On second thought.... maybe we're looking at this wrong.
Why not change the backstory a bit so that somehow whoever the alternate personality actually belongs to someone, maybe it's someone in a coma... or someone who was dying. Thus the Professor would focus not on curing Aya but helping the two co-exist until somehow, via mutant power or technology, the ability to separate them becomes available.
That way Aya wouldn't be sick.
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Mmmmm.... I haven't had to do research for a post in a long while. It feels good.
Aya is sick and in time she'll most likely get worse and will likely die if not treated. Aya's peers will probably be instructed not to respond to Aya unless she speaks as her "base" identity and to ignore anything stated by other identities as part of her treatment. That's assuming non-professionals are allowed to interact with her or that the strung out, emaciated wreck of a person with the deep circles under her eyes and the vacant gaze even is allowed outside of the clinic.
Welcome to the world of mental illness. It's a depressing and horrible thing.
Welcome to the world of mental illness. It's a depressing and horrible thing.
Tortuga, the Isle of the Turtle. The port of Cayonne was ever the den of inequity, scum and villainy and it was home. Lucy Dunaway strode the hard packed earth that was one of the roads. It was a fortress of an island, the north face a long unbroken line of scalable cliffs. Only the south held a harbour and even then, larger ships, those of seventy guns or more could not fjord the sand bar of the relatively shallow harbour. It was a near perfect place for pirates. Chevalier de Fontenay ruled this port with an iron fist from his fort that loomed over the harbour. He had taken over lordship of the fort on behalf of France after the previous governor was killed by his own henchmen over a mistress. He was supposed to bring order to the region and prevent piracy. He had instead gone independent like others before him, becoming a buccaneer king.
This was where she lived. Lucy, or Loosey Lucy as she was often called was a misbegotten bastard child and whore, a beautiful buxom thing but a whore none the less. She moved through the marketplaces of Tortuga, her crimson hair glimmering warmly like burnished copper. She adjusted her parasol and then the black pirate's cap she wore, a left behind souvenir of a drunkard pirate who had been so sloshed that she had taken him for all he was worth. She had very fair skin and she wasn't wanted to avoid becoming tanned. Fair skinned women were in more demand as whores than those of darker skin like those who worked the plantations. She then adjusted the corset, ensuring her ample assets were well displayed. The dried earth was warm beneath her bare feet, for boots or shoes were far too expensive for one of her meager earnings. She would not yet be able to afford a new pair for a fortnight at least.
She had just awakened and was on her way towards the local tavern, for those who could afford to drink while the sun was high overhead often had coin for a quick tumble. It was a meandering walk for she had no particular need for haste. Thus, she noted, with a chuckle, a young pirate attempting to sell tobacco. The fool. The main product of export here on Tortuga was tobacco. The plantations north of the town proper cultivated little else. People came to Tortuga in order to buy tobacco at a cheap rate- not to sell it. She rather suspected that he would have find he had little by way of coin to spend on whores.
This was where she lived. Lucy, or Loosey Lucy as she was often called was a misbegotten bastard child and whore, a beautiful buxom thing but a whore none the less. She moved through the marketplaces of Tortuga, her crimson hair glimmering warmly like burnished copper. She adjusted her parasol and then the black pirate's cap she wore, a left behind souvenir of a drunkard pirate who had been so sloshed that she had taken him for all he was worth. She had very fair skin and she wasn't wanted to avoid becoming tanned. Fair skinned women were in more demand as whores than those of darker skin like those who worked the plantations. She then adjusted the corset, ensuring her ample assets were well displayed. The dried earth was warm beneath her bare feet, for boots or shoes were far too expensive for one of her meager earnings. She would not yet be able to afford a new pair for a fortnight at least.
She had just awakened and was on her way towards the local tavern, for those who could afford to drink while the sun was high overhead often had coin for a quick tumble. It was a meandering walk for she had no particular need for haste. Thus, she noted, with a chuckle, a young pirate attempting to sell tobacco. The fool. The main product of export here on Tortuga was tobacco. The plantations north of the town proper cultivated little else. People came to Tortuga in order to buy tobacco at a cheap rate- not to sell it. She rather suspected that he would have find he had little by way of coin to spend on whores.
Well, there's only so much the Professor can do with mental illness. Usually he just deals with post-traumatic stress syndrome. Full blown dissociative identity disorder is a whole other beast. Most likely it will involve drugs that will dull the senses, making Aya apathetic and languid, preventing any sort of rapid mood swing. It's a complex balance of uppers, downers and anti-psychotics that can really mess with a person. It's a most unpleasant experience.
Then I'd imagine he'd use his telepathy to delve into the mind, helping Aya relive past traumatic experiences so that she might draw acceptance and closure from them. The apathy resulting from the drugs would likely help her distance herself from the emotions of the events and learn to accept what's happened without the emotional attachment.
In general.... this would NOT be very fun. No mental illness is. It's surprising how resilient- and fragile the human mind is.
Then I'd imagine he'd use his telepathy to delve into the mind, helping Aya relive past traumatic experiences so that she might draw acceptance and closure from them. The apathy resulting from the drugs would likely help her distance herself from the emotions of the events and learn to accept what's happened without the emotional attachment.
In general.... this would NOT be very fun. No mental illness is. It's surprising how resilient- and fragile the human mind is.
I won't be validating any applications. That's definitely not pursuant towards the powers I would think such a position entails. I'd never allow my assistant GM to allow character applications.
I see an assistant GM's role as whip. The assistant GM knows the plot, knows when the PC's are going on a divergent path and sets the path aright. The assistant plays critical NPC's and performs dice rolling on the behalf of those NPCs, taking some of the burden away from the GM. The character application is by far, the single most area where people can upset the balance of any given RPG, areas where there are background conflicts and particularly in the form of identifying munchkins that use rules exploits.
I see an assistant GM's role as whip. The assistant GM knows the plot, knows when the PC's are going on a divergent path and sets the path aright. The assistant plays critical NPC's and performs dice rolling on the behalf of those NPCs, taking some of the burden away from the GM. The character application is by far, the single most area where people can upset the balance of any given RPG, areas where there are background conflicts and particularly in the form of identifying munchkins that use rules exploits.
Sep said
I will point out Assallya before you move things too far me Echo and Raidne are working on a collab. Though due to Echo being ill and Raidne being busy it has slowed down as off late.
See, told not to post. *lol* Silly boy.
Pssst... I was distinctly told by Sep not to post or advance the plot until the callaborative post was finiahed.
*sticks out tongue*
Otherwise I would have launched the shuttle already.
*sticks out tongue*
Otherwise I would have launched the shuttle already.
Ignoring the Jawa now that the a new threat impended Arla moved. She could hear the strange hissing of cutting torches burning through the metal in a dozen places. Padding through the darkened corridors on bare feet Arla felt oddly comfortable in the dim gloom of the emergency lighting. The cargo hold, filled as it was with cages and cargo containers was a small cavern and Arla had grown up in such places, hiding in the gloom. Her people lived their entire lives in such environs, in the darkness deep below ground.
Carefully pressing one of her lekku, the tendrils that extended from the base of her skull, to the hull she let it absorb the vibrations. Through the appendage she could sense the location of every footstep moving on the other side of the hull. Silently, she wished for better weapons than these light guns. Throwing knives, spears and other weapons were far preferable in such a situation. Each time her light stick fired she would be revealed to all, both in terms of noise and in a bright flash of light.
Somehow, from the tone of the others the sky bird was going nowhere. They would have to face their enemies but Arla would do so on her own terms. Moving atop the containers, climbing through the support struts that upheld the ceiling Arla waited for the first of the enemies to breach through. She would pounce upon them out of the shadows.
Carefully pressing one of her lekku, the tendrils that extended from the base of her skull, to the hull she let it absorb the vibrations. Through the appendage she could sense the location of every footstep moving on the other side of the hull. Silently, she wished for better weapons than these light guns. Throwing knives, spears and other weapons were far preferable in such a situation. Each time her light stick fired she would be revealed to all, both in terms of noise and in a bright flash of light.
Somehow, from the tone of the others the sky bird was going nowhere. They would have to face their enemies but Arla would do so on her own terms. Moving atop the containers, climbing through the support struts that upheld the ceiling Arla waited for the first of the enemies to breach through. She would pounce upon them out of the shadows.
It should be good. Supposedly, it's a heist movie instead of traditional superheroic fare. Apparently the Marvel writers are trying to mix things up now and again so people don't tire of the standard villain appears, hero gets beat, hero trains or otherwise improves and defeats the villain plotlines.
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