Anciek

Vanguard: Calder City

I would like to draw everyone's attention to Unis beautiful new profile picture

@Colonel Sep

By the power of the moon.

Vanguard: Calder City

First IC post of my life here, hope it was decent.

Vanguard: Calder City

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^{LOWER EAST CALDER.
A HALF-COLLAPSED APARTMENT BLOCK.
NOW.}

By the time Richard arrived, the interesting part was already over. (That was how people usually described it, anyway.)

The hero had already made their exit. The villain, or powered lunatic, or misunderstood victim of the week had already been dragged away in cuffs. The news drones had gotten their best angles of the impact site, the broken windows, the smoke, the crying residents wrapped in foil blankets. Reporters had already said words like tragedy, miracle, accountability, and infrastructure concerns with the kind of practiced gravity that made them sound almost expensive.

Now came the ugly part. Now came the dust. Now came the smell of ruptured pipes, burnt insulation, old cooking oil, and wet concrete. Now came the firefighters checking floor by floor to make sure nobody had been missed. Now came the city inspectors with tablets in hand, already deciding which sections were too dangerous to enter. Now came residents trying to argue their way past police tape because their medication was upstairs, or their cat was upstairs, or their whole life was upstairs.

Now came him.

Richard stood across the street with his hood up, one hand curled around the strap of his work bag as he looked at the building. Six stories of tired brick leaned slightly to the left, the center of the facade punched inward like something huge had put its fist through the ribs of the place. Hairline cracks spread from the impact point in pale branching lines. To most people, they probably looked random.

They were not random, after all Richard could feel them. Not like sound. Not exactly. More like pressure behind his teeth. A low, grinding ache that crawled up his wrists and settled behind his eyes. Every fracture had a direction. Every load-bearing wall had an argument it was losing. Every bent support beam was a sentence ending badly.

The building was still standing because nobody had told it to fall yet.

“Hey,” one of the cops called as Richard ducked under the tape. “Authorized personnel only.”

Richard pulled the badge from inside his jacket without looking at him. Foundation credentials. Temporary municipal clearance. Rallis-Reynolds emergency response seal stamped in gold at the bottom, because of course it was.

The cop looked at it, then at him.

Recognition arrived a second later, and with it, the usual change in expression. Not awe. Not relief. Something more irritating.

“Oh. You’re Sunbeam.”

Richard’s jaw tightened.

“Orichalcum,” he said.

The cop blinked.

“What?”

“Name changed.”

“Right.” The cop glanced toward the building. “You with your mother’s people?”

No, Richard thought. Unfortunately, yes.

“Something like that.”

He kept walking before the man could ask anything else.

A city engineer met him near the entrance, a woman in a yellow hard hat with concrete dust on one side of her face and the hollow-eyed look of someone who had been awake for too many consecutive disasters.

“You the reinforcement guy?”

Richard almost laughed.

“Sure.”

She did not seem to have the energy to care about his tone. She pointed through the ruined lobby. “Main stairwell is compromised between floors two and four. There are three residents unaccounted for, possibly trapped on the fifth. Fire says they can maybe get up through the rear, but if that central column shifts, we lose the whole east side.”

Richard looked past her.

The lobby had once been ugly in a normal way. Mailboxes. Peeling paint. A fake plant knocked onto its side. Now the ceiling had cracked open and vomited plaster across the floor. One elevator door had buckled outward. Somewhere above, metal groaned with the threat of collapse.

He could see the stress running through the place in invisible gold.

“There,” he said, pointing to a support column near the back wall. “And there. The stairwell’s bad, but that column goes first.”

The engineer followed his gesture, frowning. “You sure?”

“No.” That got her attention.

Richard stepped forward, tugging off his gloves. “But the building is.”

He pressed his bare palm against the nearest crack. For one second, nothing happened. Then gold bled from his skin.

It did not shine like sunlight. It did not burst or flare. It seeped into the damaged concrete in thin molten threads, following every split and fracture with unsettling precision. The crack filled, hardened, and spread into a jagged seam that looked almost beautiful if nobody thought too hard about why it was there.

The pressure in Richard’s skull sharpened but He breathed through it.

Another seam opened across his wrist beneath the skin, faint and golden, tracing an old stress line through bone and tendon. He flexed his fingers until the stiffness passed. Behind him, someone muttered, “That’s creepy.”

Richard did not turn around. “Yeah,” he said. “But so is being crushed to death.”

Nobody had much to say after that.

He moved deeper into the building, palm to wall, palm to column, palm to cracked stair rail. Gold followed him in broken lines. Not clean. Not symmetrical. Not the polished, photogenic arches his sister could raise in the middle of a press conference while cameras caught her from below like she had been designed by God and a marketing team.

Richard’s work was uglier.

It crawled through damage. It admitted something had failed. It left scars where everyone could see them. That was the part his mother hated most.

Helena Rallis-Reynolds had built a career on restoration. On making disasters look temporary. On standing in front of ruins and promising Calder City that everything broken could be remade brighter, cleaner, stronger, and preferably with her family name tastefully visible somewhere in the background.

But Richard did not remake things. He held them together. There was a difference. People noticed it, even when they did not know how to say it...

A child cried somewhere above and Richard stopped. The building shifted. Dust fell in a soft gray curtain from the ceiling.

For a heartbeat, everyone froze. Firefighters. Cops. Residents outside the tape. The engineer beside him.

Richard felt the central column begin to give.

“Out,” he said.

The engineer stared at him. “What?”

“Everybody out of the lobby. Now.”

To her credit, she did not ask twice.

People moved.

Richard ran toward the column.

Pain lanced through both arms as he slapped his hands against the concrete and forced the gold deeper. Not across the surface this time. Into it. Through it. Down through the fractures and into the rebar, chasing every point of failure he could feel. His shoulders locked. His knees almost buckled.

The building groaned above him.

“Come on,” he hissed through his teeth. “Come on, you miserable piece of shit.”

Gold burst across the column in thick, uneven bands. For a moment, it looked like it would not be enough. Then the pressure shifted. Not gone. Not fixed.

Held.

Richard let out a breath that sounded worse than he wanted it to. His hands shook when he pulled them away. Beneath the dust, thin golden lines had crawled halfway up his forearms, vanishing under his sleeves like cracks in a statue someone had tried to repair from the inside.

Outside, one of the reporters had noticed him because of course they had.

A camera drone turned slowly, its little red recording light blinking through the dust-choked lobby.

Richard stared at it and for a second, he considered swatting it out of the air.

Instead, he lifted one gold-marked hand and gave it the smallest, ugliest wave he could manage.

“Try to get my good side,” he muttered.

The engineer returned to the doorway, watching him with an expression that was not quite gratitude and not quite concern. “Can you keep it stable long enough for a fifth-floor extraction?”

Richard looked up the stairwell. Every crack in the building looked back. His arms hurt. His head hurt. His family name was probably already crawling across social media attached to some caption about Sunbeam’s rebrand or Helena’s troubled son or whether Orichalcum was a terrible hero name.

Gods He hated this city and He hated that he cared what it thought but what He hated, most of all, that the building was still full of people and he already knew he was going upstairs.

Richard adjusted his bag on his shoulder and stepped onto the first broken stair.

“Yeah,” he said. “But don’t take your time.”

Olympus Rising

Nikos “Niko” Karalis

Nikos “Niko” Karalis | 25 | Male | Ares Successor
Sexuality: Bisexual
Power: Super Strength & Protector’s Wrath
Appearance: Niko is broad-shouldered and visibly athletic, with the look of someone who has spent more time in gyms, back alleys, and late-night shifts than anywhere polished or comfortable. He has dark hair usually worn messy or cropped short, bruised knuckles more often than not, and an intensity in his eyes that makes him look angrier than he usually means to. His style is practical: hoodies, boots, worn jackets, gym clothes, and anything he can move in.

His spear appears as an ancient bronze weapon with a dark iron core, the haft wrapped in red-brown leather. It is not elegant or ornamental. It looks old, brutal, and purposeful, like something made to draw a line in the dirt and dare the world to cross it.

Personality:
Niko is young, hot-blooded, and too quick to take a threat personally, especially when someone vulnerable is involved. He has a temper and a dangerous instinct to answer fear with violence, but beneath that anger is a genuinely good heart. He is protective to the point of recklessness, the sort of person who steps between a stranger and danger before he has had time to think about whether he can win.

He does not see himself as heroic. If anything, he is afraid that the worst parts of him are the truest. Being chosen by Ares has only made that fear worse. Niko wants to protect people, but he also knows there is a part of him that enjoys the moment when he finally stops holding back. His struggle is not learning how to fight. It is learning when to stop.

Short Bio:
Niko grew up in a working-class home where being strong was useful long before it was admirable. He was the kid who got into fights for other people, the teenager teachers called “trouble” even when he was defending someone else, and the young man who learned to take a punch before he learned how to explain himself. As an adult, he works around a local boxing gym and takes security jobs when money is tight, quietly looking out for younger kids and vulnerable people who remind him too much of himself.

He has always had a particular hatred for men who use fear, size, or power to corner women. It is not a polished belief or something he talks about with noble words. It is simpler and angrier than that. He has seen people look away too many times, heard too many excuses, watched too many threats get dismissed until it was too late. Niko does not look away. Sometimes that has made him a problem. Sometimes it has made him exactly the problem someone else needed.

His Awakening came after closing time at the gym, when he heard a woman screaming in the alley behind the building. At first he thought it was an ordinary assault and the kind of thing that made his blood turn hot before his thoughts could catch up. Then he saw what was really there.

Harpies.

They clung to the fire escape, the walls, the roof above, all talons and ragged wings and shrieking laughter. One had already dragged the woman to the ground, while the others circled and mocked her panic in voices almost human enough to be worse. Niko did not understand what he was seeing. He only understood that she was terrified, hurt, and alone.

So he ran in.

He fought like an idiot, because that was all he had. Fists, elbows, broken bottles, anything he could grab. He managed to tear one harpy off her, but another opened his side with its claws and a third slammed him hard enough into the wall that something in his ribs gave way. He should have stayed down.

He did not.

When the woman tried to crawl away and one of the harpies dropped toward her, Niko got between them again. Bloody, shaking, barely able to breathe, he still raised his fists.

That was when everything went black.

In the void, a voice like bronze, blood, and thunder spoke to him. It did not praise conquest. It did not ask for cruelty. It told him that war was not always glory, and rage was not always shame. Sometimes war was the hand that closed around a spear because someone had to stand between the predator and the prey.

When Niko woke, no time seemed to have passed. He was back on his feet in the alley, bleeding and shaking, but no longer empty-handed. A spear of ancient bronze and dark iron rested in his grip, and the harpies’ laughter died in their throats.

Olympus Rising

@Anciek - Niko is excellent, move him over to the character tab. With that secondary power, I think that could be an interesting addition to support his power, I like it!

@Azure Bubbles - Tyler is accepted, move him over. I like that mention of his new power feeling too personal, and having a future that he never signed up for.

@ShankySpice - Azalea is accepted, move her over. Her hand tiller transforming to her gifted weapon is a great detail.

@shylarah - Maxwell seems great, he can be moved over to the character tab, but just a note that I can't see the image as Imgur is no longer accessible in the UK. Our first non-Awakened character too, I think that'll be interesting to see play out for him.
I'm thinking the roleplay will start about springtime, April-May. Fairly warm for them.

@Athol - Sam is accepted, move her over. That sounds to me like a Titan Successor went after her before her Awakening if I'm not mistaken, we can certainly have mention of recognition when they encounter one another again.

@Pathei Mathos - Giovanni is accepted, move him over. Again, there is one image I can't see because Imgur, but the rest are fine. Another not-Awakened if I'm not mistaken. His family background is a fitting one that I hadn't thought of.

@tadcfnaf - Odysseus looks good so far. A few things to consider first - wouldn't being the most known marine biologist make things awkward when he suddenly disappears off on a quest and/or draw public attention? Being a marine biologist is completely fine and makes sense, but might currently be too high profile? The Successors will have enough to deal with without having the cops and/or the whole world tracking them too lol. And the creation of unspecified machines miight be treading into Hephaestus territory a little, but if there's something specific that he's built/discovered then we can totally discuss.
For his Awakening, I'd love some more detail. The attacker/enemy should ideally be a Greek mythology monster or one of the Titan successors rather than random terrorists. Check out what other people have written for their character's Awakening for some inspiration.

--

For everyone, I'll be posting up my character soon. We've got a great cast of characters already, I'm excited to see who else joins in to fill out the group.
Let me know if I've missed anyone, I've tried to reply to everyone all at once haha!

@MintRolls

Thank you, doing it now :)

Vanguard: Calder City

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^{"It is a terrible thing to be the child of a great house, where the past is a master and the present is an apology"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ (FC: Amaro Delamro; Dialogue: dark-golden) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Richard Rallis-Reynolds _________________________________________________________ 7 of July | 21 _________________________________________________________ Single | Male | Bisexual S T A T S S T A T S _________________________________________________________ Height | 5'10 _________________________________________________________ Hair Color | Brunette _________________________________________________________ Eye Color | Golden-Brown _________________________________________________________ Hometown | Calder City -

H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y ___________________________________________________________________________________ My Hider Richard Rallis-Reynolds was born into one of Calder City’s most polished public families for he is the son of the Rallis-Reynolds Foundation, a powerful disaster relief, reconstruction, and hero-support organization with deep ties to city politics, corporate sponsorships, and superhuman response teams. His mother, Helena Rallis-Reynolds, is not simply a hero in costume. She is a public institution. A crisis manager, philanthropist, strategist, and former field operative of Greek descent, Helena built her reputation on appearing wherever Calder City broke and promising that her family would rebuild it better than before. She is elegant, disciplined, media-perfect, and almost impossible to embarrass. Richard’s older sister, Cassandra Rallis-Reynolds, became everything the family wanted from the next generation. Beautiful, charismatic, powerful, and adored, Cassandra inherited a far more glamorous version of the family’s anomalous gift. Her abilities allow her to create shining gold-like structures, monuments, barriers, and architectural forms on a dramatic scale. The media calls her a living symbol of restoration. Sponsors love her. The Foundation loves her. Helena presents her as proof that the family legacy is still bright. But Richard’s power manifested differently.Where Cassandra creates beautiful structures, Richard finds cracks and his ability (sometimes called Aureate Mending) allows him to perceive fractures, stress points, and structural weaknesses in objects, buildings, machinery, and even bodies. Through touch, he can produce a strange gold-like substance that flows into cracks and hardens into luminous seams, repairing, binding, or reinforcing what has been damaged. The effect resembles kintsugi "broken things held together by golden lines." It is useful. Sometimes incredibly useful. But it is also deeply unglamorous. Richard does not create shining monuments. He crawls through collapsed buildings and seals broken support beams. He holds cracked concrete together long enough for civilians to escape. He splints shattered bones with golden seams that hurt like hell but keep people alive. He welds doors shut, patches damaged vehicles, stabilizes failing machinery, and reinforces broken armor, walls, bridges, or bodies. His power does not hide damage. It reveals it. And that made him the embarrassment of a family obsessed with looking flawless, specially if some of their constructions needed repair. Helena never knew what to do with him. Cassandra could stand in front of cameras surrounded by gleaming golden architecture and look like the future of Calder City. Richard emerged from disaster zones dirty, exhausted, shaking, and covered in glowing fracture-lines. His work saved lives, but it photographed badly. Online critics called him “the repair boy,” “gold glue,” “crackfinder,” and “the family maintenance staff.” The worst part is that some of the jokes were not entirely wrong and that make Richard grow up feeling like the useful disappointment. Not useless enough to be ignored, not impressive enough to be celebrated. His family brought him out when they needed sincerity, humility, or disaster-zone credibility, then pushed Cassandra forward when it was time for speeches, magazine covers, and public admiration. At twenty-one, Richard has started pulling away from the Foundation’s control. He still works rescue scenes, but increasingly on his own terms. He is beginning to realize that his power may be stranger than the family admits. Sometimes, when he touches very old stone, ancient metal, or places damaged by impossible events, the cracks speak back. Not in words, exactly, but in impressions: pressure, history, pain, memory. His family builds monuments and Richard listens to ruins. But one day, Calder City may need someone who understands broken things better than anyone else. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S __________________________________________________________________________________ He first realized his powers when he was 6 years old and have grown as he grew up Aureate Mending: Richard can produce a strange gold-like substance from his hands that flows into cracks, breaks, and damaged surfaces before hardening into luminous seams. This allows him to repair or reinforce objects, structures, machinery, and certain injuries. The effect does not erase damage but it stabilizes it, leaving visible golden lines behind. Fracture Sense: Richard can perceive stress points, cracks, weak joints, and structural damage in his surroundings. This makes him highly useful in disaster zones, collapsed buildings, damaged vehicles, and unstable environments. He can often tell where something is about to break, where pressure is building, or what needs to be reinforced first. This sense is not true precognition and does not tell him the future; it only reveals existing weakness and strain. Golden Binding: By applying his aureate substance offensively or defensively, Richard can bind objects together, seal doors, lock damaged mechanisms, reinforce barriers, splint broken limbs, or temporarily restrain enemies by fixing them to cracked surfaces or damaged equipment. This ability works best when something is already broken, stressed, or imperfect. Smooth, flawless, undamaged surfaces are harder for him to affect. Self-Reinforcement: Richard can channel his power through the microfractures and stress points in his own body, temporarily reinforcing his bones, joints, and muscles with thin golden seams. This gives him increased durability and physical strength for short periods, but it is painful and somewhat dangerous. Overuse can make him stiff, heavy, numb, or leave him with lingering golden marks beneath the skin. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y __________________________________________________________________________________ Richard Rallis-Reynolds is guarded, observant, and quietly resentful. He grew up in a family obsessed with polish, public image, legacy, and restoration, but his own power does not create beautiful monuments or inspiring symbols. It finds damage. It exposes stress fractures. It leaves visible golden seams where something has broken. Because of that, Richard has developed a sharp eye for imperfection, both in structures and in people. He notices tension in a room, cracks in a story, discomfort behind a smile, and weakness hidden beneath confidence. This makes him perceptive, but not always kind. He can be blunt, suspicious, and difficult to impress, especially around people who seem too polished or too comfortable being admired. He is more introverted than extroverted. Richard does not enjoy cameras, speeches, galas, interviews, or public hero events. He has spent too much of his life being presented as part of the Rallis-Reynolds family image, usually as the disappointing younger heir or the humble “repair boy” beside his much more celebrated sister. Attention makes him tense, and praise often makes him suspicious. He has trouble believing compliments are sincere rather than strategic. Richard is not naturally cruel, but he can be bitter. He dislikes pity almost as much as mockery, and he reacts badly to being treated like a useful assistant rather than a hero in his own right. He is especially sensitive to jokes about being maintenance, support, or cleanup. The truth is that he is very good at rescue and stabilization work, but he hates that people often only value him after everything has already gone wrong. Despite his resentment, Richard is deeply protective. His first instinct in a crisis is to look for what is about to fail and hold it together. A collapsing wall, a damaged bridge, a wounded civilian, a panicking teammate...Richard is drawn to broken things even when he pretends not to care. He will complain, glare, and act like the situation is someone else’s mess, but he will still be the one kneeling in the rubble with bloody hands, forcing golden seams through cracked concrete until everyone else gets out alive. At his worst, Richard is defensive, jealous, and prone to pushing people away before they can decide he is not enough. He can confuse being needed with being used, and he sometimes assumes the worst of people who genuinely want to help him. At his best, he is loyal, practical, brave, and quietly compassionate. He understands damage better than most, and though he would never say it out loud, part of him believes broken things deserve to survive. M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S __________________________________________________________________________________ Richard wants to become more than the family’s useful disappointment. For most of his life, the Rallis-Reynolds name has defined him before he could define himself. His mother built a public legacy around restoration, perfection, and control. His older sister became the shining successor that everyone wanted to be... powerful, charismatic, beautiful, and easy to celebrate. Richard, by contrast, became the one sent into damaged places to patch cracks, stabilize failures, and make sure the family’s promises did not collapse in public. His immediate goal is independence. Richard wants to operate outside the direct control of his family’s foundation and prove that his work matters even when it is not glamorous. He is drawn to rescue operations, disaster response, damaged infrastructure, and street-level emergencies...places where his abilities are not just useful, but necessary. He does not want to be a mascot, a charity case, or a background figure in someone else’s heroic image. He also wants to understand the deeper nature of his powers. His golden seams do more than repair. Sometimes they respond strangely to old stone, damaged artifacts, impossible materials, or places touched by unexplained phenomena. Richard has started to suspect that his ability may not simply be a hereditary repair gift. It may be connected to something older, something hidden beneath the family’s clean public mythology. What Richard truly wants is not fame, though part of him still craves recognition more than he likes to admit. He wants respect. He wants to be seen as someone who holds the line when beautiful things fail. He wants to prove that repair is not weakness, that support is not inferiority, and that a broken thing held together with gold can become stronger than something that only pretends to be flawless.

Olympus Rising

My Hider

Nikos “Niko” Karalis | 25 | Male | Ares Successor
Sexuality: Bisexual
Power: Super Strength
Weapon: Spear
Appearance: Niko is broad-shouldered and visibly athletic, with the look of someone who has spent more time in gyms, back alleys, and late-night shifts than anywhere polished or comfortable. He has dark hair usually worn messy or cropped short, bruised knuckles more often than not, and an intensity in his eyes that makes him look angrier than he usually means to. His style is practical: hoodies, boots, worn jackets, gym clothes, and anything he can move in.

His spear appears as an ancient bronze weapon with a dark iron core, the haft wrapped in red-brown leather. It is not elegant or ornamental. It looks old, brutal, and purposeful, like something made to draw a line in the dirt and dare the world to cross it.

Personality:
Niko is young, hot-blooded, and too quick to take a threat personally, especially when someone vulnerable is involved. He has a temper and a dangerous instinct to answer fear with violence, but beneath that anger is a genuinely good heart. He is protective to the point of recklessness, the sort of person who steps between a stranger and danger before he has had time to think about whether he can win.

He does not see himself as heroic. If anything, he is afraid that the worst parts of him are the truest. Being chosen by Ares has only made that fear worse. Niko wants to protect people, but he also knows there is a part of him that enjoys the moment when he finally stops holding back. His struggle is not learning how to fight. It is learning when to stop.

Short Bio:
Niko grew up in a working-class home where being strong was useful long before it was admirable. He was the kid who got into fights for other people, the teenager teachers called “trouble” even when he was defending someone else, and the young man who learned to take a punch before he learned how to explain himself. As an adult, he works around a local boxing gym and takes security jobs when money is tight, quietly looking out for younger kids and vulnerable people who remind him too much of himself.

He has always had a particular hatred for men who use fear, size, or power to corner women. It is not a polished belief or something he talks about with noble words. It is simpler and angrier than that. He has seen people look away too many times, heard too many excuses, watched too many threats get dismissed until it was too late. Niko does not look away. Sometimes that has made him a problem. Sometimes it has made him exactly the problem someone else needed.

His Awakening came after closing time at the gym, when he heard a woman screaming in the alley behind the building. At first he thought it was an ordinary assault and the kind of thing that made his blood turn hot before his thoughts could catch up. Then he saw what was really there.

Harpies.

They clung to the fire escape, the walls, the roof above, all talons and ragged wings and shrieking laughter. One had already dragged the woman to the ground, while the others circled and mocked her panic in voices almost human enough to be worse. Niko did not understand what he was seeing. He only understood that she was terrified, hurt, and alone.

So he ran in.

He fought like an idiot, because that was all he had. Fists, elbows, broken bottles, anything he could grab. He managed to tear one harpy off her, but another opened his side with its claws and a third slammed him hard enough into the wall that something in his ribs gave way. He should have stayed down.

He did not.

When the woman tried to crawl away and one of the harpies dropped toward her, Niko got between them again. Bloody, shaking, barely able to breathe, he still raised his fists.

That was when everything went black.

In the void, a voice like bronze, blood, and thunder spoke to him. It did not praise conquest. It did not ask for cruelty. It told him that war was not always glory, and rage was not always shame. Sometimes war was the hand that closed around a spear because someone had to stand between the predator and the prey.

When Niko woke, no time seemed to have passed. He was back on his feet in the alley, bleeding and shaking, but no longer empty-handed. A spear of ancient bronze and dark iron rested in his grip, and the harpies’ laughter died in their throats.

(If I could @MintRolls I'd love to maybe have this as another power, only if you like it:

Protector’s Wrath: Niko’s strength increases when defending someone who is weaker, wounded, restrained, terrified, or outnumbered.)

Olympus Rising

<Snipped quote by Anciek>

Imma want Poseidon.

@tadcfnaf

Oh, here is the evil one :d

Vanguard: Calder City

Well let's see how this goes

girly pops

L U C I E G I R O U X
L U C I E G I R O U X

^{"I never did like sharing the spotlight."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ (FC: Chrissy Costanza; Dialogue: 00FFAE) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Lucie Giroux _________________________________________________________ November 13 | 30 _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Lesbian S T A T S S T A T S _________________________________________________________ Height | 5'10" _________________________________________________________ Hair Color | Variable _________________________________________________________ Eye Color | Variable _________________________________________________________ Hometown | Lagny-sur-Marne, France -

H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y ___________________________________________________________________________________ The best thing that ever happened to Lucie wasn't getting powers, it was social media. Lucie didn't come from a life of luxury despite being able to say that she took frequent trips to Paris in her youth; the benefit of living only a couple of hours from the city of lights itself. Her father was the head chef in a small, but renowned, restaurant that vaulted him to minor celebrity status when he, for two seasons, was the judge of a culinary competition program. He resigned from the position upon realizing the show was more about drama than the art of cooking, but walking out of the contract buried him in legal issues. Lucie thought her father was an idiot for walking out on a job like that, an opinion she shared with him and an opinion that led to physical discipline and grounding. Her mother had a simple job as an elementary school teacher. If either of her parents had abilities, they never brought it up with Lucie. Not even when she got in trouble at school for using her newfound powers to cheat on tests. Of course she knew what the Gray Death was, such a monumental part of history was included in any curriculum, but she had never considered she might be one of the lucky ones. Once she did discover her powers, she took the opportunity to use the power of technology to her advantage. Her father had managed to become more widely known thanks to a crappy cooking show so it stood to reason that Lucie could become even more well known. Famous, even. She didn't seek luxury or even covet fame, but what was the point in having powers and not using them for one's own benefit? Sure, some weirdos out there found satisfaction in being some kind of inspirational figure, but why should inspiration have to only be on those that did good? By the time Lucie was twenty, she had moved to Paris and was performing at local festivals while also releasing music and videos on social media. It started simply enough, a girl with a guitar and a voice. But overtime it grew. Backing vocals. Drums. Bass. Keyboard. At first, it was easy to make it seem like her videos were edited well, that she had simply put forth a lot of effort to make her one woman band videos, but the truth was simply staring people in the face: Lucie had powers and she wasn't hiding behind a mask or an alias. Unless, of course, a stagename counted. By the age of 25, Lucie had two albums on the charts and had moved to Calder City which was a move meant to broaden opportunities and network. Under the name of Lucie Quatre, she began performing live concerts and gigs, notable for both the costumes and show elements as much as she was the music, every Lucie Quatre show was an experience that she hoped was unforgettable. Lucie did it all. Vocals, drums, guitar, keyboard, dancing. And yet, there were four of them. Four of her. A one woman band in four parts. Now in her thirtieth year and with her songs on the airwaves and her name on the lips of people, Lucie can't imagine a better life. But every star has to fade eventually. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S __________________________________________________________________________________ Lucie has the ability of Self-Duplication. She can create perfect, identical copies of herself. Anything on her person other than clothes does not get duplicated along with her though anything in the possession of a duplicate when returning to the main body is kept in Lucie's possession. Her duplicates share feelings and sensations; if one duplicate is injured, all of them feel it. Lucie can only duplicate herself six times at the moment, though she believes that number can go higher if she truly tried; she's never had to use more than five at any given moment thus far. The memory of a duplicate is shared amongst each other and retained by the original. This is how Lucie Giroux, under the stage name of Lucie Quatre, has been able to play every instrument and sing in her shows: she learned to sing and play music with her duplicates learning instruments. Killing a duplicate doesn't kill Lucie, but it does black her out for an unspecific amount of time. Any injury sustained by the duplicates is given to Lucie when returning to the original body. Lucie has gotten to the point where she can give her duplicates different haircolor when she makes them, which she uses to differentiate between herself on stage. Lucy Prime has dark brown hair. Lucie Too (drums) has orange hair. Lucie Three (guitar) has lavender hair. Lucie For (keyboards) has pink hair. Lucie is typically seen with three other duplicates when on stage, hence the Quatre part of her stage name. But that leaves two Lucie's unaccounted for whenever she's on stage... P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y __________________________________________________________________________________ It's certainly easy to write Lucie off as vapid and fame obsessed because, well, she's made it perfectly clear that she is obsessed with celebrity status. She can be rather egotistical but that comes with the territory of fame. Why not embrace the fact that her shows sell tickets and her brand deals make money for companies? It might lead some to think she has no morals or scruples; Lucie would disagree. She has morals. They're just for sale. Charismatic and magnetic, Lucie commands a room as easily as she does a stage, but when the spotlight stops shining and Lucie is left alone in her penthouse with only a view and herself for company, it makes a woman wonder if talking to herself, literally, is a substitute for something genuine. Does she have friends, or does she have dogs at her table looking for scraps? One benefit of her powers is that Lucie never feels the need to censor herself. Even in front of a camera if she speaks her mind and lets some vulgarity or sizzling comments slip, she can always just say it was one of her duplicates, not her. Of course, this also suggests that Lucie is quite good at lying. Lucie is emotionally intelligent, though, and has a passion for the arts. She's not above doing charity appearances and treats them as important as her regular performances. Sure, the argument is that it's all performative, but Lucie has gotten good at tuning out the noise like that. Her opinions are out there, on social media, in her interviews, and she'll stand by each and every one. She finds the idea of using one's power for altruistic reasons to be idiotic and anyone who says otherwise is lying to themselves. In her mind, everyone with powers is selfish, she just admits it. M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S __________________________________________________________________________________ Lucie wants to win awards. It's not enough to sell out concerts, she wants to be someone that shows what a super powered individual can do beyond being, well, a hero or whatever the hell they do. If someone who listens to her music is inspired to not hide their ability, no matter how quaint, then she'll consider that a worthy cause. She wants her name in the books and not simply tabloids. Hell, why not try to cross over into other forms of the spotlight? She bets she could be a hell of an actress. For Lucie, the sky's the limit so long as her name is written in the stars.

@Fabricant451

That is a really, really fun idea, super cool.

Olympus Rising

Hi yes, I would love to reserve the Ares successor, as I said in the other post I would love to be more in the vein of when Ares killed Halirrhothius for her daughter Alcippe, more in the vein of protector/revenge/war god than the "Brutish stupid impaired" that the Athenians liked to say.