Afro Samurai

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Edited.

Fate of the Universe: Chosen Heroes!

Will post later today.

X-Men: Cosmic Crusades 👽

Oshea Jackson

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Oshea Jackson

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Character Summary

Name: Oshea Jackson
Aliases: Rocket
Age: 19
Birthday: 06/12/1999
Birth Place: West Baltimore, Maryland.
Gender: Male.
Powers: Super Speed/Speedster.
Affiliation: X-Men.

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Appearance

Height: 6'1.
Weight: 200.
Build: Slim, lean build.
Eyes: Mocha brown.
Hair: Black.
Skin Tone: Dark.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings:None.
Personal Style: He often wears jean shorts and red Converse with some kind of sports jersey partisan to various professional sports teams. His favorite jersey to wear is a New England Patriots jersey. He has an assortment of different color converse he wears at any given time. He may often wear mismatch color converse. He can often be seen with several fitted caps representing different sports teams as well.

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Psychology

Fast thinker * Unitdy * Unselfish * Impulsive * Introspective * Lacks foresight

Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Relationship Status: Single.
Personality: Oshea is untidy, an ode to his roots in Baltimore's slums. He cares not for order of any kind, but he will listen to those who are in a position of leadership. Otherwise, he is rather unfocused and does not do well with controlling his mind or thoughts--this is possibly because they move too fast for him to have a decisive grasp over. He does his best to focus on one task at a time but often cannot; he is exceeds when tasked with multiple things at once.

Despite his lack of mental focus, Oshea is quite introspective. He possesses a lot of intangible traits: charisma, leadership, intuition, confidence. Oshea can be impulsive, and will sometimes act brash in dangerous situations. This does not mean he will not think about his actions while he is doing something, rather that he will not relent from doing something after he has committed himself to whatever path he has chosen.
Habits: He is untidy and he does not enjoy order in the slightest sense.
Hobbies: Running. Collecting shoes. Placing bets. Collecting sports jerseys. Cooking.
Fears:

• Guns.
• Returning to poverty.
• Being too slow or too late.

Likes:

• Junk food.
• Lots of colors.
• Drawing.
• Video games.
• Building things.
• Girls.

Dislikes: 6 minimal

• Bullies.
• Roaches.
• Egotistical people.
• Inequality.
• Moral discrimination.
• Being alone.

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Cards On The Table

General World Skills: Max 6

• Cooking.
• Driving.
• Good with directions and understanding an environment.
• Deciphering intentions.
• Reading body language.
• Eating.

Combat Skills:

• Hand-to-hand skills (boxing).
• Fighting dirty.

Possessions:
This is generally the list of items that you own, just list your characters possessions.

• A keychain with his friend's face on it.
• Black 8 oz boxing gloves.
• Red goggles.
• Wallet.
• Art supplies (colored pencils, markers, paintbrushes, etc)
• An assortment of 90s rap albums.
• An assortment of underground rap albums.
• Several kinds of Hostess' junk foods.
• A red watch.
• A cape.

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History

How did you discover your powers: Like other mutants, his powers showed themselves in spurts once he hit puberty. It was not until a run-in with the neighborhood bullies that his powers reared themselves in full. Across all of Baltimore there are gangs, organizations who war with one another for control over money and lucrative pipelines for selling product. While Oshea himself was never involved in gangs or drugs, he residency as a Fayette Avenue inhabitant marked him as an enemy of nameless and faceless kids from warring neighborhoods.

One day, Oshea was getting off of the bus that dropped him off on the corner several blocks from his house--and right in the heart of enemy territory. He was soon approached by seven kids of varying sizes and dispositions--each of whom asked no questions and immediately began trying to punish him over a trivial categorical difference: where he lived. But Oshea had ran before, he had ran his entire life--from death, from being perceived as "soft", from guidance; so it was easy for him to run again--and he did. Time slowed, everyone else was standing still and he was moving at inhuman speeds.

Why did you choose the side that you did?: Where Oshea grew up, there was little hope. On the corner of Fayette Avenue, Oshea was privy to every social more in a poverty stricken area: drugs, gangs, violence, betrayal. His love for superheroes and his idolization of prominent figures Charles Xaver and Bishop brought him great solace while trying to survive the city's worst. When his mutant abilities came to fruition, he was soon brought to the Xavier Institute and vowed to use his newfound abilities to fight the horrors he had seen in his own neighborhood.

General History: Born and raised in Baltimore, Oshea never had an easy life. While both of his parents were present in his life, his father worked two jobs and his mother worked as a babysitter at night. For much of his adolescence, Oshea was alone and could have easily shared the fate of many of his peers: in jail, addicted to drugs, or dead. He pre-occupied himself with the arts: reading, writing, painting, music. These all served as suitable outlets for him to express himself in ways less nefarious than the streets. It was in this that Oshea developed a strong independence and reliance on himself.

He grew up fast and learned to provide for himself from an early age. Nights where neither of his parents were home he would prowl Baltimore on the hunt for any scraps of food he could find, often posing as a hobo in hopes of garnishing the sympathy of the occasional well-to-do patron on the finer side of Baltimore where project buildings gave way to high-rises and nice cars. It was this trickery that honed Oshea's skills as a hustler and master of deception. With what food and loose change he could hustle from some charitable soul, Oshea would bought more art supplies to further his craft. He graduated from painting on canvas to painting murals, from writing poetry to performing it locally. He became somewhat of a recognizable face around his neighborhood and was one of few kids to rise above circumstances given to him.

He was certainly not infallible. What little fame he garnered from his art also gained him enemies. He spent many days defending himself from bullies and kids from rival neighborhoods. As such, he used the few hundred dollars he got from the poetry slams to fund boxing lessons for himself at a local gym. It was there that he learned to strike, defend, maneuver, and knock-out the finest amateurs in his neighborhood. For a time (before he attended Xavier's) he turned semi-pro, and had five total fights in which he went 3-2. A nasty head injury from his final fight marked his retirement from amateur boxing, though he has yet to put down the gloves completely.

Since he has been at Xavier's, he has developed a bond with many of the newer and incoming students and often offers advice and guidance to them. He especially tries to mentor the kids who come from disadvantageous backgrounds much like himself. Recently, he was invited to join the resident X-Men team as part of its new generation of young mutants and he vows to use his powers alongside his peers to bring peace to the world at large. Oshea is determined to someday become a teacher at the Institute and he also hopes one day to have a comic book penned after him. Most of all, Oshea wants to serve as a hero worthy of the title and serve as someone kids can look up to much like Oshea did when he was young.

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Extras

Character Quote: "I just run 'til I can't run anymore."
Theme Song: Army of the Godz
Anything Else: Bishop. Create-A-Superhero 2

_{*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy. I acknowledge that I can and will be removed from the RP without warning if I break a rule or cause problems with my fellow Rpers or the GM.}

Things I'd Never Do If I Ever Became an Evil Overlord (#121 I will not attempt to use an artifact that I know can only be used by the pure of heart)

Habervast rose and followed the two men outside, he was curious afterall. For good measure, he tipped the world-weary hag with a bucket of IOU notes before he left. Even an evil Overlord enjoyed coinage. How could he afford all those daunting gothic castles where lightning makes an deafening crackle before each one of his monologues? The best way to hurt someone was in his--or her's--pockets. I wonder if this Overlord is a woman? Then Habervast looked around. World-weary hag? Nope. Definitely not a woman, they have better choice in clothing than that. This tavern also smelt like peppermint, this wasn't indicative of the Overlord's gender per se but why? Why peppermint? A conundrum for another life indeed.

When he stepped outside, he breathed in the fresh air. Then he appeared where the trio (Dick, Vark, and Adyeers) were without warning. One was loud, one had a nice moustache, the other struck him as the most serious of the bunch. He wondered just how long they could keep their heads down before word got around that a new batch of heroes had risen to liberate and save the day. It was soon to happen, Habervast figured they had an hour at most given Vark's brazen vaudeville circus act in the tavern. He sure knew one thing: all the pretty wenches had gone. Who was he going to invite to his volatile, loud, pretentious, massive, attention-seeking rager later tonight?

The Lodge Outside of Segaso City (RP is now closed by GM)

Jorvin beat back pangs of annoyance from his being. No matter what this new world had to offer, nothing changed the fact that he was out of his element and in over his head. An older man amidst a party of young people; he was not "hip", he knew no slang, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd shopped in the urban outfitters section he used to frequent when he was a youth. There was no use in lamenting time's slow march, it would happen to the rest of them too. Maybe he was just being a grumpy old man, anyway. There were bigger problems before him: all the doors were locked, and there was no way in. He figured following the Boxcar and Nora may be a good idea, the forest was where everyone happened to be--of course he wasn't sure how they would react to some chubby man adorned in academic regalia. He figured he would wait.

There were two others on the porch next to him; there was a girl with a bike and a young boy whose name was 'Samuel' who preferred to be called 'Sam.' Quite the common name, mundane even. 'Sam' didn't seem the social type, much like Jorvin himself; perhaps it was a credit to the boy's youth, Jorvin had the same quality in his younger years. No, no, no, age hadn't changed him much at all--he was still awkward in any social context. Relegating oneself to a room for fourty eight hours or more without sleep and only a candelight for reading and writing makes a person inhospitable sometimes. Surely, there was no harm in trying to interact with the two.

"Have either of you fine people heard the joke about the Sodium Hybromite?"

Bad chemistry joke incoming. God help these unknowing souls and grant them respite in paradiso.

Fate of the Universe: Chosen Heroes!

Headshot.
Headshot.
Headshot.
Headshot.

Zara rifled shots all around herself, twin Berretas in hand. This was her kind of fight--loud, boisterous. She tossed her Berettas skyward and slung the shotgun off her back while they were in mid-air. She put a round of shot between the eyes of one of the woodland monsters who had gotten too close. Her Berettas fell to flat behind her, she didn't catch them in her holsters as the action heroes did in the movies she used to watch as a kid. A shame, it would have been epic. Her gridlock focus was broken at the sound of explosion! What the--

"Who the #*$& lit the forest on fire?" it is said that only two of nine members of any adventuring party is smart. She wondered who the second one was (including herself, of course).

She shook her head and returned to dropping these woodland monsters with pristine precision. She never wasted more than one shot--all kills. She whipped the shotgun back into its sling and picked up her twin Berettas; then she got to work again.

Headshot.
Headshot.
Headshot.

"Can y'all hurry up and get this over with? I'm runnin' out of bullets here!"

Kokotha: Old Magic, New World

Mazone stunted his singing and capped it all off with a dazzling flourish of his mauve trenchcoat and a small dance number on the tables. He was sure to get some odd reactions--but it was all intentional. Those who didn't respond, who didn't give him side-eye, were the ones he had to worry about the most. Those were the ones who knew how to handle outspoken and unruly foriegners, they were the ones who knew the ins and outs of any torture dungeon and had contacts of any shady bandit clan looking for a quick buck. Those who did react--who did give him side-eye--were normal patrons like himself. Those were the ones he didn't have to worry about. His ease returned to him after he got down off the table, he (thought) he figured out who the troublemakers were and so now he could rest easy; they couldn't hide from him anymore.

He went to get himself a drink.

[color=mauve]"So, Quinn is paying? Bonjour. I'll have the strongest thing you've got on tap."[/color] His proper and elegant tone had died and given way to a relaxed swagger.

@Yomojo @tex @Patches

Fate of the Universe: Chosen Heroes!

Zara followed along with the group, her gripe about the money was settled. There was nothing much she could do about it anyway--besides, if they didn't stop whatever this threat was she wasn't going to get paid ever again; nor would she be alive. Last she heard, money didn't have much use to dead people--the Egyptians tried. She moved somewhere in the middle of the pack, and her chosen position amongst the group sort of represented her own feelings about it all--not too excited, but not too sad about anything either. She was just waiting for some action to happen.

Marvel REBORN (ALWAYS OPEN!)

@Grec Sounds good to me.

Welcome to Marchand!

Great, great, great! It was about time to get to the good part of this whole first day meet-and-greet fiasco: the isolation and sweet recluse of one's dorm. Herman finished off his pancakes, syrup trailed down the side of his mouth. In a hurry, he grabbed his luggage and hustled for his dorm, bypassing body after body; Herman did his best to avoid conversation with everyone who breathed. After all, it'd be weird if he stopped and held a conversation with a dead person. The Runic language imprinted on the suitcase glowed a little after Herman recited an incantation, and he was able to lift the suitcase without struggle.

Once he made it to his dorm, he tossed his things on the floor and hopped up on the bed to catch some sleep before it was time to eat again.