[hider=Vee Wickney]
[color=aquamarine][h3][u][b]Basic Information[/b][/u][/h3][/color]
[center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/70/b9/ea/70b9ead0a72c8d1911f754f0610f47a0.jpg[/img][/center]
[color=aquamarine][b]Name:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Valentine Wickney (pronounced 'Vickney'; it's German, yo)[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Nickname/Alias/Etc:[/b][/color] 
[list]
[*][i]Vee[/i] (preferred nickname; she thinks 'Valentine' is pretentious as [i]shit)[/i]
[*]Eevee (her sister liked Pokemon)
[*]V-card, Vee's Knees, Veez Nuts (her sister also liked being a raging bitch)
[*]What snapchat filter is [i]that?[/i] (see above)
[/list]
[color=aquamarine][b]Gender:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]Female[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Sexuality:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]What do they say about curiosity? That it [s]killed the cat[/s] is [i]perfectly[/i] healthy and natural for a girl her age.[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Age:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]20[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Height:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]5'4"[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Weight:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]127 lbs.[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Birthday:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]April 18th[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Home District:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]Stonecliff. Her dad used to own a restaurant there before plot bent him over and blew his fucking brains out. The deed is technically now in her name, but it hurts too much to look at, currently.[/INDENT]

[color=aquamarine][h3][b][u]Appearance[/u][/b][/h3][/color]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/iYCr5wn.gif[/img][/center]
[color=aquamarine][b]Hair Color:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Silvery-white—curiously enough, the luster and texture occur naturally, and given her [s]hot girl disguise[/s] absurdly good genetics, require minimal effort to maintain. She’s surprisingly meticulous about the dye—she can’t stand her natural brown, for [i]whatever reason[/i] ([s]coughdeadmommycough[/s]).
[/INDENT] 
[color=aquamarine][b]Eye Color:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Slate gray. Not quite blue, but not entirely gray, either. Oddly intense, and capable of exceptionally intrusive intimacy.
[/INDENT] 
[color=aquamarine][b]Ethnicity:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]A shoulder shrug and a pointed, [i]"Your guess is as good as mine."[/i] Her mother was a blend of Egyptian-American, Hispanic, and European, and her father was [s]as white as they come[/s] German and Italian--a whole mishmash of things. They're all European mutts, besides. She circles 'Caucasian' on standardized exams, though--she's so pale no one would believe otherwise.[/INDENT] 
[color=aquamarine][b]Physical Appearance:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Vee is pale, lean and narrow, smooth skin stretching taut over a trim, reasonably toned physique. Tiny, lithe, and deceptively deadly, she clocks in at approximately 5’4”, meaning one could (with moderate difficulty; she's prone to dorky theatrics) conceivably hoist her over one’s shoulder and cart her off mid-confrontation.

Vee's face is soft, all delicate cheekbones, gently-rounded cheeks, and wide, mischievous blue eyes--much like the rest of her, they're cheerful, passionate, and exploding with fiery conviction. A faint, barely-distinguishable smattering of freckles spans a soft, slightly upturned nose. Full lips born to twist into a crooked, devil-may-care grin host pristine rows of straight, white teeth. 

A cascade of dyed curls tumble about her shoulders, carefully arranged in a trendy, layered fashion that epitomizes the concept of deliberate, "artful" dishevelment. It's relatively distinct, further contributing to that rebellious glitter-punk style she's been carefully cultivating since her teenage years. ([i]"It's cool, y'know?" she'll insist, sticking her tongue out like a child. "Like, in a 'totally not' kind of way. I mean, subjectively speaking. If you're into that. That's a thing, right?")[/i]

She's developed an affinity for makeup bordering on unholy devotion; it's something of a hobby, and it gives her something to do. It’s deliberately smudged to further highlight that insouciant brand of [i]i will lowkey talk until you kill your own ears[/i] she's all-but patented. Which is...really something she should look into. For posterity.


[/INDENT] 
[color=aquamarine][b]Attire:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]If it's (questionably) chic, comfortable, and [url=http://s3.favim.com/orig/43/beautiful-body-clothes-cool-fashion-Favim.com-364160.jpg]looks like it belongs on the cover of an edgy YA novel,[/url] it's probably in her wardrobe. Slim-fitting jeans, leggings, over-sized hoodies, flannels left open over tight tank tops or graphic tees, [url=http://s8.favim.com/orig/72/beautiful-cool-fashion-outfit-Favim.com-698975.jpg]loose sweaters with the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms,[/url] etc. She claims she owns a leather jacket, but she also claims she hates black leather. 

She lives in hipster hell, so why not take advantage? She likes high-tops, too--the bulkier, the better. 

What a tool.[/INDENT]

[color=aquamarine][h3][b][u]Personality[/u][/b][/h3][/color]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/aQVRz3y.gif[/img][/center]
[color=aquamarine][b]Innate & Outward Personality:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Valentine Wickney is the paragon of impish whimsy, dauntless curiosity, roguish charisma, and interminable vitality. Not even harsh doses of reality can put a damper on her optimism; any problem can be broken down into more manageable chunks if you just [i]sit and think[/i].

She's in possession of a "play-hard, die-hard" spirit indomitable even in the face of adversity--defiantly resilient, she wouldn’t understand the concept of despair if it sidled right up to her and spat in her eye. 'Defeat' isn't in her vocabulary; indifferent towards concepts like 'giving up' and 'knowing when to quit' and 'developing problem-solving skills that don't pose a threat to her own well-being', she's not in the business of losing quietly...if at all.

Wreathed in a contagious aura of vitality and armed to the teeth with an abundance of smarmy grins, goofball tendencies, a vehement intolerance for ignorance, Vee is generally always worth a good laugh. Her tongue is an ammo drum of jokes (of both the bawdy and [i]atrociously[/i] punny varieties). A regular pepper-box, she’s confidence incarnate–she doesn’t walk, she [i]swaggers.[/i] A lonely childhood bestowed upon her an impressive imagination, and because she's adventurous to a fault and twice as curious, she’s always nose-deep in some sort of wild scheme or grand adventure. This, coupled with poor impulse control and a predilection toward improvisation, means she can orchestrate some truly ludicrous plans--and, given her motto of, "Hey, it's okay, I'll make it all work out," they're often entirely impractical, and work perfectly despite all available evidence. Eat [i]shit[/i], laws of physics!

Her voice has a playful, chipper lilt—her sunny disposition is downright infectious. Vee's absurdly garrulous, often to the point of being...[i]frustrating[/i]. Fear only exacerbates the problem--when she's nervous, excited, or petrified beyond wit, she just starts...rambling. It's [i]almost[/i] endearing.

Contrary to what one might assume given her rambunctious nature, Vee is, in fact, socially adept—kindness, empathy, and courtesy are remarkably efficient means of obtaining the information she wants (and want it she does), and besides, there's no point in being needlessly rude. Generosity is in no short supply, especially when it comes to swapping stories; she'd listen to an artisan discuss at length the process by which certain paints were manufactured with awed, rapt attention, and then ask (moderately) insightful questions—provided she grants the poor man a chance to speak. She loves learning new things, whether those topics concern people, places, events, or abstract concepts; in fact, she revels in the arcane and the absurd. She's a self-proclaimed 'people person;' traditional academics are boring, but stories and people [i]aren't.[/i] She cares more about the 'whys' than the 'hows,' especially when said whys pertain to motives, goals, ambitions, and dreams--she's a natural raconteur!

Having grown up idolizing the heroes she saw in comics and on TV, she's got a penchant for theatrics--however, she's moderately self-aware, and she doesn't take herself seriously at all. "Save them with a smile," is practically her code of conduct--if there's a person that needs help, she, in all her dorky, cheerful exuberance, is the first on the scene--even if it poses a potential threat to her own life. Her body moves on its own!

To the surprise of absolutely no one, she’s got a mischievous streak. If anything, she's playful in an affable, silly, "party animal" kind of way--snowball fights, pranks, festivities, and corralling wayward platoons of shrieking children all come quite naturally. Impish pranks come with the territory of unabashed (everyday) heroics—nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, right? As such, she’s as snarky as she is clever, though her sarcasm carries a good-natured bent. Banter takes precedence over bickering, in her eyes--though, when the gloves come off, so do her inhibitions. She's not beyond a verbal smackdown, especially of her sense of justice deems it warranted.

With inquisitive cleverness comes shrewd perspicacity; as such, perceptiveness, intuition, and vigilance are in no short supply. She notices the little details, registering them as subtle emotional cues--a wrinkled blouse on an otherwise meticulous pedant, a red nose and the absence of eyeliner on a makeup artist, a tired smile that says, "I'm dying" in spite of hollow, platitudinous assurances the person in question is 'absolutely fine'. Sometimes, the best way to help someone is to catch them off-guard, and a blunt, "You're not sleeping" works wonders over the traditional, "Are you okay?"[/indent]

[color=aquamarine][b]Fears:[/b][/color]
[list]
[*]Failure due to negligence—it's why her contingency plans have contingency plans, and why she's mastered the art of abrupt improvisation.
[*]Losing her mind, her autonomy, her ability to think for herself—she's terrified of complacency and vapidity. [*]She hates taking shortcuts—for her, it’s the difficult, overly emotionally-involved path or no path at all.
[*]Continuing along that vein, anything that deprives one of the ability to consent—slavery, indentured servitude, rape, or anything involving manipulation, control, or possession of the mind or body disturb her on a primal level.
[*]Dying old, unloved, and forgotten—she doesn't want to be the sort of person whose crowning achievement is winning a national competition at age 12. She doesn't want to peak, in essence—she wants to keep learning, growing, and discovering new ways to make a difference.
[*]Prawns, shrimp, and crustaceans. There's something about those beady little eyes...
[/list]
 
[color=aquamarine][b]Hobbies/Interests:[/b][/color]
[list]
[*]It's not so much a hobby as it is an interest, but she's got a special place in her heart for blustery winter days, be it watching the snow shiver as it falls from the safety of a window or taking a brisk walk through the city during the holidays. Winter's her favorite season, and insofar as snow angels and ice skating are concerned, she's still a child at heart.
[*]People! She loves striking up conversations--as a young child constantly disrupting the classroom with peer interactions, she was impossible to punish via isolation, having been uniquely blessed with the ability to talk to absolutely anybody. 
[*]Exploring--she's constantly scouting out new locales, be they abandoned greenhouses plagued with unsavory (read: spooky) allegations or picturesque mountaintops only accessible after a three-hour hike. She loves experiencing new things--the exhilarating rush of euphoria she feels after a successful venture is borderline intoxicating. She's an adrenaline junkie through and through.
[*]Streaming! Video games aren't her one and only passion by any means--she's more interested in the social aspect of online gaming. She's got a decent following on Twitch, and she's taken to recording her daily shenanigans on Snapchat--for the fans, of course. It's fun!
[/list]
[color=aquamarine][b]Skills/Talents:[/b][/color] 
[list]
[*]The ability to walk in on anything and just [i]keep on talking[/i].
[*]Culinary adequacy--the food she makes isn't especially delectable, but it's a far cry from 'inedible'. Given her current occupation, her repertoire is confined almost exclusively to diner food--grilled cheese, pancakes, etc.
[*] She can hook her ankle behind her head! She's...still not sure how that's useful, though. Dexterity? Yoga's her [i]favorite[/i] blood sport.
[/list]
[color=aquamarine][b]Goals/Motivation[/b][/color]
[INDENT]According to the rest of her family, her mother died a hero, so she's got a certain legacy to uphold. Hopefully, that doesn't include maudlin self-sacrifice--puts a real damper on any weekend plans. Besides, that hero complex had to spawn somewhere--a combination of an ex-military uncle, a shitty home life, and a fervent desire to be the change necessary to 'fix' what's wrong with the world will do that to you.[/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]History/Bio:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Having lived with her older sister/legal guardian for the vast majority of her life, Vee's no stranger to cramped apartments, late-night shouting matches, and atrocious neighbors. She grew up relatively independent (the product of her environment, no doubt), having become accustomed to whiling away the hours by her lonesome. 

It was almost adorable, at times: late at night, hunched over a faded, scuff-riddled coffee table, in almost companionable silence, the pair toiled dutifully away, Angela wrangling with Intro to Economics while a ten-year-old Vee fumbled her way through rudimentary algebra.

Sometimes, it got lonely. Sometimes one of Angela's less-than-orthodox occupations demanded her presence at odd hours; there were clients to be served and customers to be placated, lest she risk incurring her manager's wrath. Their budget was already tight enough, between unreasonably exorbitant utility bills (Vee suspected the landlady was a bona fide sadist, complete with the leather catsuit to marshal the cellulite into some semblance of proper order), a woefully maladroit internet provider, complete with terrible customer service, and two sets of tuition fees.

Sometimes, the people Angela brought home--associates, she called them, which was kind of funny, because Vee hadn't known that was another synonym for 'sugar daddy'--but that was okay. She was used to it, and besides, she was doing her best.

Vee never finished high school. She was always more invested in people and their affairs than the hasty, half-assed scrawls on the chalkboard. One too many interventions when the schoolyard bully decided to pulverize some poor, unsuspecting innocent lead to one too many assailants conquered and one too many complaints filed--it didn't matter that she wasn't the instigator, purported the no-tolerance policy, it mattered she'd chosen to involve herself in matters that didn't concern her. 

And unconcerned she was--in her eyes, hadn't she done some good? She'd tried to fix a part of the world, however small, the only way she knew how: with her words, and with her fists.

Then, in a few sporadic bursts--which most had assumed to be isolated incidents, the poor dears--after a particularly violent confrontation involving a switchblade, a dumpster, and some stolen Pokemon cards, the powers manifested, and her would-be attackers (who were rapidly diminishing in numbers; tales of her bullshit white knight exploits spread, and she began to fancy herself a bit of a hero) weren't the only ones that got burned.

She was asked, politely but firmly, to leave. She didn't need a lawyer's knack for legalese to read between the lines, and that school had drawn the lines pretty far apart. 

Being the first Metahuman to crop up in her family in what seemed like generations understandably catalyzed more than its fair share of tension between Angela and Vee, chiefly because Angela had [i]no idea[/i] how to manage that. Part of her wanted to believe Vee was using it as an excuse, and the other part of her cowed rather quickly.

So, once the freshly-expelled Vee turned 18, she and her hero complex sought greener pastures. She and Angela didn't exactly part on friendly terms.

She worked a number of odd jobs over the years, ranging from professional dog-walker to barista to part-time mechanic's assistant to, finally, her current occupation: waitressing in a small, family-owned diner run by an incorrigible tyrant of a man.

Small world, indeed.

It's not so bad, though--she meets plenty of interesting people, and her vivacious disposition attracts customers in droves. There's something about the chipper girl with the wry smile--something about how she'll remember the most minute details even when the customers forget. She and Angela are currently attempting to mend their relationship, but progress is as inconsistent as it is [i]slow.[/i] They're doing their best.

There are plenty of stories to recount, names to learn, experiences to share, adventures to be had, and histories to unveil, so for now?

She thinks she's pretty content.

[/INDENT] 

[color=aquamarine][h3][u][b]Relationships[/b][/u][/h3][/color]

[color=aquamarine][b]Family:[/b][/color] 
[hider][indent][color=hotpink][b]Angela | Elder sister | Alive[/b][/color]
[indent]Clocking in at 30 years old, 5'7", and as gorgeous (in an exhausted, distinguished sort of way) as the day is long, Angela "sick of your shit" Walker (née Wickney) is Vee's elder sister. Functioning as a makeshift guardian during Vee's childhood after the untimely demise of their father, she's been with Vee through it all. What she lacks in firepower--literally, as she's only a standard human instead of one of their more fantastical counterparts--she more than makes up for in intellect. She's the sort of woman to turn fond exasperation and rapier wit into an instrument of mass destruction--it's how she keeps her skeevy boss and his salacious advances in check. The pair get along, though Vee's hopelessly outclassed in the realm of roasting. Sometimes, Angie finds herself frustrated with her younger sister's lack of any concrete ambition--the further she sticks her head into the clouds, the more likely she is to fall short. While Angela just wants the best for her baby sister and her gaggle of idiots, sometimes, she can't help but resent the kind of person she's had to become to ensure that. Perhaps she's mourning her wasted youth?

After all, she spent a good ten years of her life taking care of a little sister that, up until the day of her father's funeral, she didn't even know she [i]had.[/i] Them's the breaks, kiddo--that's what happens when the idealistic, ambitious party girl has to grow up early.

Nowadays, Angie and Vee get along decently well, typical sibling banter notwithstanding. [/indent][/indent]

[indent][color=dodgerblue][b]Adrian | Father | Deceased[/b][/color]
[indent]Inherited a diner-style restaurant from his parents, whom he worked with as a child. Cursed with a crippling sort of diffidence, Adrian was a coward by nature and a tad neurotic, besides. Timid to a fault, he only ever exuded the illusion of confidence when you couldn't see his face--over the phone, online, back in the kitchen, etc. Adrian's parents owned the restaurant, initially--he was homeschooled! He was way too shy to make it in regular schooling, and since the school's counsellors kept suggesting he start in a grade way younger than where he should have been, his parents decided to take the initiative with his education. Adrian and Vee's mother, Eliza, actually got along, in that when some of the local bullies/thugs tried to cause trouble for the restaurant, she got to kick someone's ass while he cowered behind the register--he fell in love when they were both in their early teens. When Eliza's deadbeat druggie parents forgot they had a daughter, and the electricity got shut off, sometimes, Adrian would find her asleep in one of the booths--he and his parents lived above the building! And when he couldn't sleep, he'd usually pace around the restaurant.

They were married soon after they both graduated from high school--Eliza, surprisingly, went on to be a doctor in the military. And Adrian, scared, "super"-powered Adrian, couldn't muster up the courage to go with her. He stayed back, raised Angela, tried to pretend everything was okay.

He went to Eliza's funeral not ten days after Angela's 18th birthday. All the times he cowered and ran away just kind of evaporated--he actually threw chairs and smashed the podium and just [i]broke.[/i] Eliza, in life, had hated platitudes, she hated people being mopey and dopey, she would've hated all of it--especially people pretending they knew a thing about her.

Or [i]cared.[/i]

Someone suggested he go home to cool his head, so he went home and blasted it all over the carpet.

Right inside the restaurant that held so many memories--ghosts, now.[/indent][/indent]

[indent][color=goldenrod][b]Eliza | Mother | Deceased[/b][/color]
[indent]In her younger years, Eliza didn't actually seem like she was going to be anything special!
Cut class--never picked fights, but was open about how pointless she thought everything was. She had a childish kind of attitude towards serious matters--some would call it optimism and bravery, but she just...never knew how to take anything seriously! For the record--Adrian did start conventional schooling! Eliza thought him holing up inside his room was dumb, but he only agreed to go if she promised to take her academic career seriously. He used to say,"I can't take care of you forever, you know!" That became kind of an in-joke between the pair of them. And, surprise, surprise, when she gave a shit, she wound up top of the fucking class. She was especially good with science and math--you wouldn't think it by looking at her, but she had a knack for picking things up!

It was like she could deconstruct the process in her head and just [i]figure it out[/i].

Eliza was weirdly precise about things--especially for someone so wild! Adrian had her help out during a breakfast rush instead of "begging for table scraps like a stray dog," and she had a weirdly steady knife hand.

At Adrian's prompting, Eliza decided to give medicine a try--with her background and her intellect, she easily scored a scholarship. He was the one that kept telling her how smart she was-- "with brains like yours and a hand like that, you could be a brain surgeon!" She had the entire program convinced she started out there barely knowing a lick of conversational English--she used her complexion and "heritage" to her advantage just to dazzle them with how "advanced" she was, and how "easily" she picked stuff up. She wasn't at all fluent in another language, but she [i]did[/i] know how to pretend!

She only decided to become a military doctor because there was a huge deficit--the doctors kept getting targeted and murdered. Made an example of--you know, skin nailed to a tree, entrails sent back in a box with rats, etc.

Eliza thought it was hilarious!

She kept challenging her long-time buddy Jack--like, whoever died first was gonna get treated to dinner. He thought she was being an ass, she thought it was a joke.

There's a reason he went to the most expensive steakhouse he could find his first night back from deployment--[i]alone,[/i] at that. 

Eliza died a hero, with a gun at her head and a defiant grin stretched wide on her lips. They say she saved half the people there--for an ordinary human, some of her uniquely-powered superiors noted, she'd done a damn good job.

[i]"I can't take care of you idiots forever,"[/i] she used to say, mischief sparkling in hazel eyes. 

There's not a day out there those she left behind fervently wish she hadn't been right.[/indent][/indent]

[indent][color=red][b]Jack | Honorary Uncle (?) | Alive[/b][/color]
[indent]Rounding out the classic friendship trio with dry wit, a strong sense of duty, and a protective streak a mile wide, Jack is ex-military--he's got selflessness drilled into him. He's a hardass, but he's comprehending of his environment and he cares about people in his own strange way. He was the older brother Adrian never had, the encouraging, diligent role model. He was the equal Eliza had never bothered to seek, always there to tease back and forth and try (to no avail) to help this asshole straighten out her priorities.

They were inseparable, the three of them--until, much like it always does, war tore them apart. Jack ran away to join the military--his home life had never been particularly pleasant, and Eliza's was downright nonexistent. Adrian had been lucky, in that regard; after all, isn't ignorance bliss?

And ignorant he was, for unbeknownst to him, Jack and Eliza carried a torch for each other, even though Eliza loved the shit out of Adrian. She just had a lot of love to give--she loved freely, purely, unfettered by the chains of conventionality.

For the first while, Adrian and Eliza were content. They had a daughter, Jack serving as an honorary uncle/babysitter/nail-painter and hoster of tea parties (which, secretly, he adored--he loved spending time with his niece.) But time apart frayed their connection, and exhaustion, fear, and the smell of death probably drove Jack and Eliza together.

They were comrades-in-arms--they both knew, deep down, what they did wasn't right. He was a fool in love, she didn't take anything seriously; it was a tragedy, written in the stars, from day one. Now, he bears the burden of guilt--of knowing he let both of his best friends down, and that (in his eyes) because of his negligence, because of his perceived "arrogance," they're both dead. 

There wasn't enough left of Eliza to bury, and there wasn't enough left of Adrian to remember. In a way, he was lucky, though--not like Jack.

Jack got to watch a little clone grow up--Vee had Eliza's same smile, the same eyes, the same cheeky "snrk" whenever someone did something stupid. The same playful teasing and goofball tendencies--only a softer, purer form. She didn't grow up learning how to weaponize and compartmentalize.

Part of him--a part he denies exists, surely, out of shame and guilt and disgust--was almost grateful when Angela, bless her sweet, earnest little heart refused to let them send Vee into the system.

And the other part of him refuses to forgive--not just her, not her foolish, idealistic ignorance, but himself, actually.

Some part of him yearns to reach out to his biological daughter, but that means unearthing skeletons that ought never see the light of day.

Besides, isn't it bad luck to disrespect the dead?

[/indent][/indent][/hider]

[color=aquamarine][b]Dynamics:[/b][/color]
[indent][h3]| [b]April Cooper[/b] |[/h3] | [b]Good[/b] | [b]Vitriolic Best Buddies[/b] | [color=aquamarine][i]"April? Well, if I [b]may...[/b]uh, never mind. It's--yes, that was a pun. A bad one, yeah. Sorry. It could've worked, though--months of the year? A-Anyway, she's fun! Like, in a "beat your head against the wall repeatedly" kind of way. Her sordid love affair with being a rampant asshole aside, I think she's got some good in her! Maybe. It's subjective. But she's still a good friend--I like her!"[/i][/color] |
[indent] Taking the concept of 'vitriolic best buddies' well beyond the logical extreme, spotting April and Vee in the same location is, frankly, a terrifying experience. Vee doesn't really know how to mind her own business, and she loves going on little expeditions, so April is often her (occasionally unwilling) accomplice--though neither will concede the position of 'leader'. It's all for her Snapchat story, of course. Furthermore, their powers negate each other's, which occasionally causes...[i]friction.[/i] [s]cue exasperated groaning[/s]

Their catfights are [i]hilarious.[/i] [/indent][/indent]

[indent][h3]| [b]Name Here[/b] |[/h3] | [b]{Impression (Good/Bad/Neutral}[/b] | [b]{Relationship (Friend, Rival, Crush, etc)}[/b] | [i]"Quote Here."[/i] |
[indent] [Description of Relationship] [/indent][/indent]

[color=aquamarine][h3][b][u]Abilities[/u][/b][/h3][/color]

[color=aquamarine][b]Power Class:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Elemental | Energy[/INDENT] 
[color=aquamarine][b]Power:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT][b]Friction Exacerbation[/b] is inflicting a severe burn on/igniting an object, person, or substance via touch-based application of preternaturally powerful friction. By expending certain amounts of willpower (read: willing it into action), Vee can determine the intensity of her attack...well, a ballpark estimate, at least. 

On the battlefield, Vee essentially functions as a human matchstick. A punch could scorch, a kick could sear, a slap could singe, etc. In her presence conflagrations are a scarily real possibility, as well as collateral damage. If she so pleased, she could use her own hand as the 'tinder,' to 'conjure' fire, if she was willing to sustain the ensuing third-degree burn. As such, she's better suited to bum-rushing her adversary to catch them off-guard. Grappling onto an opponent would probably result in a seared appendage--possibly a full-body ignition if the situation spiraled out of control.

While best-suited towards combat, if she concentrates hard enough, she can implement it in more pedestrian ways, such as heating up a ceramic mug, kick-starting a fire, and (occasionally) catching herself when she falls. Friction does stop things, after all, and everything has friction--it's a universal force. [/INDENT]
[color=aquamarine][b]Limits:[/b][/color]
[INDENT]Physical contact is an absolute much--while it's theorized she might be able to master ranged application in the future, all of her current efforts have proven fruitless, much to her eternal consternation. It's largely dependent on her reaction time, too--as this ability has no delay, she can't utilize it strategically, like one might a timed explosive. It detonates immediately or it doesn't go off at all.

The faster she applies friction to a substance, the more damage she sustains.

Forcing friction on air is [i]absurdly[/i] difficult--well outside the scope of her current capabilities. She couldn't use her power like a parachute, for instance!
[/INDENT]

[color=aquamarine][b]Weaknesses/Drawbacks:[/b][/color] 
[INDENT]Requires immense concentration to maintain; if she doesn't time her actions precisely, she runs the risk of burning [i]herself.[/i] Furthermore, if she's not careful, she might not be able to regulate the intensity, especially during an emotional outburst. What was intended as a rug burn might inadvertently wind up as partial to total incineration, or vice versa. She hasn't quite mastered the delicate art of control--balancing the force of will required to shift the frictional force and the composure needed to keep herself in check is surprisingly difficult, especially under duress. With her, it's all or nothing--she'll deliver a rug burn or she'll accidentally light you on fire.

Moreover, it's quite probable she'll burn herself in the process--she has to maintain physical contact, after all, and she's not immune to its effects. 

Naturally, the longer this ability is invoked, the more her concentration wavers--it's like standing on one leg for extended durations of time. After a while, she starts to teeter, and then eventually, she'll hit the proverbial dirt. Devastating headaches typically ensue, rendering her effectively useless--unless, by some unlikely miracle, she could weather the agony--until her affliction subsides.

If she were to attempt to deploy this power to catch herself after tumbling off a roof, she'd be able to keep herself on there through friction. Furthermore, she's already scorching whatever she caught herself [i]on,[/i] meaning it'd hurt like an absolute [i]bitch.[/i] Even if she fell, she'd still sustain some damage once she hit the ground--in her current state, she'd only be able to slow her descent by scrabbling at the terrain at the expense of her own hands, not completely negate it. She wouldn't die, but she'd probably shatter a limb or two.[/INDENT]

[color=aquamarine][b][u]Other:[/u][/b][/color] 
[INDENT][list]
[*]She's left-handed, and tragically, her handwriting's abominable--a messy, all-caps scrawl she never really outgrew.
[*]She adores watermelon, but only the authentic stuff--she has a comical hatred for artificial watermelon-flavored treats, like ice cream, popsicles, and hard candies. 
[*]Has a hyperactive imagination and an affinity for all things histrionic; as such, she has a rather irrational fear of the dark. She's been known to stay up the entire night, stumble blearily into work the next morning, dark circles ringing her eyes like war paint, and offer, "The windowsill--it creaked," as her sole explanation.​ What a drama queen.
[*]Loves all the summertime cliches, like bonfires, fireworks, festivals, and road trips, despite her sordid love affair with the colder months of the year.
[*]Secretly reads trashy tabloids. What? They're [i]entertaining.[/i]
[/list][/INDENT]

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