutely despises it. She has literally been bored to tears in the past. This alludes to a deeper problem of hers. Without a crusade to fight, a war to wage, souls to save, she becomes uncomfortable. She hasn't thought about it much. Were ever she to live to see a day where she could contribute no more, she may very well not know what to do with herself. What happens if she gets to the top of the tallest mountain? Is it wrong if she hopes to never find out?

Fortunately in this broken world she fights to protect, there is no shortage of adventures to go on. Goals to be won. Milestones to be reached! Perserverance under pressure, resilience and resolve. She truly is a knight in shining armor. As long as nobody behind her in line looks at her disapprovingly while she's in a grocery store countirng change. She might have a panic attack. Or she shows someone a youtube video she thinks is hilarious and they don't laugh once. Then she'll die. But start shooting at her and she's good to go! Got it?

Last, and most likely least, she doesn't understand romance. Or anything about it. At all. Euphemisms will fly right over her head 100% of the time. Many a poor man has attempted to hit on her only for her to cheerily engage them in platonic conversation. Only to be chided by her friends later, or be utterly confused when the man takes offense. Somehow her parents failed to educate her on the subject entirely. Having always been a bit of a doofus not even Brooke has put it together that she's asexual. Her grandma told her she was a late bloomer when it came to her looking for a boyfriend and she just kept waiting, and now she's almost thirty.

Backstory
Born in the knotted streets of downtown Los Angeles, Brooke and her family made do among the "lower" rungs of society. Growing up poor wasn't easy, but she had three loving little brothers and two wonderful parents. From a young age, she learned the value of human connection. Her little brothes were also dorks, in their own different ways. In her teenager years she ended up in scraps often. The youngest two were easily picked on, the eldest brother always got himself into trouble by running his big mouth. Often she found herself having to stick up for them. Quickly, those at her school learned not to mess with the Everette family, lest they summon the wrath of Brooke Everette!

If only that were true. Usually Brooke got beat up, too. But she never stopped trying. Broken glasses meant her lazy eye was usually visible often. Eventually her brothers were inspired by her to stick up for themselves, or stop getting into trouble. Probably because they felt bad their older sister kept getting whooped on their behalf. Brooke didn't learn to fight, but she did learn to get hit. That toughness has stuck with her since then, despite her lithe frame.

Brooke may not have been a dork, but she was certainly a nerd. She would snatch up whatever comic books were available. She was fascinated by heroes who stuck up for the little guy. As a child she fantasied about having powers of her own. Posing dramatically in the mirror, coming up with her own superhero name, imagining what powers she would have. What she would do. What villains she could defeat (all of them) and what heroes she would team up with (the coolest ones). Naturally, her annoying brothers would tease her about this. Or just slobber all over her fake costumes because they were like, two at the time. This passion was contagious and exponential, as her father used his power to communicate with birds to interrupt an assault in progress. Nobody has time for mugging when they are getting pooped on and pecked at. From that day on, her biggest hero was always her dad. Her obsession only intesified, but her little brothers weren't teasing her anymore.

It was around this time that the oldest little brother got arrested for petty thievery. It was minor pick-pocketing, but the police saw fit to treat him unfairly. Apparently, he was upset that Brooke's glasses had broke in yet another fight he caused and wanted to pay her back. Thankfully, it worked out in the end, but this shook her of her previously childish view on crime, and the bullies she so often 'battled'. Maybe, she thought, there is a reason people do bad things. The thought only grew. The compassion she held towards the victims spread into a tentative pity for villains. Redemption was always better than retribution. It also made her more wary of unjust systems.

As she matured into middle school, she realised she probably wasn't going to get her own powers. Instead, she would focus on making changes in the community through policy. Perhaps she could help prevent crime from happening in the first place?

She discovered her powers when she was 17 and that went out the window. Poof! She wanted to kick some serious ass. She had matured, but she hadn't matured that much. One day, when explaining a particularly complicated comic, the light shining through the window began to dance with her flailing arms. That may have been one of the best moments of her life. Finally- her life long ambition- her childhood dream- could come true. Victory was at hand! All the costume designs and catchphrases and special moves- they could all be real! Everyone in the family was happy for her. Brooke was never one to conceal her emotions. But she was shining with joy throughout the summer vacation of her junior year of high school, and constantly practiced at her ability.

Grades were up, friends were up. Fights, too, were up. Brooke constantly overestimated herself and challenged people she really shouldn't have challenged. Indeed, in her righteous vigor, she may have escalated a few fights that perhaps could have been left at words. After almost going to juvie for a particularly foolish endeavor, she learned that violence wasn't always the answer. Words, too, carried weight. If only she could get them out without tripping over her own clumsy tongue.

When she turned 18, she realised that she had pretty much had a perfect childhood. At least in her mind. Sure, her right front tooth is always going to be a little smaller than her left front tooth, but that was small potatoes. She had a perfect family, in her view. Brooke was grateful.

The next obvious step was completing her college degree. Being as her mother would describe, a "smart cookie", she was able to transfer to a university after a two year stay in a community college. However the quaint and plucky community college (The Orange County Raiders, Go Team!) stole her heart and she ended up staying there instead. An entirely sentimental choice for an entirely sentimental young woman. Public Administration was her major. That way she could always fall back on making those changes she thought about earlier. If her hands got cut off or something. Anything could happen to a brave hero.

Now twenty two years old and the first woman to earn a bachelor's degree in her family, the choice was obvious. Brooke joined LATCH at 22, and her power and reputation has only grown in strength since then. There have been a few close calls, but Brooke has been having the time of her life. She's been looking into ways to prevent supervillains from existing in the first place, and has participated in charities aswell as political efforts. But mainly, just whooping butt. Her time as Victory on the Western Coast has been an absolute joy.

Brooke is an ideal superheroine for organizations like ICOSA, given her careful fighting nature and inspirational ability. She personally oversaw programs within LATCH to assist with the reformation of reoccuring villains, with limited success due to resistance to the idea. Out of necessity she mainly focused on reducing non-powered crime instead. Punitive measures, she believes, aren't the way to go.

Brooke is now a well respected superhero within LATCH, having served 6 years as a full time, professional hero. Her brothers have matured and gotten jobs, most of them having moved out of Los Angeles to seek opportunities elsewhere. Their parents couldn't be prouder. Eventually, Brooke herself felt an itch to seek greener pastures, if only for a little bit. She felt she had done all she could do in Los Angeles for now. So she signed up for a program that would allow her to be transferred to other super hero organizations. One of the ones she was most interested in was Castleburg. Mainly due to Coldwater prison, and VIPI, the protest group that seemed to have formed in direct defiance to atrocities happening within. So she set that as her highest priority place to explore and get to know. If there is some kind of highly abusive prison for convicted powered criminals, then that is the exact type of problem Brooke likes to solve.

She got her excuse when LATCH was contacted by ICOSA on HERO's behalf. Apparently, HERO had almost been subverted entirely by corrupt "heroes". They would need reinforcements and additional supervision. Just someone to help them get back on their feet...and make sure they didn't miss anything. It's not every day a super hero organization as a civil war. So, she packed her bags, waved goodbye-for-now to her family, and flew off to the East Coast.

Power: Hard Light

Brooke Everette has the ability to Harden light itsel, fortifying it into constructs of her desire. In order to do this, she must see the light, and there must be a light source nearby.

The simpler the construct, the faster she can summon. The easiest things are walls and rods, followed by domes and more complex shapes, and then finally, complicated "mechanical" constructs. The brighter the light source, the more power she can draw from it. There is an upper limit to it. Brooke suffers from weaker light sources more than she benefits from strong ones.

The Hard Light can be instilled with high durability, or be used for feats of strength. It can be damaged by powerful blows or many smaller strikes over time. If not disturbed, Brooke can repear the damage to her Hard Light constructs.

Brooke needs eye contact with a light source in order to create Hard Light. The simplest way to nullify her powers is to blind her. Her irises turn from brown to a glowing white when she was using her ability. Brooke uses her body to assist in the creation of her ability, as well as increase their strength. However, she can make them and control them with only her eyes. Once a construct is created, it will persist from a few seconds to ten minutes without her looking at it or "re-upping" it. Depending on how complicated. The less complicated, the longer it can last on it's own.

If Brooke creates too many things, they lose power. More complex constructs drain other constructs of their power more quickly. Most things take less than ten seconds to create. The process can be interrupted easily by enemy interference. It is easier to alter a Hard Light construct into another one than it is to create a new construct from scratch.

Hard Light Constructs

Constructs

Starting at the easiest to do, towards the most complicated. Brooke also needs more light available the higher up they are.

The constructs can float on their own, and move on their own. They are semi-effective in this way. They are more effective when Brooke uses her hands and body in synchronized gestures. They are the most effective when being directly held by her.

The color and temperature of the light is dependant on what source/sources she draws it from. Complicated constructs become opaque, but simple structures are translucent. She cannot actually produce light on her own, only use what is around her.

Shield:
The simplest, easiest thing for her to do. Clench a fist, and create a small heater shield. Can be created in extremely low light. At maximum power, this simple construct becomes almost invincible. A Victory staple. The very first ability she mastered as a kid. Almost always included in fan art.

Wall:
Brooke points her palm upward, lowers her hand and then raises it quickly. She can create small walls as fast as she raises her hand. But the biggest one she can create takes a few seconds to materialize, and is 16 feet wide and 9 feet tall.

Push:
Brooke pushes a previously created wall forward by pushing the air with her hands. If no wall is available, she can summon two cylinders, one next to each arm, and use those, instead.

Dome:
Brooke raises her hands to the sky. A sixteen feet diamter, 9 foot tall protective dome appears.

Simple Shapes:
Brooke manifests various simple shapes for utility purposes.

Melee Weapon:
She enhances her own fighting ability by granting herself a melee weapon of almost any kind. They strike with more power than she can produce on her own, and can be larger than real weapons due to their being under Brooke's mental control.

Throwing Weapon:
Much more powerful and accurate than regular throwing weapons. Guided by her mental power, these Throwing Weapons usually hit home, whatever form they take. Brooke likes using spears and knives.

Detonate:
Brookes explodes her construct. The more complicated or powerful the constructs are, the longer they take to detonate, but the more powerful the explosion.

Numbing Strikes:
Brooke reduces the effectiveness of her constructs, costing more energy and reducing the amount she can create. Her strikes do less damage. Now, they do temporary damage, instead numbing the effected areas. This allows her to finish off weakened enemies without risking permanent injury to their health. She could also use it to numb pain in general. Most effective with sharp weapons, allowing her to cut at the enemies throat. This causes the enemy to struggle to breathe and lose control over the rest of their bodies. They fall over and are easy to capture, then. She can also strike at fingers, hands, and legs, and simply cause them to go limp instead of falling off or bleeding everywhere. These attacks are worse in every way, but this purposeful limitation of her powers is one of her proudest innovations.

Armor:
This one takes a large chunk of her Hard Light focus away from her. Brooke generates a suit of armor around herself that greatly protects herself from blows and greatly increases her physical strength. Her constructs become weaker as she focuses on this, and she can only create one at a time. Usually she summons a weapon. The design of the armor has changed over the years. Sometimes it's a badass motorcycle racer's suit. Most of the time, it's a suit of renaissance era knight armor. Moving it with her own body uses concentration. She also has to spend more energy to re-up it, considering she cannot see a vast majority of the armor when she is in it.

Bow:
Brooke began experimenting with non-rigid constructs. The first thing she did was create herself a bow and arrow. It's much easier to use one of her own Bows, made of Hard Light, than it is to be a real archer with a real bow. Either way the fired arrows have good range, travel quickly, and hit hard.

Sling:
A follow up to the Bow. Easier to create, Brooke spins this sucker around and then yeets something hard at her enemies. Less range and accuracy but makes up for it with being able to knock enemies around.

Crossbow:
The heaviest hitting, most accurate one of all. Takes a few seconds to be created. Can be altered into less powerful, less accurate version that very quickly fires a volley spread of small bolts.

Bolas:
Can be fired from the crossbow. Two heavy weights attatched by a heavy rope. Flung forward they wrap around the target, inhibiting them wherever they hit. Prime target is wrapping around the target's knees.

Bicycle/Motorcycle:
Thats right. When in doubt, take a few seconds to make a high tech, durable bicycle. Take about ten seconds, and this can be changed into a motorcycle. Downgrade the effectiveness of the motorcycle and she can give herself a downgraded version of Armor, aswell. Bigger jumps, more stability, finer control, than a regular vehicle. If she gets off it, it vanishes almost immediately.

SUV:
Like the Motorcycle, except it's an SUV. Takes about one minute to be created, and she can't do anything else while she's driving it.

Gun:
Brooke creates a fucking gun. Takes a full minute. Can be of any kind, more effective and accurate than regular guns. Utilizes complex constructs and the detonation ability to fire her Hard Light at high speeds. She has never used this ability without utilizing Numbing Strikes as well.

Programmed Constructs:
The most experimental of all. No successful prototypes yet. However Brooke is currently attempting to create Constructs that act without her direct influence. The dream is to summon more complicated constructs and then set them loose without having to directly concentrate on them. Her first major goal post is summong an Armor without her in it, and then programming it to battle her enemies for her. So far the best she has done is a ball that moves towards the back of her head, but only when she isn't looking. Currently called "Boo ball".

Martial Arts: Brooke is a trained mixed martial artist. She's not half bad.

Gymnast: Brooke is a gymnast. All there is to it, really.

Resolve: Something in Brooke's soul refuses to back down. The source of her powers is her very willpower. This determination has been abnormally bolstered and enhanced by her ability, like a tamper-proof battery. A secondary, as of yet developing mutation that increases her perserverance. Her body can be pushed beyond the limts of most others, be it pain or injury. She is resistant to mind altering effects.

Weaknesses

Weaknesses have been mentioned here and there, but now they will be gathered in one place. These are all the weaknesses she knows about, new ones may be revealed by clever enemies.

Darkness: Brooke struggles to manifest light in dark places. Many enemies assume this to mean she cannot operate at night, but usually the moonlight or lights of the city grant her enough to work with. However dark interiors like dense buildings, caves, or cramped closets can truly deprive her of power. If she can see light, she can use it.

Blacklight- Adding onto this, concentrated Black Light nullifies her powers entirely. It makes her feel dizzy and even faint. Safe to say she won't be going to any raves.

Line of Sight- She needs line of sight to generate constructs. A thick blindfold removes her powers- full stop.

Tunnel Vision- Everything she does requires deliberate focus, intention, and willpower. If she is distracted her powers may falter. On the other side of the coin when she is concentrating hard on her abilities she has little brain power for much else. Her powers weaken significantly if she is emotionally conflicted.

** OTHER- Fun fact: Left handed. Fun fact 2: loves fun facts.

Favorite music genres: Rock, Electric, Rap, Classical. Whacky crossover genres.
Favorite animal: Dog.
Allergies: Shrimp.
Sexualty: Aromantic asexual.

---

Pandora

Pandora body-type; more common facial expression and mood included for free

Name
Jane Smith

Hero Name
Pandora

Nicknames
Pandora

Gender
Cis-Female

Age
338

Date of Birth
January 5th

Physique
Pandora is fair skinned, with bright auburn hair and sparkling orange eyes. At 5'6, 137 lbs, she is toned and athletically built. Not ripped, like a body builder, but certainly buff. Her face is suspiciously beautiful, with flawless skin and divine features. Combined with eye and hair color, she basically looks like a Greek war goddess. It's kind of unfair. She looks to be about 25 years old.

Her choice of cloth varies from "lightly-clothed" to "scantily clad". She is always barefoot, no matter what. Usually her arms, abs, and legs are uncovered, whether it by sportswear or cropped tops of many varieties. Her outfits project infinite body confidence at all times. She seems like a fake woman some man in a book wrote, who is informal, doesn't wear makeup, and is effortlessly, "naturally", beautiful. Only she's real. Apparently.

Occasionally, one will spot a purplish tint to her body. When she blushes or sweat, it will have a very slight purple hue.

Blood Type
P for Pandora. Her blood is thin like water, and is a disturbingly eye-catching shade of purple, like paint. Whenever it touches something it slightly regenerates it to how it once was, be it damage to structure or to organic lifeforms.

Occupation
H.E.R.O, ex florist.

Side
Hero

Affiliation
H.E.R.O

Tier
S

Personality

Pandora is flippant, dismissive, arrogant, sarcastic, pretentious, and rude, though she claims everyone else is without manners. She acts disinterested, and believes most people are not interesting. Below her, common...boring. To her the masses are little more than amusing baffoons who wallow in their own mediocrity. Often she goes out of her way to push other people's buttons and make their days worse to improve her own.

Pandora is a perfectionist. Everything must be in order, all must be in it's right place. Especially if it's her stuff. The belongings of her enemies, however, a free reign to destroy. She can be cruel, sadistic even, in inflicting punishment on those who oppose her. The more poetic the vengeance, the better. Her sense of humor is unfunny and bitter.

The redhead is disconnected from her humanity. Cynical and pessimistic to the bone. Not in the interest of making friends. Morality is relative, and no matter what "heroes" do, humankind is just going to tear itself apart eventually. She dislikes the poor, the rich, and the middle class for various reasons. Villains are obviously reprehensible in her mind but the moronic goons sent after them are hardly better, and half the villains of tomorrow are yesterdays heroes, anyway. Pandora finds few reasons to care.

There is one thing, though, that Pandora cannot be flippant about. It's a small thing, one most people could go their entire lives without noticing. She is a woman of her word. She never breaks a promise. Ever. If there is one thing that keeps this long-lived woman anchored to this indifferent world, it's that when Pandora says she'll do something, she will do it. She also really likes plants. They are simple, easy to understand, and are uncomplaining in their casual resilience.

Backstory

A Succinct Retelling of Pandora's Life

Pandora was born in York, England, in 1695. Her name was Mary Madison, and she was a peasant girl who worked in farms and factories. She got married to a guy named Steven Silverstone and had some kids, who had grandkids, and so on. She lived a pretty normal life, retired, and when her husband died she was pretty ready to go, too. But then, the X-200 meteor event happened, and she regenerated to her lost youth and was granted extraordinary power.

Not wanting to go back to the factory, but wanting to support her now extended family, Mary created a pre superhero organization to protect the community from villains and leftovers. SAt that time in York, all superheroes were called Blokes, all villains were called Mugs, and leftovers were called Barmies. She and the Blokes protected 18th England for about twenty years. Eventually it was dissolved as ROYAL came into influence. Everyone joined that, instead, but the Blokes still protected York for free as they always had. They gave her a superhero name, "The Changer".

At this point, Mary Silverstone was starting to outlive people. Including her own children. People generally had kids young in those days, so it didn't take long before they started to pass. This, as one might imagine, was pretty depressing as the full ramifications of being a lone immortal in a family full of mortals began to set in.

Since she didn't need to eat or sleep, or even breathe, because of her new powers, she had plenty of time on her hands and could go wherever she wanted. In her free time, when she isn't working out, she's usually patrolling or travelling, occasionally spending large amounts of time in her hometown of York with her family. The paychecks ROYAL gives her are pretty handy, and since she doesn't really need it for anything most of it goes towards her family.

Since hanging around the house with all the people she knows she's going to outlive is kind of a downer, she decides she wants to travel the world and joins the military. Plus, the extra money will help her family. She fights in some of the wars from the 1800's some people know about, and a lot of the ones people don't really know about. Most of the time, though, she's using her powers to heal, or to safely sink enemy ships. She gets hurt really badly one time, but recovers thanks to her healing powers. Inbetween wars, she patrols England and the countries England has positive relationships with and battles villains.

When one of her grandchildren is killed in a war, Mary Silverstone is hit with a first wave of existential dread and anger. In order to compensate, she dives very deeply into her military role and focuses heavily on her career. She becomes an imperialist. She gets the nickname "The Shark of Crimea" because in against the Russians she used her powers to turn the dirt to water and pull enemy soldiers underneath. For the next half century she goes full warmonger. In the end though it doesn't really make her feel better because her grandkids are just going to keep dying.

She briefly retires from military service to spend more time with her family, which makes her happy. She also returns to hero work with ROYAL defending the homeland. A new global heroing initiative gives her an excuse to travel without having to be in the army anymore. But when the first World War comes knocking, Mary feels guilty and goes to help her country fight the war. World War One really sucks, and is bad for her mental health. Especially since, in retrospect, it was the inevitable result of all that imperialism she was doing a while ago.

World War One is over, and she's glad to hear it's the war to end all wars since war kinda really sucks. More children are born and die. The Great Depression hits the entire world and her family needs money. In order to support them and get away as she so often wants to do, she tries her hand at MI6. She discovers that even though her body is heavily resistance to her Alteration, it's not immune. So she can actually change her face and body a little bit, over time. She assumes the identity Mia Becker and is sent into Germany in the 1930's.

World War Two starts and Mary is a spy in Nazi Germany. She does her best. Unfortunately, her family is killed in the Battle of Britain back home. All of them except a little baby girl named Jessica. If Mary wasn't so afraid of being home all the time and hadn't run off to be an exciting spy, maybe they'd still be alive. That sucks. Also, Mary is discovered as a spy and is shot in the back of the head, but because of her weird goo body she manages to escape anyway. She kind of disappears into her role as Mia to escape from her grief and kills a load of fascists. She loses a lot of faith in the government and everything. So far all this warring she's been doing has just lead to more war. The people in charge are clueless and the people not in charge are sheep. So she kind of hates everyone except her family and probably has PTSD. She changes her face back to normal.

Post war she still is technically a part of ROYAL and contract and consults for them part time. You know, when some loon wants to blow up the whole island of England she pitches in, or if someone is in York, she pitches in. She travels the world still, helping where she can. Again, she doesn't really have much else to do in her mind. As much as she wants to be there for Jessica, she just reminds her of all her loss and the loss that is yet to come.

In the 60's she becomes kind of a weirdo public figure as she embraces her nihilism and becomes a publicly bisexual weirdo hippy sexy girl who talks about how meaningless everything is and makes fun of everyone. Also casually lending her support to civil rights, because even if it will all eventually fall apart at least people could die in vain trying to do good things rather than bad things. Or something like that.

In the 70's she kind of puts her act together for the sake of Jessica's new family. She has a son named Todd. At this point she's still travelling the world and heroing it up in some of the worse off places in the world, but she knows that she can't really make that much of a difference. No matter how many houses she Alters into existence or how much water she cleans or how many publicity photos she takes, these places aren't going to get much better. They can't. Nothing can get better. Ever. But still, if she's going to do anything, it might aswell be nice, and finding new places of the world and learning new things is still kind of interesting.

This continues into the 80's. She's still technically an active member of ROYAL. Between travelling and visiting home, there isn't much to say about this decade besides the slow decrease of her heroing activity.

It's the 90's. Eventually Mary gives up entirely and resigns from ROYAL officially, being it's longest serving member in history. But everything ends. She spends time with her family, and still travels, and still helps, but she doesn't really fight anymore unless someone is literally trying to blow up the area she's currently in. There's plenty of heroes to fight for this stuff, let the new blood take care of it or die trying.

2000's. Jessica's son Todd marries someone named Cynthia, and they have a kid named Rose. Things are looking up for her little family, and Mary still kind of hangs around. Cynthia is kind of a superhero geek and gets Rose into that sort of thing.

2010. Jessica passes away. At this point Mary is a full on cynic and only really cares about her family. The rest of humanity doesn't really matter anymore.

2011. It's been a little bit since Mary saw a Silverstone child die, but it looks like that was about to happen with Rose. She has a particularly bad form of leukemia, and there isn't much on Earth that can stop that. Her Alter powers can't fix it. It's an intrinsic disease to her body.

2012. Todd and Cynthia die in a car crash. Mary wonders if her family is cursed.

2014. Rose passes away from her disease. She asks Mary to become a superhero again. The kind that battle bad guys, put out fires, and stop car crashes. Pinky promise. Mary wonders if she can keep that promise. She wonders if she's worthy of it.

2021. With the Silverstone bloodline coming to an end, Mary decides to finish the job in a way. She needs to get away from it all and start fresh. Maybe then she could keep her promise. Mary fakes her suicide. It's a symbolic and internal gesture to herself, and she really wanted to put a pin on the entire story of her life. In her mind, Mary Silverstone didn't really deserve to live. So she did the face changing trick again, and created a new identity; Jane Smith, using her skills she picked up in World War Two as a spy. She asks, though, that people call her Pandora.

2033. She spent a few years building a life for herself in America. Cheating a little bit using her abilities secretly to get more money. But she really wants to keep ICOSA off her back until she makes the decision to get back to it, to keep her promise. Eventually she moves to Castleburg and open's up a flower shop named Pandora's Potts. Now all that's left is to actually get back to it, but she's not really sure if she has that kind of willpower anymore. Ten years pass easily when you live as long as Pandora. Eventually, though, she will be drawn back into the HERO life one way or another. It's only a matter of time.

The Long and Incomplete Life Story of Pandora

No, seriously, the reading time is 50 minutes according to Word Counter.net. It's not even that good of a read. Really it's just for me to get into the mindset of this character and court a general path through her life. You know, instead of leaving it blank. But since this is supposed an omniscient retelling so it would be bad if I just, you know, didn't include it.

Little Farmer Girl

Mary Madison was born January 5th, 1695, in York, England. Her mother, Maud, was a house wife as most were at the time, though her timid attempts at cottage industry almost made her more than that. Her father, Paul, was a farmer in her early life. She had three brothers and two sisters. Only the eldest sister, Susan, remained alive by the time Mary turned 16. They were a lower class family, living on the outskirts of York on a small farm. Eventually, her farm failed. The Industrial Revolution was right around the corner, though the big cities were already beginning to industrialized. Living so close to York, Paul and Maud decided to move the family into the big city so he could find a job. Unfortunately, neither of them were quite away that their children would have to get jobs aswell, ones more dangerous and grueling than subsistence farming or sharecropping. Mary and Susan were 14 and 16 respectively, and her 12 year old brother Mark was still alive at the time aswell. Together, Mary, Susan, Mark, and Paul, all went to work at the big textile mill. That was when Mark died, the only Madison child to die in his childhood not from disease but from hazards in the workplace. This was simply how life was. Mary was expected to be accustomed to loss, and she was. As much as one could be.

Social mobility was virtually non-existant. A born peasant w expect to die a peasant. There were few misconceptions about becoming rich with a stroke of luck at that time. Mary was used to it. It was fine. She enjoyed playing games with her siblings, and though she missed them dearly the memories they gave her during her formative youth were not easily forgotten. Mary and Susan would forge a bond that would last the rest of their lives. Mary was an upbeat young woman who counterbalanced Susan's more sardonic tendencies. They made a fine pair and would joke with each other often. Susan particularly enjoyed picking on Mary for her obsession with keeping flowers. Any old flower or weed, Mary would try to capture and keep alive. It failed more often than not, but Mary would keep trying until eventually she got it right. Mary dreamed of selling flowers to people in the big city, but a textile worker like her would never own a business.

1711. Mary met an older boy named Lao Peng when she was 16. He was 17, and on vacation in England from his homeland of China. One of the first of his people to ever visit England. He was rebellious, and was exploring one of the textile mills when they came upon each other. He was chased away when the master of the mill caught on to his lies of being a "foreign health inspector" but he promised they would meet again, and he would take her to Beijing. They never saw each other again, but that was a fond, mysterious memory Mary reflected on often. It was strange to see someone so different from somewhere so far away. Exhilarating, in a way.

1716. After a long youth of labouring, crafting, and dreaming, it was time for the 21 year old to get married. Children had to grow up fast in those days, and though she maintained some of her happiness, the spark of innocence had long been crushed within her by the toil and suffering of her life up until that point. A poor woman, lowest on the totem pole except for the imprisoned slaves brought over from other lands. Mary was far too focused on her own survival to even worry about the atrocities of her mother nation. Like most people of her class she was proud of being English and had little choice other than to believe the upper class that the pillaging of other nations really was for the best for everyone involved. She could hardly even read.

She caught the attention of a man named Steven Silverstone. The grandson of a failed noble family, thus the extravagant name but ratty red shirt. Or, so he said, anyway. He was a storyteller, and could read very well, so Mary was inclined to believe him, naive and starry-eyed as she was. Oh, how he waxed poetic about her youthful charm and natural beauty. Susan, of course, didn't buy into it for a second. Her second husband (the first had died from influenza in 1712), Clyde, was a plump butcher who worked in the meat factory. Everyone worked in the meat factory. He was gruff, stoic, and worked to support Susan and her incoming children. Not a dandie like Mr. Silverstone. But Mary believed Susan was just jealous because her husband wasn't as handsome or as interesting as hers.

Truth be told, it was a facade. Steven just wanted to impress someone, and this inner city brown haired girl with dust on her face and a twinkle in her eye was just the right person to do it. So he lied, and they got married.

He tried to do right by her. He was the one that taught her how to read, when he wasn't getting frustrated and hitting her. Mary had expected this. Her dad hit her mom, and Susan's husband hit her. It was just the thing to do. The cultural norm. No reason to get too upset about it. Steven was nice most of the time, and the love there was real, even if the naive wonderment of this silver-tongued bard had long since worn off.

1720. When Mary Silverstone was 25, she and Steven had their first child, Charlotte. A sweet little girl with a bad habbit of lying. Two years later, she had Robert, one year after that, James, who died. It was normal. It was expected. But even back then, Mary's soul knew it wasn't right. That her living situation shouldn't be this bad. But there was nothing to be done, no solution presented. Grin it and bear it. Her soul was always slowly withering, but Mary could still try to find peace and joy. Three wonderful children, two of which survived to adulthood. Mischevious children. Mary quits her job at the factory and becomes a stay at home mom. Steven continues his work in manufacturing, making enough money to support all of them and their little house. Just enough. The factory helps to support their family with loans that keep the Silverstones in their debt, but no matter. It's either that or starvation.

1726. Mary's parents pass away. Paul from an accident in a factory. Maud from disease, or a broken heart. Susan's second husband dies the year after that, and she remarries the year after that to a man named Gregory, who is bland and safe and sturdy. When they meet, he brings bread. Mary and Susan still swap stories and catch up, they both live in the same town and are now both stay at home mothers.

1736. Mary is 41, her eldest is 16. Everything is the same. She's content, if bored. Safe, if drained. Happy, but...sad. In a way that's hard to put into words. In a way that was universal then, and much too common now. The feeling of making do whilst underneath a stone ceiling so low, one has to be prone. To smash it would be to just break one's knuckles. Best to just warm herself by the fire.

1746. Mary is 51. Grandchildren. Cute little babies her daughter and son bring to visit, with their son-in-law and daughter-in-law respectively. The family grows. Innocent and curious, the joy of new life invigorates everyone. Steven and Mary are proud. How can they not be? Their lineage is passed down. The lineage of their forebearers before them. Robert's son is named Paul, after her grandfather, and Charlotte's daughter is named Maudette, after her grandmother. It's enough to bring someone to tears. None of Susan's children have children, be it by choice or by simply not living long enough to do so.

1756. 61. Time flies. Susan passes away. Her only living child moves to America. Mary has never missed anyone as badly as she did her older sister. Gregory still brings his bread, and visits her grandchildren. Gregory is a good man, though he and Steven don't seem to get along very well. Usually Gregory and Mary talk, and Steven and Mary talk, and Gregory and Steven talk about Mary, but they never talk to each other. Maybe they're just too different, Mary wonders.

1766. Whatever happened to the florist? Mary sometimes thinks she's a different person than she was before. 71 years old. She has great grand children now. Maudette with Dave and Charles, and Paul with Maggie. It's a beautiful thing. Mary Silverstone can only imagine how far they will go. If she can be content with anything, it's that she fulfilled her duties as a wife and grandmother. She raised them right. Charlotte and Robert, her little girl and her little boy, liars and schemers both, clearly taking after their father. In a good way. The kind of lies you could never stay mad at. Now, all grown up, grandparents themselves. They were more successful than Mary was and their children mroe successful than them. One advantage of everyone having children so young is seeing the family tree grow and blossom in one's lifetime. It was a blessing.

When Steven died that year, she was at peace. She would miss him, but she knew she would reunite with him soon, in the next life. The great grandmother knew she would pass peacefully in a house full of people that love her. She never knew her own grandparents, but she was able to be there for her own children, their children, and now, the little babies.

The year is 1769. It will soon be seen that one flower on the family tree will refuse to wither. Mary Silverstone will have to try to find the value of an apple that does not fall from the tree at all.

The Changer

1769. The year that everything changed. The year that, more and more as time has gone on, Pandora wished she never lived long enough to see. Pandora does not wish for death, but sometimes, she wishes she had died.

Where she lived, nobody knew about the meteor. Mary Silverstone wouldn't find out about it until later. Whoever was in charge decided it was best nobody knew about the end of the world, lest looting and disruption of the peace occur.

So when the coughing started, Mary assumed that it would be the illness that killed her. She didn't plan on fighitng it. She was old, and grey, and frail, and had lived a good life. So she closed her tired eyes and waited for the end. But the coughing didn't stop. She became less frail, finding the energy to not slowly stagger out of bed but rather climb out of it as if she was 60 again. The coughing got worse. Things began to get more strength. A week past. Now, it wasn't as if she was 60 again, she looked like it, too.

The nature of her transformation was an unpleasant one, and thus will be ommitted from this biography. Let's just say the children had to be kept out of the room, and Mary needed to make room for her new anatomy somehow.

But within a matter of months, when Mary looked herself in the mirror, she did not see the gray, thinning hair of a proudly resigned matriarch, but the full, brown, shoulder length hair of a young woman in her twenties. Full of life vigor. She could walk freely, even healthier than her own children. It was a miracle. It took long time for the implications to set in.

News of superpowered heroes had become commonplace, and Mary Silverstone assumed her vigorous health was the extent of her powers. She used them to the fullest, playing with her great grandchildren in the yard. Throwing them up in the air. How was it not natural for her to enjoy her renewed youth? It certainly was a change of pace. It was enough to make the grumpy old woman a starry-eyed girl again. Mary Silverstone didn't need to eat, sleep, or drink. She was full of...emotion! A spirited persona that had long since been crushed out of her, and it was contagious to the rest of the family.

Only one problem. She would have to come out of retirement. She was of prime working age again, and there was still a family to support. Even though she tried to argue that since she doesn't need food or water or sleep that she's basically the perfect roomate, her children guilt-tripped her into finding a job. It was the right thing to do, after all. Mary dreaded returning to the factories more than she realised, but fortunately, that wasn't to be the case. For she discovered that reverting to her early twenties in perfect health was only the beginning of her abilities. When she accidentally turned a wooden spoon into a floppy, gooey stick. Dropping it in surprise, it hit the ground only to shatter, as the now freezing cold wooden floor consumed and broke the spoon instantly.

It took one year for her to get her powers under control. The ability to Alter. As more and more powered people revealed themselves, it became quite clear that she was extraordinarily powerful. Some people could bend a single element, like water or fire, or could even generate it from their bare hands. Others still could fly, or teleport. But Mary could touch anything, anything at all, and bend it to her will. She practiced day in and day out, hopeing to use it to avoid going back to the factory. She had wasted away her entire first youth in those damn things. God forbid she would waste her second youth, too.

1770. 75 years old, but with the body of a 25 year old. A healthy 25 year old, too, not one who had labored in the heat in the sun and of factories all her life. With hindsight, all the insecurities she may have had about her appearance back in the day completely vanished. She looked good. Her gaunt cheeks had filled out, so had her abdomen. She was still a bit lanky-short. Her strength had returned, though, even greater than before because there was no malnutrition.

The question is, what to do now? Having this much power was cathartic. It made her angrier at all she had lost, and grateful for what she still had. All she knew was, she wasn't going back to the factory. She would find a new job, a better job, and hopefully lift her family out of poverty.

The first thing she did was go around repairing people's damaged houses. It was very easy and safe to do. Sometimes she made mistakes and the building collapsed, but she could repair even that, too. Every time she did it, she got better at it until it was second nature. Cleaning up people's houses was nice, and though she usually refused payment, occasionally she accepted it. Her family was happy to just let her do her thing, but she really wanted to start making money for them, somehow.

She discovered her ability to heal when a factory worker had his arm chopped off by machinery. It took a bit of doing, but she managed to re-attatch it good as new. It was her first use of the Restoration ability, and the manager of the factory paid her a pittance for her duty. This made her angry for reasons she couldn't quite explain, but at the time she had to leave because she needed to go throw up due to the sight of a dismembered arm. Despite all the death and horror she had seen in her life, stuff like that would still take some getting used too. That was when she discovered she only threw up purple space goo, now, though slightly transluscent. When she exerted herself, she still sweats, and it's mostly see through, but sometimes it's a little bit purple.Very weird. So, apparently she still needs to maintain some kind of body temperature, though she has much more resistance and stamina than before. This discovery prompted her to begin working out. She wanted to do something in the long night hours, instead of just forcing herself to go to sleep anywhere (the best superpower of all by the way, sleeping on command). So working out would have to do. She would have to consume more energy to do so, so that was when she discovered she could eat grass now, or even just plain old dirt, if she Altered it and consumed it directly via her abilities.

She was naive and wide-eyed, ready to take on the whole world. The florist was back. A superhero. One of the first ever. Mary Silverstone was a generation one superheroine. So early, they didn't even have superhero names back then. People just called her "Mary Silverstone", since Mary didn't even think about concealing her identity. It was also pre-hero organization of any kind. It took fifteen years for them to have any kind of influence over the people of York and the surrounding population.

Leftovers and villains were abound, so Mary, being the most powerful hero around, and the oldest and the wisest, put together a loose coalition of powered individuals. One kid who could control water suggested naming it "Blokes Wot Protect York Town" as a joke and it kind of stuck. The Blokes were created, and Mary was the leader. Two years into her career, Mary took down and defeated her first supervillain, who ended up being named Craig Brindley. He didn't have a villain name, he just put on a mask and started mugging people. His power was a simple one, super strength and super durablity. Fortunately, he was no match for Mary's power. She just ended up burying him up to his neck in the street by turning it to cobble stone. Then she softened up his skin and muscles to get rid of his powers and the coppers took him away.

Back in those early York days, it wasn't Heroes, Villains, or Leftovers. It was Blokes, Mugs, and Barmies. Even though Bloke usually meant men, in this case it adopted a gender-neutral meaning. Like calling someone 'dude' or 'man' today.

The first ten years of her career as a member of the Blokes went well. Those were the golden days. They improved living conditions for everyone in York, protected the innocent from Mugs and Barmies. Unfortunately, there were many systemic issues that even superpowered people could solve. At the time, though, Mary was mostly blinded to those injustices and the Blokes settled for maintaining the status quo. History may judge them harshly (Pandora certainly does), but at the time a greater moral perspective was hard to grasp.

Twenty years past. 1790. At this point, the implication of her agelessness had finally, finally set in. Her children were almost the same age that she was, now. Charlotte's husband had passed away from old age. There was a lot of grieving, a lot of bitter tears, as Mary Silverstone realised she was going to watch her children die. The extra years granted to her by her powers was going to come at a terrible cost. She had great, great grandchildren now, cute little babies. Richard, Timothy, Agatha.

In the superheroing world, ROYAL, a government initiative to help maintain and manage superheroes on behalf of the King, spread it's influence from London and took over York. After twenty years of protecting York, the Blokes were disbanded. Some retired, but most, like Mary, joined up with ROYAL to continue the work they did. With it, they brought ranks and new terminology. Mugs and Blokes were no more, now it was Heroes, Villains, and Abnormalities.

There was talk of using ROYAL to take back the colonies, but it was nixxed. During the American Revolution, soldiers who had powers were just kind of stuck in with the rank and file and expected to use their powers when appropriate. No one was really sure what to do with them. Now, though, everyting was sorted, and superhuman based warfare was starting to really kick off. However, since the Yanks also had their own powered individiuals, and had already entrenched themselves as a new nation, it still wouldn't be worth the effort to take back the Colonies. They could take back the Colonies, of course, but the Yanks fought dirty and it would be too expensive in lives and money to do so. So, they'd let it go.

1800. The dawn of a new century. Charlotte is the first Silverstone child to die, but she wouldn't be the last. Looking back now, Pandora knows she should have seen it coming. She should have seen it all coming, but at the time, Mary didn't want to think about it at all.

Mary had thirty years of superheroing experience under her belt, and quickly garnered respect in the ranks of ROYAL. Most people with that many years were on the way out of frontline combat, but Mary was 100 years old and looked like she wasn't a day above 21. At this point, Mary stopped keeping track of how old she was. It didn't matter anymore, anyway. They say age is just a number, but for Mary it really was true.

Mary was given her first hero code name by ROYAL: The Changer. Entirely original, for sure, but back then one didn't have to be that creative to come up with an original superhero name. Mary preferred still being called Mary, since that was what she was used too. So the higher ups called her The Changer but her friends just called her Mary. This habit of not really liking superhero names would be one that stuck.

Mary's home life was becoming uncomfortable. She spent more and more time away from the house and her children after the loss of Charlotte, and eventually, Robert. It was too sad to think about. Her grandchildren moved out eventually, so whenever Mary was home, she only had memories to keep her company.

So, she left. She signed up with ROYAL's global heroing initiative and became a hero ambassador.

Mostly she travelled up and down the entirety of England. It struck her that up until that point she had never even left York. She travelled from the countryside and into York, and never left. She'd never been 10 miles away from her birthplace. So this was an exciting opportunity. The world was her oyster.

Mary's first brush with military experience was the Napoleonic War, specifically the first coalition of 1805. It was different from protecting the homeland from domestic threats, but that time under pressure had given her the composure to fight in battle. The Changer was especially useful in Navy combat. Manipulating the ocean currents she could travel under the surface quite quickly. Latching onto the bottom of the ship, she would simply carve away the hull until it was full of holes and leave it to sink.

The first time she ever killed anyone was during these naval battles. Simply put, some of the Yankee sailors drowned because of her efforts. It was an inevitability, and it shook her emotionally when she realised she had killed someone without even thinking about it. Only realising after the fact what she had done. Still, the soldiers thought she was a hero, and the sailors were immensely grateful for making their lives easier, and for saving their lives when they wounded. That much it much easier to accept absolvement. She was a soldier. Still, she preferred saving people with her powers rather than killing them.

Mary Silverstone had her first near death experience during the Battle of Trafalgar. It was the largest naval battle of the Napoleonic War, with Britain battling to maintain control of the seas against a Franco-Spanish alliance. After sinking three ships, she was put out of the battle. Under the hull of the fourth ship, a French hero ambushed her and put a hole through her belly with a narrow beam of energy. The british sailors went to recover what they thought was her dead body, following the trail of purple blood left behind in the ocean. But when they pulled her corpse onboard to find it still alive, they sent her on a medical ship back home to England.

That wound was her first brush with her own mortality since becoming ageless, and it occured to her that the peaceful apathy she felt towards death when she was an old woman had faded. Once again, she was not ready to die. She was afraid of it. She remembered feeling hole appear in her belly, looking down with wide eyes as the inky violet substance inside her flowed out into the water, and she remembed seeing the hero that had ambushed her deaming her no longer a threat as she closed her eyes and went limp before floating back up to the surface. She remembered the fear, and the pain, and the cool ocean water turing warm with her life force. It was a bad moment. One to keep in mind as she went forward into battle. Unfortunately, she didn't get a medal or a stripe for the wound since that wasn't a thing yet.

Anyone else would have died, but it was impossible for Mary to drown. Some of her blood came in contact with a sailors cut hand, and healed it. Mary didn't wake up for six months because of the large amount of blood loss, but eventually the wound sealed itself up. It was a miracle recovery. Afterwards, Mary agreed for ROYAL to draw some of her blood to use as medical supplies, but even drawing a little bit left her woozy, and a useable amount would cause her to pass out for an entire day or even more. Hypotetically it could work, and Mary agreed to some blood drawing anyway, but they could only draw an extremely limited amount before putting her into another coma. Despite her durability, Mary is vulnerable to blood loss. There also seemed to be diminishing returns, where the blood would lose it's healing property if too much was drawn over the course of a few days.

Mary was sent over to fight the Americans in the War of 1812. She helped burn the White House down. That was a strange day. The reasons behind the war are lost to her now, but Mary was mainly there to help the wounded troops, and to do her ship sinking trick.

In 1813, she participated in the Napoleonic Wars. Fortunately, England's involvement ended soon after. The Battle of Trafalgar had secured the British homeland's safety for the forseeable future. Since defense was no longer a concern, and that was the main reason Britain was fighting Napoleon in the first place, Britain decided to let the mainlanders of Europe duke that one out amongst themselves. For the next decade or so she patrolled England, battling Mugs- er, "supervillains", and spending time with her family.

1830. Maudette passes away from heart complications. Mary is crushed. She has been spending more time with her grandchildren, her great grandchildren, her great great grandchildren. There are good times had with her and her adult children. Christmas of 1828 is one she always looks back on, where she discovered her Alteration ability allows her to make excellent food. So delicious, it made Richard cry.

Richard and Agatha with their respective partners worry about the future of their children. Richard Jr. is about 10, and Lilly is 8. Neither of them want their children to work in the factories, not so young. At this point, Mary decided to do right by her great great grand children. Using the influence she has built up over the years as The Changer, she decided to become the poster girl of the abolishment of child factory labor. It was a movement that had long been in the making, but having one of England's most well known heroes lend her name and support to the cause was a boon. She was guilty she hadn't thought of it sooner. It was strange to feel so behind when it came to moral thinking. She hadn't even noticed the abolishinist movement, even though right now it was mostly for economic reasons. Mary decided to focus on doing what good she could do more feasibly, and thus focused her efforts on disbanding child labor.

In 1833, she succeeded. Children were banned from working in factories until they turned 16. The labor rights movement carried over into that of slavery. Mary hopped on the bandwagon and slavery was abolished in the British Empire in 1834. But not entirely gone. Britis human rights abuses in the Caribbean and Africa still continued, but Mary didn't very much care about that. It's difficult to care about terrible things happening on the other side of the world. It's impossible to fight for every single righteous cause at once. There are simply too many. One would go insane. Mary wasn't thinking about that, though. She simply thinking about doing good in the area around her, a mission most superheroes aim to uphold in the modern day.

Superheroing around in England was fun. Something to take her mind off things.

1840. Everyone knew of The Changer at this point. Britain's longest operating superhero of ROYAL. Some were still alive from the old days but almost all of them had retired or taken up office jobs.

1841. Paul dies. Both of her grandchildren are dead. Mary finally beings to reckon with the nature of her immortality and is stuck with a deep depression that lasts for five years. She battles evil much less often.

1842. Richard dies in war. Perhaps instead of directing the blame towards rampant British imperialism creating wars all around the world, she grows angry at the rest of the world. Her depression and exisential dread turns to misdirected rage. No longer is The Changer a reserve troop, a volunteer, an auxillery force only used situationally. No longer does she prefer to do tricks and stay on the backlines. Infact, The Changer is no more. For the rest of her life, Mary Silverstone will be better known as The Shark of Crimea.

The Shark of Crimea

The next fifty years are somewhat of a blur. Pandora regrets most of her life. The naivete of her past self. How she did not see what was obvious for so long, and when she did, she resorted to rage and nationalism. When she tried to reconcile for her deeds, the vilest parts of humanity revealed itself. When Mary broke and loathed humanity, and herself.

That is ahead of us still. Now, Mary Silverstone runs from her feelings and herself, seeking comfort in the throes of nationalism and war. A comforting cause to fight for. No worrying about morality or action. Where there is only two teams- the enemy, and the British Empire.

Until 1853 Mary travelled around the world on trading ships, protecting the British East India Company's poisonous trade routes. There were many wars to be fought. Mary was relegated to healing roles, but she desired more.

Mary was also given official military training. She had gone to bootcamp in the past, but her training was outdated. Now that she was going into more traditional combat scenarios, she would need to prove herself. Normally, women were not allowed on the field, but even the sexist culture of the day recognized the value of powered individuals, regardless of their gender. It would be foolish to deny them. However they were not permitted to take on leadership roles. But an exception was made for Mary. She was incredibly demanding, leveraging her clout and experience in order to get what she wanted. Mary wanted to be in charge. She wanted to lead charges. She wanted respect, and power. She wanted to serve her country, to get revenge on the world for Richard. Also, soldiering paid more than ROYAL work. Significantly more. Be it salary or rewards from stolen goods. That money would entirely go towards funding her family and increasing their social status. To give them a good and happy life of luxury. It's possible for greed to come from love.

Mary wanted fulfillment. She needed something to fight for, something real and tangible. Even if it was only as tangible as invisible borders drawn on maps. Maybe this would actually accomplish something. No more fighting crime, only for another villain to pop up later. No more worrying about whether or not she was doing the right thing, or if she should focus her do-gooding elsewhere. Now, she could recieve and execute orders as she saw fit.

Mary learned how to fight. She learned how to shoot, how to lead, how to fight with a blade and read a map and ride a horse. It came naturally, she was determined. In few years she became a true blooded officer of the British Empire. Captain Silverstone, leader of the 24th Cavalry Platoon. Her soldiers loved her. She was one of them, a hero of the British people before even joining the army. Any time they recieved a mortal wound, as long as they could hold out long enough for Silverstone to arrive, all would be well. Silverstone always lead the charge, never commanded it from behind. She was kind, but authoritative.

This was the structure Mary needed. The immediacy of an objective. To ride into a battle where those you call friends may die at any moment is a relief, opposed to watching your children age and die while you remain the same. Mary was resolved of moral responsibility by her uniform. Once again she could focus on helping those around her- her platoon. Unlike the endless crusade against evil the Blokes had undertaken, Mary would know victory when the British flag rose on the enemies capital. She would know love when she returned home to an adoring public. How could she be wrong, when so many people believed she was right? This is what she was born to do. Richard's death had been the wake up call she needed. Not to serve some fake, ethereal ideal of "goodness" or "justice". Not to parce out what was right and wrong from some made up morality or the pages of religious text. But from orders, commands, and from her country. Black and white, good and evil, winning and losing. That was all that mattered.

The Shark of Crimea was born in the Crimean war, one of many Ottoman Wars. The sparks were lit over religious conflicts and border skirmishes. It was time for the imperial powers to set things right with glorious, beautiful war.

This was when Mary discovered her most powerful technique. The full implications of being able to turn the ground she walks on into water. She could provide her platoon with cover on the spot, raising the ground infront of her lines as they reloaded. Wounded troops could be brought back into the fight on the spot. Enemy super heroes hardly stood a chance. Enemy cannonballs would freeze in midair and be tossed back at the enemy at high velocity. She and her platoon marched across the Crimean landscape, winnig victorys and capturing and killing their foes. Around her horse a high pressure wind would deflect bullets before they could hit her, or her magnetized blade would snap to the bullets coming her way instantly and slice them out of midair.

Her superheated sword would cut clean through any enemy super attempting to take her on in 1 on 1.

Perhaps there was a mistake in the orders. It looked like suicide. Her and several other cavalry platoons were ordered to charge across a valley while enemy artillery were pointed right at them. It didn't make sense. But she planned on completing her mission. In what is known as the Charge of the Light Brigade in our universe, became the birthing place of the Shark of Crimea instead, an event in which songs were sung and ballads were created. There's a statue of her still up in her hometown of York to this day.

Captain Silverstone decided to tell all her troops to hold back, and convinced her fellow captains to do the same. She was going to do the charge on the enemy position on her own. She assured them she was confident in her ability to do it by herself. She knew how to get there.

As her soldiers looked on, Mary Silverstone waded into the grass as if it was an ocean shore and vanished under the surface. She didn't need to breathe. Turning the dirt and rock into water was easy. She could manipulate the newly created water's ocean currents like she did in the naval battles to speed her up. If she traded permanance and range for speed and control, the technique was doable. Mary was travelling in a bubble of water, a one woman marsh that travelled through the valley in a 50 foot radius. It was invisible until it was too late, when she had already surpassed the minimal range of the gatling guns and cannons.

On the other side of the valley, captains watched through telescopes as cannons and gatling guns were swallowed by the watery earth. The Russian troops saw friends and allies fall beneath the ground. Their musketballs and rifleshots shattered upon the surface tension of the water. Once they were pulled underneath there was nothing to do except drown or be cut into pieces by a superheated sword. Bodies bubbled to the surface, bobbing in the waves of wet grass. Men were trapped underground as they left the radius of her marsh, embedded in dirt and stone.

Mary could make out the murky shapes of her enemies through the water above her, but the enemy could not see her. Even if they could, it wouldn't matter. Survivors of the attack and spectators from British forces remarked her shimmering, white hot blade breaking the grass-water as she occasionally went closer to ground level to slice a cannon in half or buckle the knees of an enemy horse. The curved white sabre was compared by a particularly poetic captain to a shark's fin. A terrifying warning of impending doom, that was horrifying when you saw it, but even worse when you couldn't.

It was a massacre. There was an enemy hero who could fly. When he realised what was going on, he tried to save his allies by pulling them away, but he didn't have super strength. He was a scout and a bomber. He made a mistake when he tried to rescue his commander, who Mary had pulled only halfway under as bait. Made it look like the panicking horse was somehow resisting the pull of her marsh, even though she could easily pull it under. Afterall, no one knew the true nature of her ability. So when the flying Russian hero went to save his commander, the muddy earth swelled and swallowed him, and he was gone. The rest were easy pickings, it was a massacre. The British cavalry took the strategic foothold. Mary herself wasn't sure how many men she killed the day. A muddy red blur. Given the average size of a platoon, and how many were holding that position, she estimates it to be well into the triple digits.

When she emerged, there wasn't a speck of dirt or dust on her. Clean as a whistle, as if she had just done her laundry and was getting dressed to recieve the medal that honored her services.

Queen Victoria remarked that Mary had personally killed more people that day than she had lived in her long life. Almost two hundred years later, that still holds true.

1860. Life expetancy has gone up, but the inevitable finally occurs. Another one of her great great grandchildren, Timothy, passes away from a stroke. Hopefully him not having to worry about the financial future of his family spared him stress in the end. Hopefully she had given him something to be proud of, and the safety in the knowledge that Mary was protecting his family. Lilly is a beautiful 28 year old woman and Richard Jr. is growing up to a handsome young man. Both of them are waiting to have children longer than usual, which is good.

1861. The American Civil War starts. While initially she was under the impression that it had nothing to do with England, Mary travelled to Liverpool to help build shapes for the navy. One of her many low-effort activites has a member of ROYAL, putting her abilities to good use in a low stress environment. But someone let it slip that these ships were actually headed to Georgia to support the Confederate slave state currently rebelling against the North. Mary watched as the ships she helped constructed sail away to fight for an evil cause because the cotton trade was worth more than human lives. Mary put it out of her mind, not sure what to think. She simply quietl withdrew from that assignment. When President Lincoln emancipated the slaves, the assignment stopped being available anyway. Britain supported the good side when the money wasn't in it anymore. The risk of upsetting the populace outweighing the potential gains of purchasing forced labor cotton.

1865. Agatha passes away. Was the money worth it? Mary believes so. She has too. Otherwise she would have no good excuse for spending so much time away. Lilly has her child. Lydia. Great, great, great, grandchild.

1866. Richard Jr's wife has a child. Richard the third. Cute little babies. Mary will see them lowered into the ground. It's inevitable. It's all she can think about when she looks at them.

1870. The passion that the Shark of Crimea once posessed faded over time, as even this attempt at finding purpose withered away. Down into Africa, to the East and across the Atlantic she fought war upon war. Victory after victory. More and more indigenous peoples crushed underfoot for money. Little english boys sent to die for no good reason. Proud, distinguished officers gaining fame and glory for their victories. Of which she was one. One could tell just by looking at her that the spark had gone out in her eyes. The Shark grew quiet and sullen. Inspiring via her stoicism and front line presence, but certainly not her charisma. Not anymore.

1880. Boer war. Another british colony lost. Even when Mary first got her powers, despite everything she has fought for, the empire is in decay. Not like she much cares about that anymore. In her off time her patrols around England, Europe, North Africa and China grow dull and dissatisfying. The ROYAL global heroing initiative is growing ever more popular, with collaborations between ROYAL and HERO, a North American organization. Everyone is battling super villains everywhere. Somehow, we still find time to murder each other on a grander scale while defending our cities from powered maniacs with ludicrous agendas.

1881. Richard Jr. dies in his middle age, the second Richard to die too young. Mary Silverstone retires from the army entirely, and sinks away from ROYAL as a whole. ICOSA, the ever present survellience force that has been watching her for a majority of her life, notices this and begins to keep track. She's learned almost all their tricks at this point and just lets them do it. If they're afraid this jaded general will go mad and become a supervillain, good. That's kind of funny. Let them be afraid.

1882. At this point Mary forgoes traditional clothing in her attire, beginning her long habit of wearing crop tops. A woman exposing her belly was not technically illegal but it was looked down upon. The Shark of Crimea and the Changer were long gone. It was just Mary Silverstone again, but a weird Mary who on her 5th midlife crisis. Silverstone was odd. It was odd to read, and to see. That the name of a man one century dead was still tacked onto hers. Mary realises how sexually deprived she has been and begins to sleep around. Not like she has to worry about disease. Around this time she discovers she's into girls, too, not just boys. So there's that. Mary very occasionally still heroes around, but rarely solo. Usually she tacks herself onto ROYAL endeavors. They still let her know when particularly bad bad guys are running around, but the general public's adoration and respect has lost her interest. She only fights when all of England, and thus her family, is at stake. Let the new blood sort out the little guys. Her family grows increasingly worried about her. But retirement checks from almost a century of crime fighting is a healthy supplement to their income and allows them more time to better themselves and be granted marketable skills. After all, Mary thinks bitterly, their punishment for not being given the opportunity for bettering themselves should be not being able to better themselves.

1884. This new strange phase of Mary's life lasts a long time. Normally, war heroes are supposed to die of old age or retire in dignity, not hover around and become the weird aunt of England. Mary is still on ROYAL's payroll. Though as more of a consultant and contractor, a part timer. Like before, she shows up to help with major threats, rebuilding, or if there happens to be a supervillain nearby she'll go over and give it a try. Her heart isn't in it, anymore, though. Hasn't been for a long time.

1900. The beginning of a new century. Mary doesn't show up to the family party. Instead she discovers how to use her powers to get drunk again and passes out in a forest for three days straight. When she wakes, she contemplates her life for another day in the forest, not even getting up and hardly opening her eyes. Just staring at the back of her eyelids. People aren't supposed to live this long. She's a wreck, and she knows it. If she doesn't know what to do with herself, how can she expect people to find something for her to do? The forest is pretty, but it's one of the few left in England. Most of them have been cleared out for one reason or another. "Progress" and what not. What a scam that turned out to be.

1901. Mary becomes a lighthouse keeper for a couple years. She visits her family on holidays. They're increasingly worried about her but she's emotionally distant and aloof. None of them know the Mary Silverstone that grew old. As far as they are concerned, Mary has always been there, the perpetual 20 something brunette that pops in and out of their lives and keeps the money flowing. The one who used to make jokes, and was likeable, and wise, or was proud and heroic and stoic, or both, or neither. Now she was just kind of there. There, but not really. She has trouble looking people in the eye. Still she wanders around the world, with no limit to where she can go given her biology. It would only take a normal person 100-200 days to walk from Berlin to Beijing with no sleeps or breaks, which Mary didn't need. She could also travel much faster than the average person's walking speed. Very often, she wasn't even walking, but travelling by train, carriage, horse, or boat. All depending on where she wanted to go.

1905 Lydia has a baby named Juniper. Mary meets and tangentially gets to know the husbands and wives of her various children but she has trouble keeping it all sorted. Nothing more awkward than when your great great great great grandmother in law calls you by the name of a man who's been dead 50 years.

1910. Richard III has a child he named Richard the Fourth. Cute little baby. Despite herself, Mary finds herself playing and warming up around the child. She's always had a soft spot for the children. Even when she wishes she didn't. This baby will be grown up in the blink of an eye.

1912. Mary begins to recover from her depression, feeling better. Reserved, quiet, but not perpetually miserable. She's found peace in wandering, and even stops some minor crimes again. Some people chastise her for abandoning her duties as a hero, but others still say that if anyone is deserving of a rest, it's Mary Silverstone. Besides, Mary thinks, everything's gone well without me. Mostly. There was probably a fire or disease or villain she could have stopped faster but that's true for the rest of the Blokes, and they've been dead for over a century and nobody's angry at them.

1914. She felt up to heroing again just in time, though. Just in time for the big one. The war to end all wars. The Great War. The World War. She regained herself just in time to feel bad at the sight of millions of british lads put on their helmets. For thousands of men and women with their little nicknames and their powers to perk up and seek glory in the army. But she knows it won't be glory. She's seen the signs. She saw them along time ago. There are planes, now. Guns, bombs, and machineguns that make gatling guns look slow. The imperial powers have been at peace for a long time, since after the Crimean war. But it's about to end, and it will end badly. Someone has to look out for them. Someone has to look out for these kids and these old men who don't know any better.

It was time to rejoin the army. It was time to fight in the Great War. Maybe this time, it really will be the last.

World War

Saying goodbye to her family once more, Mary takes up position. The Royal Army and ROYAL both give her permission to retake her leadership role as Captain Silverstone, but she declines. Even then, she recognized the bad place that she was in, but she failed to realise that it didn't really matter if she was in charge or not. Especially not for this war. This "Great" War.

Quickly she was dragged into the vortex of mud and blood. There were so, so many soldiers. British and French alike. No man's land. Mass charges resulting in dying people so far out she couldn't reach them without dragging them under the surface of the ground and dragging them yards and yards back. Wounded people could die from being submerged in muddy waters. The wounds could get infected, which is something her Alteration had trouble dealing with without removing the infected part completely, and how does one remove the infected part of gut wounds? Diseases of all sorts. Chemical warfare. The other ROYAL members brought back wounded troops for her to heal, and the triage did their best. But it was overwhelming. The Great War was a terrible one. It was supposed to be over by Christmas, but she could read the writing on the wall. Either way, Mary Silverstone was a beacon of hope on the battlefield for allied forces. The idea that someone, somewhere, could make all there hurt go away, and could protect them. She ended up caring for these little soldiers boy, only trying to march home. Like she did so long ago. These soldiers were all the same. In their faces she saw the reflections of comrades long old, grey, or dead. The banter, the bravery, the...naivete. Just kids, really. She couldn't stop the war, but she would stop as many as possible from dying. Maybe this was what she was meant to do.

It was hard not to give into cynicism. For every soldier she saved, hundreds more were dead somewhere else. So hard, it was impossible, and she did. It didn't take very long at all for whatever crackling, ashy fire of spirit burning in her heart to be put out once more by the sheer vastness of human suffering on display. How nothing, nothing at all had changed. It had been this way her entire life. The recognition of old friends in the faces of these new soldiers wasn't comforting, it was depressing. It was losing them all over again, and she knew she would lose again, and again, and again. Just like her children. Dave had his great grandfather's eyes.

Mary Silverstone stayed in the auxillery of the war for it's duration. Staying just back behind the frontlines. In a particularly dire situation where the officers could not be dissuaded that charging was suicide, she swam underneath no man's land and disabled the enemy position, drowning the Germans in their trenches. The Shark of Crimea returned to the cheering of the platoon she was apart of, and her gracious smile was hollow and dead. When that officer shook her hand she wanted to grab him by the throat and seal it shut, watch him choke. She hated him. She hated, hated, hated him, for making kill those men. She hated him, and everyone he worked for. The dominoes fell, and a blasphemous traitor was born that day in Mary Silvertstone's heart. That this officer who had the loyalty of his men would send them to die, that the King would sign off on this for reasons beyond anyone's comprehension. She hated herself for practically being that person herself not so long ago. She hated the soldiers for not shooting him in the back and going home, for not shooting her in the back. She hate, hate, hated everything and everyone, and this misanthropic loathing for humankind only worsened overtime.

Still, she stayed. But she was bitter and cold and make cruel jokes at the soldiers expense when they came to her crying. Oh, bay, oh wail, ye poor dogs. But talk. Keep talking about how much you hate the Germans for doing this to you when you are all doing it to yourselves. Your real enemy is in Buckingham Palace, in Parliament. Your real enemy is each other, your infantile machismo pushing each other further and further into action. Shaming one another for not performing the Imperialistic duties. Your terrible mothers raised terrible children. Everything, everyone, is rotten and useless to the core, only causing pain and suffering. There is no difference between England and Germany besides the color of their uniforms and the language they speak, yet they tear, tear, tear each other apart. Mary Silverstone loathed everyone and herself. The only ones spared her bitterness was her family, for base human reasons of love and compassion that Mary knew was hypocritical that only made her hate herself more.

1918. The war is over, and nothing has changed, except millions of people are dead. Soldiers and civilians alike. Everyone go home. Mary returned home even more broken than before, though aggressive and angry rather than apathetic and resigned. Irritable. Only softening around her family, and even then she had to take frequent breaks before she went on some childish tirade about the futility of it all. Like she was the only one to ever have these thoughts. Stupid, stupid, stupid Mary who lived this long only come to this realisation now, and seflish, selfish, selfish Mary who is causing her sweet family to suffer for it but she can't, can't, CAN'T MOVE ON! Because it's going to happen again. Mary spent many days and nights in this loop of negative feedback. Of all the wars, and all the things she had experienced, the Great War seemed to harm her mental health the most.

So, she spent the next years trying to relax. She still had plenty of leftover fortune from her plundering and ROYAL work days. Her successful and long heroing career had granted her that much. Between spending time with her family, she once again began global heroing work. Despite everything, it was what she was good at. It was what she knew. Without it, she was lost entirely. She travelled to impoverished countries and took solace in using her powers for restoration, rebuilding, and creation only. She was tired of fighting for "good" and "noble" causes.

1920. Lilly passes away. Mary and her family grieve and mourn. It never gets easier. It shouldn't get easier. Richard IV and Juniper are cute kids still. Even Juniper, the grumpy teenager, who insists she isn't and is infact, very "cool", which is a thing kids say now, apparently. Juniper seems to both respect and dislike Mary for various reasons. Being a soldier is bad, but wearing crop tops is "cool". Mary likes Juniper a lot.

1930. The Great Slump, or Great Depression, hits England. Suddenly all that money Mary made so long ago doesn't seem to add up to much. Mary tries to find more work with ROYAL, who, after all these fucking years, is of course, still happy to oblige. They have a great deal of respect for Mary Silverstone. The Changer. The Shark of Crimea. But it's what she is good at. Her family desperately needs money. Like everyone else in England, they verge on homelessness. The real money was in espionage. Mary had proven her adaptability in the past. She had the strengths and weaknesses of any young woman hero looking to serve her country at the time. So, she was put in with the other recruits and trained to become a spy. Mary recruited her earnings from this dangerous job were funneled directly into her family's bank account.

1931. After completing her training, Mary discovers a new use for her Alteration ability. People know Mary Silverstone's face, at least enough people it would be a risk. Using Alteration on herself is dangerous, and her body has a very strong resistance to it. However, she can still do it. Thus, she began making changes to her body to aid in her espionage. She started out with something small, something not that big of a deal, like changing the shape of her belly button over the course of a week and then changing it right back to how it was. Somewhere in MI6 head quarters there are precise measurements of her navel in various moments of her changing it, which is a weird thing to think about. Either way, this proved that she could make changes to her body slowly, over time, and restore them afterwards. Thus, she got to work on making herself a new face.

First, she changed her hair color to blonde, which was easy enough. By only slightly uptilting her nose, removing the mole on her neck, plumping out her lips and shifting her eyebrows, she looked like a totally different person. Mia Becker, german native, was born. She learned how to speak German, though she had already picked up a significant deal over the years. Had even read books about it. Plenty of things to do when one didn't need to sleep. She could even alter her vocal cords to assist in her accent and delivery. She was a perfect spy. Of course, that's not exactly true, as one man was a shapeshifter who could change his entire appearance over the course of a few seconds instead of a few weeks or months. So he was better at in than she was, but still.

So, into Germany she went. In disguise as a young woman looking to apply her healing powers. British intelligence was particularly curious about the goings on on a new political power rising in Germany- the National Socialist Party. The god damn Nazis.

Turns out, Mia learned, they were evil. Really, really evil. It took a year to see past all what they were doing to find out they were an authoritarian hate group bent on taking over Germany and then all of mainland Europe. Mia had seen this kind of thing before, though she hadn't recognized it at the time. They were going to start a genocide. Like what happened to the Armenians in the Great War under the Ottoman Empire. This time, against the Jews, Slavs, disabled people, gypsies...everyone. It made her sick. She hadn't confronted something like this before. It was an insidious poison. Somehow even worse than what the empires of the past had done. The things that she regretted. Maybe, Mia thought, she could redeem herself. By stopping this new power from rising, she could balance out the harm she had done to the world with her many conquests. Then, she might have to go after Britain. Somehow. More civil rights stuff, more protesting and activism. She might be more extreme than that, but with her family and identity public, she couldn't put her loved ones in danger like that.

1935. Mia Becker is entrenched in the Nazi political party. Oh, the Heil Hitlers this, the Heil Hitlers that. It was disgusting how much these Nazis reminded her of her younger self. Of the Shark of Crimea. All nationalism and conquering. The racial element never really came into it with Mary, but it certainly did with these people. She slept with some, men and women both. Anything. She wanted, needed, to stop this. Somehow. At least help stop it. Otherwise...another World War. Mary wasn't sure she could handle another World War, so Mia was going to do her part to stop it. She fed intel the best she could in all the ways that she could. Deadrops and secret messages and ferrying people out of Germany and into France and vice versa.

1939. The war kicks off. Richard IV has a kid he names Jessica. Unknown to Mary, he runs off to join the army. Dread fills Mia's heart. It's happening again. Even worse, this time. Humanity learned nothing. She hates the Nazis. When she attends speeches how she just wants to drown everyone. But the Nazis have their own heroes and she would be defeated before being able to do any real damage. She needs to attack them from within. Her time will come.

1940. The Battle of Britain. Her hometown is being bombed. She and many other spies went tried to get word back home as fast as they could...she just hoped she was fast enough to save her family. She wasn't. Juniper, Lydia, and Richard III are all killed in the bombings. Only little Jessica survives, miraculously. In order to not comprimise Mia Becker's value as an asset, MI6 decides not to inform her of these events. Not like they get much of a chance to communicate with her, anyway.

1941. Mia Becker's most successful year of spying. She even pulled off a few high ranking officials without being discovered. It took weeks of planning both times. All she needed to do, though, was find a spot where a german official was, and nobody know that she had been there. Then, she just Altered the officer and the wall, combined the two together, and the body and person vanished without a trace. Being able to walk through any surface made her quite the assassin. Co-ordinating with French resistance also helps massively, with Mia spreading disinformation among German intelligence while giving the French the real deal. She feels very good about herself. Her efforts are making a real difference, she knows it.

That year, she is discovered by the Nazis. The enemy sneaks into her room and puts a bullet into the back of her head, splattering purple blood all over the table. It's heavily disorienting, and she knows her time is running out, but she still manages to escape anyway. She turns the wooden floor of her room into water, causing her and the assassin to plummet to the floor below. Only for that floor to be turned to water, and then the floor after that. Upon reaching the ground floor she narrowed the liquidification effect to only affect herself, so the assassin would hit hard ground while she would splash safely under the surface. Mia Becker vanishes underneath the surface of the wooden floor. With the limited amount of time she had left, she used her powers to find a place to hide that was impossible to find by anyone without omniscient powers. Then there was nothing left to do but wait for her consciousness to fade, feeling the purple blood pour down her face, into her eyes, spitting it out as it dribbled into her lips and drenched her shirt. The exit wound must have been hideous, and she felt it was large. Eventually she slumped over in her little hole. Six months later, she woke up.

Since Mia Becker was ousted, and there was no way to go back undercover, the blonde german girl who was secretly a brunette british girl over 200 years old, fled west into France.

She was put into contact with MI6, where they informed her of the death of her family. They also informed her they had placed Jessica in protective custody. Mary went into a dark place. The telegraph she recieved the news on bubbled into boiling lava. When it was done meltig, Mary was gone. She disassociated. When she looked herself in the mirror, she saw Mia, still. She liked it that way. Sorry, Mary wasn't home right now. Only Mia.

She became a member of the French resistance. There are many stories from this time. Earning trust, assassinating officials, bombing places that neede to be bombed, protecting civilians from retaliation. At the very least, Mary knew her war was just. Despite the evils of all of humanity, including the nations she fought for, the Nazis were the greatest evil of all. With her ability she could travel across all of Europe freely. Mary discovered and liberated one of the more minor concentration camps. True, despicable evil. Finally, she had a chance to stop it. Not support it, as she had in the past. Stop the evilest form of humanity from spreading, corrupting, and destroying. Whoever these people were, they were not worthy of sympathy or understanding as the grey uniformed kids she battled in World War One. None of them deserved to live. Her rage was overwhelming, and as much as she hates to admit it, she took pleasure in their suffering. Seeing the fear in their eyes made her feel good, like it was justice. She discovered a technique where she could grant people immortality on one condition- she combined their form with an inanimate object.

Tying their life forces together, so they would live as long as the boulder or ground existed. But all they could was sit there, as new beings, trapped inside rocks and the mud. Some of them, she assumes, are still alive to this day. Some of them may have been fortunate enough to be destroyed. Without her personally travelling their and restoring them, they would never be free. Even then the process of transforming someone into a rock in the first place must be immensely traumatizing, so they would never be the same. Might aswell just leave them there. This dark, sadistic part of herself once awakened, was impossible to subdue. There is no moral excuse for sadism. Yet, she found herself enjoying inflicting pain on others. Eventually she just accepted it as a new part of herself and moved on, because she was too furious to care.

Mia/Mary spent four years carving a bloody swathe across wartorn Europe, challenging Nazi villains and killing or combining them with the wartorn buildings. Making horrible things of their bodies and leaving them was warnings to their fellows. This extended to the French Police aswell, who had been easily co-opted by Nazi Germany into their tools of oppression once they had taken over. She wondered if the same would happen to Britain had they been easily defeated, and her conclusion was 'yes'. Mary also felt personally betrayed, because she didn't find out about her family's death for almost an entire year. She felt betrayed that they weren't put somewhere safer. She felt betrayed that the only reason she wasn't home, protecting them, was that she needed the money, and this was her only skillset that would allow her to be paid enough money to support them. To fight. To be in ROYAL. It was all she knew. Maybe she should have just gone back to the factory.

The World Wars had broken her faith in systems and made her despise herself and her past actions even more. She wondered if she even wanted to go back. Just let Jessica live her life in England with the family she found, the Browns. Mary would stay Mia, the defecting Nazi, and travel the world killing people who did bad things she didn't like.

1945. Mia found herself liking the ragtag group of people called the French Resistance. They came from all over the world. They died for France, a country that hated most of them and cared for little of them. They were selfless and brave. It was stupid, Mia thought. They should be selfish. They should run and hide, not stay and fight. They don't owe anyone anything. Half of these people would risk their lives for this country that had betrayed them. She hated them for their bravery. They were too good for this world, and that's why she couldn't save all of them.

The war in Europe was over. Hitler had killed himself in his bunker. It was up to the Americans to finish off the Japanese. Mia disappeared over the next few months, Mary restoring herself to her previous form. She returned to York, and would never fight a war again. She visited Jessica in her new home. While technically it was only temporary foster care since the entire extended Silverstone tree had been wiped out by the Germans, and Mary could become Jessica's guardian, she decided it best to leave her with the Browns. Mary wasn't sure she could raise a child again. Jessica could barely remember Mary, anyway. Might aswell let her be happy.

A Brief Hiatus

1950. The Cold War is on. The Yanks and the Ruskies are eyeing each other with their big bombs, and at any moment the world could go up in flames like Hiroshima and Nagasaki did. It was strange to think those cities which she had visited long ago were now nothing but craters. Such loss of life was inevitable though, given the twisted nature of man. Mary didn't so much have a contempt for individuals as she much did the very idea of life itself. She tried to put on a brave and happy face for Jessica and the Browns, but Jessica was a baby when the attack happened. Mary was absolutely crushed, whatever pieces of her soul she had tried to maintain was gone. There was a huge family plot of Silverstones that Mary had protected and maintained over the years, and three bloody tombstones had the same date, and the graves were empty because her beloved family had been blown to pieces. Mary fell into the worse depression of her life, which was saying something. The few times she felt better was when she was around Jessica, but even that could make her feel worse. She felt like a fake person.

1960. Over the last decade, her depression has evolved. Her existential dread changed. The civil rights movement and general public awakening to the ideas of morality, ethics, battling against the system has awakened her spirit. She's feeling something again. Even though it's usually just contempt, disdain, and mild amusement. It's one thing to not be able to care, it's another entirely to choose not to care. There was power in that choice. Mary embraced the nihilism of her life, and in turn acquired some kind of spiritual enlightment. She walked around in bikini tops and bell bottoms, with ridiculous sunglasses. Casually battling villains and humiliating them. The 60's was the last decade that Mary Silverstone participated in the public eye. She liked the idea of people looking at and ogling her body. Mary had never stopped working out, and her natural regeneration prevented blemishes. She genuinely looked perfectly beautiful at all times. It made her feel good. She enjoyed being pretty. Perhaps, in some ways, this was Mary refusing to come to grips with her internal struggles. But it was a life. It was something. It was better than nothing. She went around the world, participating in civil rights movements. She walked from Beijing to Berlin, which was apparently a "statement" about race issues, it didn't matter. It was fun, it was casual, and she could still do some good. There was nothing more annoying to Mary at this point than her tendency to do good. She just, did it. If she was going to do anything, it had to be "good" somehow. It was a bad habit, almost.

Somehow, the good-natured girl who just wanted to stay out of the factories and stop people from suffering the way she so often saw people suffer was still in there. Annoying little brat.

1970. Jessica has a son named Todd. Cute little baby. Mary comes over more regularly to visit. During the 70's, Mary settles down and decides to retire from hero work all together. The fun she had in the 60's is over. Hundreds of thousands of Americans are being sent to Vietnam to kill people for some (no?) reason. People are protesting and rioting and occasionally being squashed by the boot of the upper class and she has entirely lost faith. As far as she is concerned, the good fight is over. It's lost. Nothing will ever get better. Every old problem is replaced with a new one. Places like China murder millions for something, famine is everywhere. Many parts of the so-called "Third world" are still in shambles after being ravaged by imperialist powers for centuries. Plague sweeps through various parts of the world. It's all the same. Some places have gotten better, others have gotten worse. There seems to be a total amount of human suffering that never changes. What's the point? Supervillains and heroes smashing into each other, forever. For all time. She's sick of it. Burnt out. Nothing is getting better.

1980. Mary is trying to be a family woman again, but the loss of everyone except Jessica is still fresh. Todd is a smart know-it-all of a ten year old. He's probably going to grow up to be someone. Still no sign of powers. Mary spends travelling the world like she always does, since she has an infinite amount of free time. Battling the odd villain here and there. Just enough to keep Mary Silverstone in the public consciousness, if only barely. Just enough to make it so when she gets mentioned in textbooks that only get updated every ten years, it says "Active" instead of retired. She just can't seem to stay away.

1990. After many years of no contact at all with ROYAL as a contractor and consultant, she officially sends in her resignation form. Hire year- 1781. Resigned-1991. Time flies. A weight is lifted. Finally, she's done. Let the world sort itself out.

2000's. Todd is growing up to be a fine young man. Not much happens this decade except the slow degradation of hard earned liberties. Not like anyone ever put them to much use, anyway, or that they were ever really real. She's surprised America is even still going. Of course it had also been one of the big imperial powers on the block despite apparently having face oppression itself. She reads the news only to be amused by the predictable suffering human life inevitably entails, and to make sure Todd, Jessica, her husband, and the Browns aren't in any immediate danger.

2010. Jessica passes away of a heart attack. Her husband follows soon after. 71 years already? Where had the time gone? Todd marries a woman named Cynthia. They have a sweet little girl called Rose. Cynthia is an annoyingly optimistic young woman who loves superheroes. Mary doesn't spend much time with Cynthia, but Rose is an absolute joy to be around.

2011. Rose is diagnosed with Leukemia. Mary is powerless to stop it.

2012. Cynthia and Todd die in a car accident. Mary takes care of Rose by herself, never leaving her side.

2014. Rose passes away. Before she goes, she asks Mary to become a superhero again, like she used to be. The kind of superhero that fights bad guys, puts out fires, and stops car accidents. Pinky promise? Pinky promise.

With Rose Brown gone, so is Mary Silverstone. There isn't much light left. Nothing except the promise to a little girl.

2021. She decides to make it official. Some of her spycraft from the second world war still works. Crafting a perfect look alike of herself using her Alteration powers, Mary stages her suicide. It was easy to fake her own death. The only way to get a corpse to convincingly die by impact, so she would have to hurl it off a high enough bridge, which she did. Using her powerset, doing the bait and switch was easy enough. She did it when no one was around, because witnessing that kind of thing can be quite traumatizing. She would have preferred to do it some cleaner way but any coroner worth their salt, even with her utterly bizarre biology, would be able to tell if she just shoved some poison in it's mouth or whatever. Her 'body' washed up along shore a few days later, was discovered, and her death was made official.

To the world, the tale of Mary Silverstone is an interesting one. One of the world's first ever superheroes who lived into the modern age. Long enough to see herself become the villain, and then become the hero again. Her actions, heroic at the time, had to become villified as moral thinking evolved. A conflicted and troubled woman who lived a long life. Always acting in accordance to what a hero is according to the status quo. Her old house in York was turned into a museum. Some people left flowers outside it.

A note was left inside her bedroon. "I kindly beg your leave."

Her fake body is buried in the family Silverstone plot. Some members of the public attend her funeral. It is a historic moment after all. On her gravestone it is engraved thus:

Mary Silverstone

January 5th, 1695 - March 3rd, 2021

At Ease

Someone picked the epitaph for her, and she supposed it was pretty good as celebrity epitaphs go. Short, simple, to the point. It contrasts nicely with the bizarrely long life span. It would have been inappropriate to write something like "Taken from us too soon", after all. Her life accomplishments wouldn't be succinct at all, and half of her great deeds were warmongery in retrospect. So, at ease. We understand why you left, and we give you permission. Also a reference to her long history in the military. She thought about that epitaph alot, since it's a new experience that a rare few people get to have.

Forging a new identity, Mary changes her face, fingerprints, and hair follicles over the course of a few months whilst in hiding. Her new legal name is Jane Smith, but she asks everyone call her Pandora. She moves to America. She's sick of ROYAL. She's going to be apart of the aptly named HERO. Maybe. Pandora makes a little living for herself and opens up a florists shop in Castleburg.

2033. Pandora never joined with HERO. She was content being a florist. Happy to just...be alone. Forever. Mary Silverstone is dead, long live Jane 'Pandora' Smith. The beautiful, enigmatic, cynical florist who lives in a two storey townhouse in Passenger Island. She owns a floral shop called 'Pandora's Potts'. Get it? Like Pandora's Box? As much as she hates to admit it, she's scared. Scared to be a hero again. Scared to start making connections. Scared to come to terms with her promise and what it means for her future. Maybe it would be best just to...fade away into obscurity. Wait from some electrical accident to take her out, or for this agelessness to suddenly stop working. Just take care of flowers for all time.

Power: Alteration

Pandora possesses the abiliy to alter the matter her body comes in contact with. She can use this power on herself, although it is extremely limited, as in it takes months or years for the changes to materialize.

Her ability works on solids, liquids, and gasses, organic and inorganic things. The greater or more precise the change, the more energy required. The effects of her Alteration can transfer from one object too another within limited range, about 50 feet maximum. The farther away the changes are from her physical body, the longer and less effective the changes are. She works best with solids and liquids with gasses nebulous nature making it more difficult to Alter.

Alteration works with almost infinite precision. If Pandora sets her mind to it, there is very little she cannot accomplish inregards to matter manipulation. It comes naturally to her, as if the world itself has become an extension of her will. Changes she makes to things with direct contact of herself happen instantly, and with total precision.

These powers can effect anything her body touches, but they are channeled out of her hands and feet. If she wasn't able to touch anything with those appendages, she wouldn't be able to Alter. This is why she always barefoot and without gloves.

The more types of Alteration she wishes to do, the less effecient is the use of her energy. If she wanted to turn stone into water with one hand, and freeze the dirt around her left foot, that would be difficult.

Sub-Ability: Restoration

Being intune with everything she touches, Pandora can "feel" how things should be. When touching something directly with her hands, she can manipulate the matter of the item into how it once was, and know when it is correct, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. This allows her to heal wounds without making mistakes, and know when a damaged building has been repaired to the fullest.

Alien Biology:

Pandora's body was changed a great deal by the X-200 event. She no longer needs eat, sleep, drink, or breathe, and she doesn't age. She now draws energy directly from the sun, and can transfer nutrients directly into herself via her Alteration power should she need too. Because of this she could alter inedible objects into having caloric value and then consume it should there be no other source of energy available.

Pandora also bleeds purple because of her strange new anatomy, her internal structure unrecognizable to that of humans. Her blood carries a natural property to restore whatever it comes into contact with, excluding herself. Pandora generates this blood slowly overtime, sped up by consuming nutrients or absorbing energy from the sun. Unlike most humans, who can live without 14% of their blood without even feeling dizzy, Pandora feels woozy and can pass out at only 1% blood loss. 10% blood loss and she is in a coma, and 25% blood loss and she will die. This makes Pandora more durable in some ways, but more fragile in others. One could fire a bullet directly into her brain and she could survive, but a cut to the back of the leg is extremely dangerous.

Pandora passively regenerates from any damage done to her, but only when she is sleeping. Loss of her blood results in a loss of energy, which forces her body to shutdown to restore the damage. She doesn't know this, but Pandora can regenerate from any damage, even from death. However, whatever aspect of what makes Pandora Pandora would be lost from this return from death, and she would essentially be comatose forever.

This protects her from decay, and is why she is ageless as the damage done to her by age was restored a longtime ago and never came back due to the permanent nature of her Alterations.

OTHER- Sexuality: Yes

Favorite Animal: Butterfly

Favorite thing: Plants. Temporary, fleeting, beautiful. All of them are the same. They don't care very much if they live or die and they never talk back to her. They are simple things who understand their place in the universe.

Motivation: Desperation

Pandora can sleep on command and doesn't need to sleep. She doesn't sleep for she has nightmares. Spends most of her time trying to distract herself. Pandora cannot self medicate with alcohol, she is a Sad Drunk. Other drugs affect her in unpredictable ways that make her feel sick. This all said, her hobbies include excercise, being a florist, and choosing clothes that make her look good.

*Optional* Relationship Addendum

Name of Person
Chad Connors, THE BULLET

Relationship Status
Mild Annoyance

Relationship Description
I know the type of person that he is. I meant plenty of them, in every war and in every country I've been. Though I doubt I've met one was sickeningly enthusiastic and ignorant before. Kids like him either grow out of this phase or die early. I predict the latter for Mr. Connors- probably by impaling himself on something sharp. I don't even think his power is super speed at all. I've never met a true speedster who couldn't stop on a time.
---
Name of Person
Christina Lavender
Relationship Status
Enemy

Relationship Description
Even worse than Chad. She's a zealot and thinks she knows everything about right and wrong. She judges me? My flowers alone are better than anything she's ever done in her miserable little life. She doesn't have any respect for me, absolutely no manners. People like her lick boots until it's their turn to put it one and step on someone else's face. Makes me sick.

----

Name of Person

Relationship Status

Relationship Description

----

Name of Person
Hugo Powers
Relationship Status
Work Colleague

Relationship Description
Someone I can actually respect- because he respects me. He called me Pandora when I asked him too. Even though he keeps people like Christina and Chad and the rest of his band of goons onboard...at least he's a man self-determination. Ideologically consistent, aswell. He's not going to be a Great Man of history but he'll be one of those sub-tier Adequate Men who have more influence than people give them credit for. A fate as good as anyone could ask for, I suppose.

Well, he's probably dead now, anyway. Or at least not running nearly a tight a ship as I thought he was. I didn't think I'd have to put up with this much shit this quickly. I just came out of retirement for Christ sake, now I'm having to manage this band of children he calls HERO One. I wouldn't be surprised if he offed himself and Seraph just took his spot.

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Name of Person
Grace something
Relationship Status
Disappointment

Relationship Description
Don't know much about her other than she has a hard time keeping her cool. She also almost knocked over one of my flowers. I'm so sick of dealing with crying people. Wah wah wah, whine whine whine. Goodness. I thought someone at HERO might be actually able to take charge. I was looking forward to not having to give the orders for once. So that's disappointing. Not sure what else I could bloody expect, though.

Why can't she be more like me? I haven't cried in two hundred years. It's not that hard.
---------------------------------------------------------

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Name of Person
Patricia Aria Whatever
Relationship Status
Mild Annoyance

Relationship Description
Just a scared little girl with powers far too powerful for her. I'd have thought she'd be used to people demonizing her inherently evil ability but no, I guess not. She also offered me cake. Cake! Like I'd want her fucking cake at a time like this. Or ever, actually. It's probably shit cake. I've never met a child who could make a good cake. Cake is terrible, anyway. Why did she even take the cake through the bloody portal?

----

Name of Person
Bleehhh everyone else
Relationship Status
Bleh

Relationship Description
Too many to count. I can't remember all of their names, the others haven't really talked to me. Bunch of misfits, outcasts, and pyschopaths far as I can tell. Just pawns in other people's games, really. I can't wait to get to know how annoying they all are, in their own special little ways.

Apptitute Tests

Test #1 (Physical) Score
100
Subject is exceptionally fit and athletic. Far and away she surpasses her peers. Subject show a strong affinity toward excercise. Prevailing theory is that without the aid of her unique biology, she would earn an 80. Common power suppressants do not effect her biology. Finding other ways to reduce the effectiveness of her biology would be essentially poisoning Pandora so she couldn't function.

Test #2 (Intelligence) Score
11
Subject expressed irritation at the nature of this test. Despite initial projections, subject did poorly on the history and social studies portion of the test. Subject also did very poorly on the mathematics section of the exams, becoming frustrated quickly. Subject's estimated education level seems to be 1st grade or lower, with the exception of her handwriting and her partial knowledge of geography. On the english portion of the test, Pandora either didn't attempt the questions at all, or when she did, her syntax was outdated by several hundred years. Wanted to forfeit the test, and upon being asked to complete it filled in whatever was remaining with guesses and crude comments. A full re-education of modern school curriculum is recommended.

Test #3 (Potential Power) Score
100
Subject simply approached every object and turned it into water with ease. Armored guard was subdued instantly as the joints of his armor became rigid and subject pushed him onto his back. Subject moved with fast mobility through and above the terrain. Zero damage at all to any object she was not commanded to destroy.

Test #4 (Non-Power Combat) Score
88
Subject completed the physical evaulation by incapacitating all of her opponents. Subject expressed capability in various types of martial arts and combat theory. Subject didn't allow her opponents to overwhelm her or overpower her. Was struck a few times. Towards the end of the examination, two opponents managed to briefly restrain her which seemed to greatly anger the subject. Subject gouged out a martial artists eye in order escape. Upon the return of her powers she fixed the practioner's eyes, claiming she accidentally went 'backstreet' on him.

Points were considered being reduced due to Pandora's use of pyschological warfare during the test, intimidating her opponents. Many fighters were hesitant to approach due the implication that subject could hurt them greatly and then heal them later.

Test #5 (Power Combat) Score
95
Pandora was put against an S-tier hero, Shining Marble. Shining Marble was unable to react in time as Pandora submerged into the ground and sucked him underneath up to his head, restrained instantly.

Pandora was placed against a flying Leftover hornet like enemy. After considering her strategy she pushed herself and a considerable amount of liquified concrete into the air in a large vertical splash. Subject, horner, and liquified concrete met contact with the ground shortly thereafter with all damage repaired and enemy subdued.

Test #6 (Field Aptitude Combat) Score
92
Once again subject's ability to alter anything she comes into contact with proves very effective. After a brief period of scouting from stealth, subject swam underneath the terrain and stealthy disabled the simulated WMD from within. Upon discovery of the villain she pulled her under the ground and deposited her outside. She picked off the remaining henchmen one by one.

Test #7 (Psych Eval) Score
73 DISQUALIFIED- 0

Subject required three evaluations for a clear picture. On the first evaluation, she manipulated the test and attempted to 'optimize' her answers. Upon being challenged on this, she did the opposite and gave what she believed to be the worst answers possible. This final evaluation is believed to be the most accurate.

Subject shows flippancy toward authority. Subject enjoys intimidating, bullying, and otherwise 'messing with' those who commit percieved personal slights against her. Subject does posess a subdued moral understanding of good and evil, hampered by an undervaluing of individual human lives. Individual connections have become difficult for Pandora to maintain due to repeated experiences of loss. She most likely feels isolated from her peers.

Subject has no issue emotionally manipulating people to get what she wants. Subject is extremely reticent at truly expressing her own true personal thoughts, and reacts negatively to attempts to understand her. Pandora seems to be motivated to join HERO due to an extremely personal reason. We theorize she is using HERO as a coping method for her trauma. Subject expressed a genuine interest in coming out of retirement and becoming a HERO again. Given previous experiences, tt is difficult for our evaluators to determine whether or not she is being truthful. Pyschiatrists, experts, specialists and several historians were brought in to pontificate on the subject.

Extremely close moderation of subject is recommended while she is working with HERO. Further study is required.

Cumulative Score
(486)
Pandora passed the aptitude tests and is ready for active duty. S-tier safety protocol measurements are expected, aswell as additional psychological monitoring.

Edits- September 6th, 2020. Added first drafts of aptitude tests aswell as some relationship charts.
Edits- September 7th- cut out some stuff on Pysch Eval for easier reading

zoey's characters

Black ⧗ Widow

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B L A C K ⧗ W I D O W

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^{_{NATASHA ROMANOV ♦ SPY ♦ GLOBAL ♦ S.H.I.E.L.D. AND THE AVENGERS}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"I've been thinking a lot about life and death. When something surrounds and madly engulfs your entire existence, you can't help but give it more than just casual consideration. Life is fluid. Some 90% of what we are is made up of water. Without this precious liquid we are nothing. We cease to exist. We're dead. This water's carried around in thin-skinned sacks. We must all be insane to race recklessly about in world filled with so many sharp and pointed dangers. That's just asking for trouble."}

This Black Widow is going to be a mix of MCU and some comics. Her backstory is that she used to be a KGB agent, and was biologically modified to have an extended lifespan. She actually fought through the 60's-80's as a KGB agent. At the end of the Cold War with the collapse of the Soviet Union she began to seek answers regarding what it meant to be a warrior and came to the conclusion that the Red Room was not just, righteous, and worth fighting for. So she defected, and joined SHIELD where she has been operating ever since. This puts her at about 80 years old, but she still as healthy as she was in her prime because of the Red Room modifications. She was the most successful Soviet attempt at a super soldier like Captain America. So while she is more known for not having super powers, this Black Widow will have some version of enhanced capability like in the comics.

I'm planning on having Black Widow figure herself out in a wholesome kind of way. The darkest part of her life is behind her, she is on the road to recovery and living a fulfilled life. She has already found the place where she belongs, now she is just struggling with questions like if she deserves it at all. Or what to do now, why people are heroes in the first place, what do people really mean too each other? Even if she cannot find definite answers to all the things she is looking for, she will at least come to peace with that and not let it get in the way of her sense of fulfillment.

There are some darker aspects of her character of course. But she is two years into her tenure with the Avengers and many more years into her experience as an Agent of SHIELD. At some point she was a cold, aloof, emotionless killer, but she has moved beyond that into being a reserved, friendly, socially awkward dork of a killer instead.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I want to play a lighter, more opened up Black Widow. Something like what I imagine post-Endgame Black Widow would have been had that been explored, but combined with a longer, more clearly defined backstory as a cold-blooded killer. She still has a lot of unresolved guilt and trauma but she has found a close network of friends she trusts, and she loves being an Avenger, which is something she could not say about her KGB work or even her previous SHIELD work. While before she was only doing what she did out of moral obligation and a desire to be useful, now she is doing what she wants to do. Help people, make the world better, and find a way to be happy and sad in peace and among friends.

She is only two years into her work as an Avenger, and she is still fairly new to this whole being genuinely compassionate thing. I like the hypothetical contrast between her being a master manipulator and social engineer with her enemies but being somewhat of a goober around her allies. In her long life she has been many people, but she has never really been herself until recently. So she is still working out all the knots and kinks. Serious and professional is still her default state, but it doesn't take much for her to try and express herself better.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Allies I'd like her to have, PC or NPC

Allies I'd Like

Nick Fury- Black Widow's mentor, though she is older than him and she even joined SHIELD slightly before him, he has been an authoritative and reassuring figure in her time at SHIELD. While of course she follows all of his orders, she also trusts him as a person, not just as her leader.

Hawkeye- Natasha and Clint have always been best friends. I don't see any reason to discontinue this trend here, so I will talk to Hawkeye's player about their relationship. They are kindred spirits, both independant agents who have come together into a team. Ideally they knew each other before the Avengers project, preferably far before.

Captain America- I'd like for Natasha to be friends with Steve Rogers. While she is more suspicious of things like patriotism no doubt she would admire someone like him who is sound in his principles and cares about the lifes of individuals and liberty.

Iron Man and Thor- These characters could be a lot of different people but since they are all on the Avengers project I'd like them to be close friends aswell. Or at least they try to be nice too each other. At this point they have been Avenging things for 5 years so hopefully they have gotten over whatever roadblocks or personality clashes they may have had, at least somewhat.

Bruce Banner- Both of these characters have done lots of things they regret in situations they really had little to no control over, but perhaps feel like they did. I don't plan on having them be romantically involved as of right now but I think they could be close friends aswell, though they probably won't be the cheeriest two when they are together.

All other Agents of SHIELD- Natasha has been at this for a while now, though she was a lot more serious and gloomy in the past as she was still kind of in KGB mode for the last few decades even with SHIELD. So I would like to have at least passing acquaintance with whatever characters end up in SHIELD.

Street level heroes- I would like Natasha to go out on recruitment or scouting missions to meet with more heroes, be they Marvel or DC. People SHIELD has a vested interest in monitoring or getting under their thumb. Kind of like Phil Coulson but for people they don't know the secret identities of. Or maybe there could be some plot line that catches SHIELDS attention. Point is Black Widow has the potential to make cameos in other people's stories which is one of her best aspects. I'm totally down for this. Ask me anytime, I may even come to you but if you would like to have a person to roleplay with Black Widow can be there.

Potential Enemies

Enemies

The Red Room- The organization named after a place where killers are made. This secretive organization was thought to be destroyed after Black Widow betrayed and lead the hunt against her former trainers, and killed Ivan Petrovitch, her "father figure". The Red Room is now being lead by Madame B, who has co-opted the forgotten sect of the KGB for her own nefarious purposes, once again beginning to train elite female assassins to gain power from the shadows. Potentially allied with another mysterious organization of another player's backstory?

Yelena Belova: Another Black Widow that survived the destruction of the Red Room, thought to have been killed. Natasha knew Yelena as children and they served on some missions together, but Yelena was always envious of Natasha's success. She did not take being #2 very well, which was only compounded when Natasha betrayed The Red Room at the end of the Cold War. Now she seeks her revenge and to prove that is the world's most lethal assassin.

Enemies of SHIELD- Other than that, Natasha will battle evil wherever it is found. As far as she is concerned, she died up all of her loose ends when she got revenge on Ivan. The Red Room storyline is not particularly high priority to me. My main focus is on Black Widow's relationships with her fellow heroes rather than that of pre-determined villains.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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First Real Chance

Year One

There was a crash of glass and splitering wood. The criminal, in his ruined one thousand dollar suit, fell hard onto the concrete streets he exploited for his own personal gain. A knife clattered out of his hand and skittered against the red brick wall. In the orange light that shone through the broken window and into the midnight alley, a vaguely feminine shadow appeared. He looked fearfully up at the woman before a burst of electricity struck him in the chest and he fell unconsious with a thump.

The woman sighed, catching her breathe, stepping out into the cold air. She was wearing a mostly black bodysuit, with red highlights, enforced with thin but extremely durable and damage absorbing material. A utility belt contained various tools, and two handguns, and one baton. The other baton was in her left hand, and she had just finished firing a stunning round from a mechanical gauntlet device on her right hand. Over her face was a balaclava that hid everything except for her steely, large hazel eyes that were done up with faded make up. That, and a loose strand of red hair.

"SHIELD, this is Black Widow. Eight suspects have been neutralized. No casualties." She reported calmly as she put away her weapons and fiddled with her weapon, the Widows bite. Black Widow had a slight russian accent. She could easily obscure it, and for a majority of her time in America, she did. But now that she was on the Avengers and social camoflauge wasn't so required, she felt comfortable with the harsh edges of a Moscow tongue.

"Roger that, Black Widow, clean up crew in enroute. ETA five minutes." A male voice reported in over her ear piece.

"Sounds good. I feel great. These guys are pretty small fry, though are we sure-" Widow interrupted herself, having noticed something creeping behind a dumpster. She made eye contact with the shadow, and it stood up. Widow prepared her Bite, just in case.

"Are you BLack Widow?" A mousy little girl with ratty clothes asked, peering from behind the dumpster.

"Black Widow? Are you all clear?" The other SHIELD agent asked over communications, having noticed Black Widow cut herself off.

"Uh, yeah, just gimme a minute." Black Widow said, turning off her comms with a tap of an index finger against her ear.

"You are!? Wow!" The girl replied, having assumed Black Widow was talking to her. She trotted up excitedly, looking up at the shadowy agent. "You're my favorite avenger!"

"Oh?" Black Widow asked flatly, standing with her arms hanging awkwardly at her sides.

"Yeah, cause you're a girl, and I am too!" She said, smiling and nodding enthusiastically.

"I, uh...okay." She replied uneasily, looking down at the unconscious man. "That is great, but I am kind of in the middle of something here-"

"When I grow up, I wanna kill bad guys, just like you! Is that a bad guy!?" She pointed at the man. "Did you kill him!? So cool!" She punched the air triumphantly. Inwardly, Black Widow's mind was going into overdrive and her heart was melting.

Okay, okay. Um...what would Steve do? Natasha thought to herself, knowing that she should probably do something...heroic. What would a hero say? She was a hero, right? Something had to be done about this little girl and her misconceptions.

Natasha leaned down, hesitated, and then crouching down instead into a squat. She reached out to pat the girls shoulder but then stopped, letting her hand fall onto her own knee."Hey, uh, listen here...little one. My job is not to kill bad guys. My job is too...save good guys. There's a difference." She concluded to the best of her ability. She smiled, but the little girl could only see it in her eyes.

The homeless child seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Are...are you Russian?"

Natasha blinked. "Uh...only when I want to be." She replied with a shrug. The little girl seemed to think that was immensely impressive, which made Natasha feel something that was hard to describe.

"Well, okay. When I grow up, I want to be from Russia and save good guys. Just like you!" The little girl concluded triumphantly, pointing at Black Widow.

"Okay, good," Black Widow replied, her voice breaking a little bit. "And uh...no, this bad guy is still alive. I captured him. Maybe one day he could be a good guy again." She gestured with her masked head towards the man.

The kid seemed puzzled. "Bad guys can be good guys?" Natasha considered this a moment, staring at the ground. When she made eye contact, there was more resolve there. "Yes. Yes, I believe so. I...I was once a bad guy, myself."

The child gasped. "Really?"

"Da." Black Widow nodded solemnly. "But with some help, I am no longer such a bad guy." Natasha explained summing up her life story in a short sentence.

"Yeah! Now you're a hero!" The child agreed with a big smile. "I didn't know that. Do you think there will be no more bad guys? One day?" She asked.

Black Widow wasn't so sure. But she found it hard to say no. "Yeah. One day." She responded. The child wrapped her arms around the Widow's shoulders and squeezed her as tight as she could, which wasn't very tight. "I love you!"

"Wh-wha-" Black Widow froze up. "Okay- no you don't. But that is very, uh, nice of you to say. But you- I am- hey, don't-" She gently pushed the child off of her. She was glad she was wearing a mask because her face was as red as the emblem on her torso.

"What- what is your name?" She asked.

"Christina!" She replied.

"Do you- have somewhere to stay? You are street child, yes?" Natasha asked simply, glancing down at her torn up shoes. Christina nodded.

"Okay. That is okay. I know a place for kids like you to stay. Would you like to sleep in a bed and have a sandwich?" Natasha asked, a little too wordily. "For, uh, for free." She added.

"Yeah, sure! My mommy didn't want me anymore." She said plainly, causing the agent to wince. She chuckled slightly before stopping herself, her face turning even more red. "I'm sorry. That is not funny. I just...I didn't expect you to say that and...that is not funny. I am sorry that happened to you. You're safe now." She cleared her throat, feeling terrible. Stupid, Natasha, stupid!

Fortunately, Christina didn't seem offended. She just stood there with a little smile on her face. Was she in shock? Or maybe she was just tough. Just a tough kid who's had a tough life.

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The last of the criminals was loaded into the back of a police van, the powered individual among them being carried away in a super secure SHIELD carrier. Little Christina was by Widow's side as they watched the bad guys be carried away.

"Okay. All right. Here, one of these nice police men will take you to the place. I will-" Natasha began.

"Could you take me?" Christina asked, looking up at Widow with big eyes.

Natasha tensed up again. "...Are you sure?" She asked quietly. Christina nodded. "Mhm."

A few minutes later, Natasha had secured the closet thing she had to a Black Widow mobile. A subtly powerful black sports car that smelled nice and was extremely comfortable. Christina was in the backseat.

"Seatbelts." Natasha reminded her as she buckled herself in. Christina nodded, sagely, and did the same. Realising they were alone, Black Widow wondered what she should do. Adjusting the rearview mirror, she pulled the balaclava off her face. Her red hair, tied into a tight bun with red hair that stuck up in every which way. That recieved another gasp.

"Wow! You're pretty!" Christina exclaimed.

"Tch," Natasha replied with a small smile, starting up the car. The electric engine silently rumbled to life. "Thanks, I guess." She replied. Natasha contemplated the child. She did not know much about child pyschology, but this girl probably needed a therapist. Hopefully she would get the help she needed. Natasha sure as hell couldn't give it to her- Christina was a force of nature.

They drove along. Street lights came and went, painting the car with soft light. Christina began to tell Natasha her entire life story. To say the least, it wasn't good. Black Widow just listened, feeling sorry for her. Sorry for Christina's rough lot in life. It wasn't an uncommon story, but Natasha had never taken a front seat to a kid like this before. She was tough, though. But it was clear she needed someone she could rely on.

They pulled infront of the shelter. Natasha was gripping the wheel tight. Underneth her gloves, her knuckles were turning white. "All right," Natasha announced, her voice coarse. "This is the place, Christina." She opened the car door and let Christina out. The inside was lit with stark white lighting. Encouraging if generic posters lined the walls and people, homeless and staff both, milled the walls. Black Widow stuck out like a sore thumb, even if she had left all of her weapons in the car she was still dressed to kill. People looked at her with awe, admiration, wonder, suspicion. She tried not to look at any of them, keeping her face down.

"I am here to drop off this homeless child," Black Widow declared seriously to the receptionist. He seemed a little surprised at who he was talking too, but quickly went into professional mode. "Oh, of course." He smiled down at Christina.

"You know her name?" He asked.

"Christi-"
"Christina!" She replied for herself, chirpily.

"Well, Ms. Christina, come right this way. It's dinner time, we're serving turkey and gravy. We'll get you taken care of." Things moved quickly after that. Before she knew it she had signed some paperwork officially catalouging the incident and Christina would be protected and moved to where she needed to be. Maybe her mom would face criminal charges, maybe she wouldn't. Maybe things would work out for her...or maybe they wouldn't.

Christina gave Black Widow one last hug, which the woman returned this time as best as she could, since she was quite unexperienced with the act. It was stilted, Widow's elbows too far out to the side. Christina didn't seem to mind though.

"Bye Black Widow!" She said goodbye for the fifth time, waving as she lead by the hand into another room.

"Goodbye Christina. You can call me Natasha, if you'd like." Natasha said quietly, too quietly for anyone to hear her and stop the farewells yet another time. Black Widow was alone in the sparseley populated room. Some people looking at the back of her red head wondering if it would be appropriate to ask for a selfie or an autograph. It seemed all of them concluded that the young looking agent was not in a good mood for it. They let her drift out of the shelter unpestered.

Natasha Romanoff sat in the front of her car, gliding it into a nearby parking lot that was only lit by a distant, flickering street lamp. She remained there in silence, her eyes staring off into the middle distance. Her eyebrows knit together and her lower lip began to tremble, and for the first time in an exceptionally long time, Natasha began to cry. She quietly mourned for the childhood that Christina and herself had lost; she silently rejoiced that despite that, hope could still find them both.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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Nothing yet!

Harley ☺ Quinn

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

H A R L E Y ☺ Q U I N N

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^{_{H A R L E E N Q U I N Z E L ♦ C L O W N ♦ G O T H A M ♦ I N D E P E N D A N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^"Ha!"

Harley Quinn was the Joker's gilfriend, sidekick, villanous cohort and victim. But within the last year, she finally realised that the Joker was no good for her, he didn't treat her well enough to deserve her loyalty. At first, it was just a ploy to get his attention back, and to set clear boundaries in their relationship. For example: no more pushing her out windows. Soon enough, though she realised she liked the freedom. Free from his evil influence, the dominoes fell and Harley shifted gears into an anti-heroic figure of Gotham. Carving her way through the darkest and cruelest parts of the underworld to bring a some laughter to those who need it most. Joker forgot one of the most important parts of comedy: Punching up is way funnier than punching down. Now Harley is applying her own unorthodox kind of vigilantism to the street of Gotham, chased by the police and supervillains alike and building her own personal little gang to make a mess of things with.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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Harley Quinn wants to prove she's better than the Joker and the rest of Gotham's supervillains. Anyone can be evil, anyone can be selfish. If she wanted to feel powerful she could overdose herself on drugs and fling herself into a vat of chemicals. No, Harley wants to be more. She wants people to like her- really like her. She wants to prove that she's funnier, smarter, and more beautiful than anyone else in Gotham.

Secretly- and don't tell anyone- she cares about the little guy more than she's let on. She knows what it's like to be discarded, trod on, and abandoned by those you thought were supposed to protect you. While her motivations are certainly not entirely unselfish, Harleen has genuine compassion for those around her and a desire to do good, like any hero. Harley also has a strong desire to put jerks, tyrants, and pricks in their place. Freedom and liberty for herself and everyone are important to her. She also wants to feel good about herself and do something never before seen.

And last but certainly not least, she's always looking for a laugh. Nobody in Gotham has a real sense of humor these days, and she intends to show them what good comedy actually looks like. The bad guys are going to get what's coming to them! Harley Quinn is going to be a killer vigilante and she's going to enjoy the killing, so this may put her at odds with many superheroes. However she may end up experimenting with a no-kill rule, and this would give her a chance at actual redemption both in the eyes of the world and in her own eyes.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Harley is a free agent, and she can't be committing and leading crimes all day long, simply because there aren't enough crimes to do. So when she isn't leading her gang or tearing up the streets of Gotham, I intend for her to travel, explore, and meet up with other player characters. That, or plan with people to have their character visit Gotham and have them run into the Clown Princess. Or seek her out, or...whatever, really. I'm giving her side characters so I could write her by myself for a while but I'm always looking for a collab of any kind with any one.

The Kill Yaself Krew

Harley Quinn is going to begin to form the Kill Yaself Krew at the start of her time in the RP. Harley's KYK (pronounced Kick pr simply Kyks) are going to take to the streets of Gotham and have some fun. Composed of allies of varying levels of loyalty and power level.

Current Membas:

Gang-a-Harleys

Harley Queens: Clever, ambitious, good with a sword.
Harlem Harley: Level-headed, good in a pinch, packs the heavy artillery.
Bolly Quinn: Angry, wise, helluva throwin' arm and a penchant for big booms.
Harvey Quinn: Free spirit, airhead, nasty haymakers.
Carli Quinn: Stubborn, intelligent, lethal with knives.
Hanuquinn: Thrillseeker, shortsighted (in both ways), helluva marskwoman.
Coach: Glue of the group. Intelligent sage, supportive, crazy as the rest of 'em but better at hiding it.

The six of 'em, corralled by Coach, make up the bulk of Harley's muscle. Better trained, well co-ordinated, lethal ladies, a force of chaos fiercely loyal to the Clown Princess. Not to be underestimated like your average group of henchwomen.

The Dee Dee Twins

Twins sometimes get a bad rap because of popular media, and unfortunately Deidre and Delia Dennis aren't helping that situation. These two take the connection between twins to a new level. So much so they are collectively called Dee Dee instead of their individual names because they are never seen apart. Dee Dee are a pair of tricksters, fighters, and expert acrobats and thieves. The two actually worked with Harley before she departed Joker's company, and she managed to convince them to come with her. After all, she was the one who picked them off the street in the first place.

Dee Dee are actually mutants. Besides their developed skills, Dee Dee are psychically bonded. They can communicate with each other without speaking. This bond also works physically, the two, when in close proximity with each other, can as much as double the others strength level when they so choose.

There is a downside- damage one twin, and you damage the other. The two have a shared health bar, so to speak, with pain and damage being transmitted from one to the other. Hit one in the face, both of their heads will jerk back. Electrocute one, and no electricity will meet the other but she will sure as hell feel that way.

Dee Dee are semi-rogue elements, often off doing their own thing. But when duty calls, and Harley can manage to find them, they're her most loyal sub-ordinates. So much so that they often call her Mama Harley.

Afterthought

This staff-proficient serial thief and security goon signed up with Kyks after growing tired of the stagnation of her criminal career. Quiet, arrogant, and on the moody side, the only time Afterthought (Attie) seems to have fun is when she's kicking ass or buying new things.

The kicker is (Ha!) that Afterthought, at some point in her life, had an advanced implant drilled into her noggin. Most likely non-consensually, given her distrust of most science and big organizations. Now she can tap into a quantum state of reality that is exactly five seconds ahead of our own reality. Combined with her gymnastic skills this makes her a formidable close-range fighter and sentry. The trick is to hit her with something she can't dodge or avoid, even with a five second heads up. And if you overwhelm her, she still has a human reaction time and human limits.

Poison Ivy

The two had been acquiantances in crime for a while, with her and the Joker occasionally combing schemes for their own purposes. However Poison took additional interest in Harley when she discovered that Harley was completely immune to all poisons and dangerous chemicals, meaning Ivy couldn't control her like she almost every other living creature on Earth and beyond. Their relationship grew over time into friendship. Ivy always knew the Joker was bad for her and was the one that nursed the near-dead Harley back to Health after the Joker almost murdered her. At that point their bond was an unbreakable one and unlike many supervillains they genuinely enjoy each other's company.

They will most likely end up in a relationship at some point in the future. Right now Poison Ivy is more of a supporting ally but their bond will grow even further in time due to events that I haven't planned out yet. But everyone knows Ivy x Quinn, and it's gonna happen here, too, though it won't be the main focus, at least for now. They will be close friends but I'd like Harley to explore the world, Gotham, and her new destiny "by herself" for a while. At least before I have the two of them be united into one CS where I'm constantly playing both of them.

Bud and Lou

Two monstrously oversized hyenas Harley rescued from a circus that was abusing them back when they were only little pups. The two are fiercely loyal, obedient, and savage, able to tear apart a fully grown man in seconds. They're also, in Harley's opinion at least, the cutest and sweetest little fellas you'll ever meet.

Enemies

Literally everyone or no one, depending on circumstance. She's way too chaotic for lawful characters good or evil for her to trust. She's chaotic, but too flip floppy for vigilantes or villains to completely trust. So really there's infinite opportunities for rivals. Depending on who I end up in contact with OOC for teamups.

Right now though, atleast for a solo story, I'm thinking she starts taking on some Batman's Rogues Gallery. Some of the less powerful or famous ones first, but she works her way up. She could travel the country and take on other nutjobs, too.

The very first idea I have was her hunting down Victor Zsasz. That kind of villain is the exact kind of person Harley hates the most and I think she would love crushing that guy's head with her 100 pound mallet. I think my Harley hates no one less than edge lord nihilists who think they're so smart and enlightened they have to kill everyone to prove how smart they are and how meaningless life is. If she figures out the Joker is like that, and not the hedonist that Harley is, she'll probably gun for him eventually. That's down the line, though. At the very least it's funny to kill people who kill people because they think life is meaningless, because then they can't complain about it.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Harley Quinn sample post

Doctor Harleen Quinzel, PsyD, skipped down the poorly lit streets of night time gotham. Her light blonde hair was tied into two long pig tails, one died pink, the other blue, with a matching color scheme for her eyeliner. Her outfit was quite simple, just a black sports bra and black gym hipster shorts, a red skirt and red crop top hanging rattily over both. Her right arm was in a cast. She was humming a tune, and in her left arm a baseball bat occasionally ringed against a metal fence post. Tucked against her chest, held aloft by her cast, was a bucket of ice cream.

Her sneakers scuffed the pavement as she came to a stop outside an abandoned, wrecked townhouse. The entire thing was overgrown with vines and plants, the bricks crumbling to dust.

Harley smiled, hopped up the broken steps, and rapped her pale white knuckles on the door. It swung open a few moments later, a flower emerged from the door frame and sprayed Harley in the face. She coughed, waving away the poison. The door was still open, leading into the absolutely swamped interior of the building. Rolling her eyes and smirking, she put on a dumb founded face and began to walk like a zombie down the twisted corridors. Alluring music echoed down the hall, and a femine voice beautifully sang a siren's song. Flowers twisted and writhed in a mesmering dance. Harley stomped down the hallways, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.

Eventually she came to a large lobby like room where a pool had been created out of the center desk. The entire area was flooded. Large plants, ginormous creations, curled up the walls and swayed in tune to the singing. Various civilians and two cops danced in a circle with dumb smiles on their faces, holding hands and giggling together. Harley, pretending to be under the effects still, wandered into the middle of the room.

There, sitting in the pool with her arms over the edge, sat Poison Ivy, the enchantingly beautiful green lady super villaines. She looked over at Harley and smiled, but Harley could tell she didn't recognize her.

"Well, hello there." Ivy purred. Vines crept up Harley's legs and wrapped her arms against her torso. "Aren't you just a cute little thing?" Harley was lifted and carried closer to the forest nymph. "I'd love too- HARLEY!?" Poison Ivy threw her arms into the air in surprise and Harley was hurled across the room at a speed high enough to kill or seriously injure most normal people. She hit the wall with a thud and bounced, rolling to the ground, groaning in pain and laughing in delight at the same time.

"Ohh, ohohoho...oh, man. That's too bad. I liked where that was goin'." Harley clutched her cast that carried her broken arm and scooped up the ice cream bucket that she had dropped. She left her bat on the ground, for now. With a smile she got up into a crouching position. Poison Ivy would be bright red if she could turn that color anymore, and she was covering her face with her hands.

"Ugh! You are unbelievable!" Ivy chastised, sinking under the water's surface. Harley chuckled and hopped over the precipice of the circlular desk Ivy had made into her pool and sunk into the water, clothes and all.

"Been tellin' ya for years, Pamela. Ya need glasses! You're short sighted." Harley pulled down the skin of her cheek to make her eye look bigger.

"I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you without- without the-" Ivy emerged from the water and pointed at Harley's head. Harley ran a finger through her pigtails and shrugged. "Without the little jinglies, I know. No hat. No mask, no suit."

Ivy's eyes widened and she gasped. "I can't believe it. You actually-!?"

"Yup. Me and Mistah J? We're through. For good this time." Harley cut the air with an invisible knife. Ivy rushed forward across the pool and gave Harley a big hug. "Oh, Harley! I'm so proud of you!" Harley laughed again and looked Ivy in the face as they pulled apart.

"What's up with ya, Ivy? Seem to be in a good mood today." She quirked her head to the side.

"Oh, yeah. I'm high right now." Ivy said, sinking back to her corner of the pool, eyes closed. "Sorry I'm not as bitter as usual." She joked. Harley seemed taken aback.

"Wow! You figured out how ta get yaself high? Ain't there a joke about God makin' a rock so big even he couldn't lift it or somethin'?" She looked tilted her head again.

"Oh, I don't know. Doesn't sound like a very good joke, though. But yes, I did. I tried it on myself, and a diluted version on these...people." She waved to them dismissively. "And on you. I could give you the strong version, if you'd like."

"Naw, naw, I'm good for now. Need a clear head, 'cause I've been doin' some thinkin'. What's up with these guys, anyway? Thought you hated people." Harley glanced around as a police officer held his partner of his head.

"I do. I thought I might like them more if they learned to appreciate nature as much as I do. But no, not really. They're still pretty annoying. None of them are even that attractive." She said flippantly.

"Oh, yeah, I get it. So that was special treatment just for me, then." Harley said, smugly sticking her chin up. Ivy closed her eyes again and face palmed. "Ugh. You yourself said I needed new glasses. Clearly I do. Besides, if I had known it was you I would have thrown you much harder. Because, you, you know...tend to Bounce. But enough about me- you and Joker. You really dumped his sorry ass?" Ivy asked, leaning forward.

"Uh huh."

"Oh, no, he didn't do that to your arm, did he?" Ivy asked, her face twinged with concern and pre-emptive anger.

"Naw, that was me. I got drunk and got into a car accident on the way over here. This cast is just some lady's dress she left out to dry." She admitted with a shrug.

"Oh, poor girl." High Poison Ivy leaned forward to see Harley's arm but then looked around. "Leave us, you oafs. Go home and forget this ever happened, and don't come to this part of town again. I wish not to see you anymore." The party-goers seemed disappointed but trotted obediently out the door.

"Yeah, you oafs! Get outta here! Ya bums!" Harley called after them before looking back at Ivy with a self-satisfied look. Ivy rolled her eyes and then travelled closer to Harley, removing the cast and holding her broken arm. Surprisingly, it doesn't look that bad, but it was definitely broken.

"Like ya said, I Bounce. SHIELD-o prolly got me on a list, somewhere. It ain't too bad- never is, with me." Harley bragged.

"That's objectively untrue."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Batgirl punched your lights out plenty of times."

"That's- that's different. She hits real hard. And many times ovah, not just once. I can only Bounce so many times." Harley defended herself.

"Right. So it's only not bad when you get drunk and fling yourself through your window because you're dumb enough to not where your seatbelt." Poison Ivy chastised, already commanding her plants to concoct a potion.

"Wha- I did not go flyin' out my window!" Harley protested.

"So what's that glass sticking out of your shoulder?" Ivy indicated the small shard of glass with her eyebrow.

"That's...that's uh...okay." Harley finally came clean with a sheepish look.

"You're tough, Harley. You Bounce back. But you're not invincible, and you need to stop acting like you are." Poison Ivy ran some liquid over the broken arm, and Harley grunted as she felt it snap partially back into place.

"Yeowch." She said, rolling her shoulder. "Well, gee, sorry grandma. I'll be more careful next time." She plucked the glass out of her shoulder. There was a trickle of blood but moments later it sealed itself up. Over her several year stint as a supervillain she had picked up a few tricks, aswell as naturally being born with an X-gene that activated upon an unfortunate plunge into a vat of "chemicals." The ability to Bounce, and make other things Bounce. Definitely the most fun superpower of them all. Poison Ivy also gave her a dangerous potion that would kill most people and terrify most other people away. A rare concoction that permanently granted Harley a substance in her body that could regenerate almost all wounds very quickly, and gave her additional durability and enhanced strength.

"Good." There was one final snap, and Harley's arm was as good as new.

"Whaddya doin' in here, Ivy? All by your lonesome? I know it's been a while since we last saw each other. Whaddya been up too?" Harley asked as Ivy slid back to her side of the pool.

"Oh, I don't know. No one ever listens to me except you. The world is still going to shit. Batman stopped my plans over and over again. I only barely escaped last time. I don't know, Quinn. I'm just not feeling it anymore. Feel like nothing's changed. I've been doing this whole supervillain shtick for a long time." Ivy shifted, casing her eyes downwards a tiny frog leapt up on her raised index finger.

"Aw c'mon, Ivy. You ain't a villain! You're a hero! You're tryna save the world! What's more heroic then that?" Harley asked, trying to reassure her friend.

"No, I'm a villain. I'm morally right, but the definition fits. I'm trying to uproot (Ha!) the world as these so called heroes know it. Some people need to die. Or at least I thought they did. Clearly nothing's gotten better. So I've...just been hanging out, I suppose." Poison Ivy said.

"What about you? Now that you've dumped the Joker?"

"Well...I dunno." Harley said with a shrug, her voice getting quiet. "I've been...I've been thinkin' about gettin' into the hero business." She admitted, her pale face flushing a little red. Pamela blinked, narrowing her eyes and raising an eyebrow.

"Huh. I...I never pegged you for the type."

"Y-you don't think it's stupid?"

"No, it's pretty stupid." Ivy responded bluntly. Harley laughed, but her face fell nonetheless. "But when have you ever let that stop you before?" Ivy added with a smirk.

"Aah..." Harley's face brightened and she smiled wide, thinking about that. "...ahaha. Ha-ha, hahahahaahahahaaah! Haha!" She laughed joyously, her giggle fit wracking her whole body in the way that it always did. Unlike her crueller male counter-part, Harley's laugh could actually brighten a room instead of bringing terror. Though, she could certainly do the latter, depending on what she was enjoying at the time.

"Oh, man. When ya right, ya right. Thanks, Pam. You always know what to say." Harley's heart swelled with confidence. "Okay. I'm gonna do it. I'm really gonna do it. I'm gonna show those bums out there what Harley Quinn can really be. Not some sidekick, not some boring two-bit criminal. They're gonna love me. There's gonna be Halloween outfits with my name on 'em! They're gonna give me a key to the city! By the time I'm done, Batman will be nothin' but a footnote on my heroic legacy! I'm gonna save the friggin' world and make a boat load of cash doin' it!" By the end of her speech she was standing and shouting, her fists clenched triumphantly in the air.

(Oh God, what have I done?) "Um, that's great Harls. But, uh...how? Most people think you're just the Joker's looney girlfriend." Ivy said, trying to reign in her friend. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to work. Harley put a hand to her chin, thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"Haven't thought that far ahead yet. I'll figure it out. I'm gonna put a crew together. Maybe I need to take a roadtrip outta Gotham to get some perspective, see what's out there. Maybe I'll start by icin' some jackass that has it comin'. Whatever I come up with, when I'm done, I'll come back here and help you outta your funk, too." Harley Quinn stepped out of the pool, soaking wet, her smile bigger and brighter than ever. She fetched her baseball bat and rested it on her shoulder, and placed a hand on her hip. Ivy couldn't help but giggle at the sight, Harley's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Well, all right. I look forward to it, Harleen. Good luck out there." She said. Harley nodded and began to strut out the door before she stopped and turn around.

"Oh. I brought ya some ice cream." She pointed at the tub sitting on the edge of the pool.

"Huh? Ice cream?" Ivy squinted at the tub like she just noticed it. "Is it vegan?" She asked.

"Wuh-" Harley was confused. "Whaddya mean? It's ice cream."

"But is it vegan?" Ivy asked again, seeming a little irritated.

"Well- I dunno. I didn't know there was such a thing as ice cream with meat innit."

"That's not- Is it made of cow milk?"

"Probably? What other type of milk is there?"

"Then it's not vegan. It comes from a cow. That's animal byproduct."

"Oh, come on, the cow's still alive! Ice cream shouldn't count!"

"Oh, really? How would you like it if I kept you in a cage and milked you all day long!?"

"..."

"Oh, for fuck-" Ivy stammered, momentarily flustered. "Look, there's almond milk, and coconut milk that can be used to make ice cream. That's vegan ice cream."

Harley laughed a dismissive bark. "Yeah right. Coconuts don't have boobs, they can't give milk."
"Oh my G- are you rea- it's ground up coconuts, it's a byproduct of the fruit!"

"Then it should be called coconut juice. Ya gonna drink apple milk? Orange milk? No."
Ivy clenched her fists under the water and sneered. "Just leave! Just go! And take your slave cream with you!" Ivy commanded with a straight armed point out the exit corridor.

"Alright, alright! I'm goin'! Yeesh!" Harley raised her free hand defensively and gathered up the ice cream, shuffling herself out the door. "Bye Ivy!"

Poison Ivy scoffed into her facepalm. "Bye, Harley." Then, she was gone, and Ivy was left to her lonely peace and quiet. Meanwhile, Harley, a new woman, skipped out of Ivy's place and took a big whiff of the smoggy Gotham night air.

"Okay, world. Wait 'till you get a load-a this." Then she turned and vanished into an alley, one of the many back passages she knew like the back of her hand.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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You ain't seen nothin' yet!