Bounce

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Marvelous Tuesday to you.

Blessings and high favor.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{[ Prev ] “PASSING THROUGH GETHSEMANE, Part I” [ Next ]}

P L A N E T G O R A N G K A A

---

^{Kymellian Agricultural Colony | The Milky Way Galaxy}

If Billy were here, he would likely comment that they’d had worse days.

A power transfer conduit exploded overhead, prompting the young Kymellian to duck his head as blinding sparks and hot shrapnel rained down. At the same time, space had become a roller coaster. This close to a gravity well, the force exerted on the smartship as it weaved through evasive maneuvers created g-forces that shoved the horse-faced youth from side to side -- and several times nearly catapulted him from the chair.

“Our shields are down.”

Off to Kofi’s right, the large Okaraan warlord was crammed into the tactical station. Of late, he had not been the bearer of good news. Glancing over at the large alien, the boy gave a nod before he looked back out through the forward window. He was looking over the top of Alora’s head, the Majesdanian teen occupying the forward astrogation terminal.

Raising a three-fingered hand, a flickering hologram of the surrounding space suddenly appeared at Kofi’s large, blunt fingertips. Rotating his wrist, the horse-like being examined what seemed to be a rather deteriorating situation. “The Galadorians are in retreat and the Light Brigade appears to have been destroyed,” the boy noted flatly.

Whatever good that they had tried to do here had failed spectacularly.

And at the cost of lives. Many, irreplaceable lives.

It was a situation that was not going to be improved by struggling against the inevitability of their defeat. “Alora, can you get us out of here?” the boy asked, wistfully.

The rainbow-haired waif was soot marked, with half her terminal scorched from the damage that they’d been taking. Ordinarily, manual flight of the smartship was not necessary -- except Friday’s artificial intelligence had been knocked off-line when the computer core had taken damage. “Jump drive’s off-line,” the Majesdanian quipped tersely. “We’re barely maintaining sub-light.”

The flight of the smartship Friday came to a sudden halt. Lurching forward, Kofi clung to the side of the captain’s chair as it seemed as though their ship had been snapped backward.

“Tractor beam.”

As Kofi turned his head, he watched as the Okaraan rose from his station. Reaching over to the wall, the warlord pulled a Galadorian short sword from the wall. Then, taking two steps forward, planting himself like a living wall in front of the aft airlock. “Prepare for boarding,” the man uttered gravely.

Overhead, the speakers crackled as a transmission cut in. “People of Gorangkaa, you are all now slaves of the immaculate Shi’ar Imperium. Rejoice in your elevation.”

Arcane circles formed at the fingers of the young Kymellian sorcerer as he rose from out of the command chair. Down forward, Alora was priming the charging bolt on a Kree pistol, when something flashed over the top of her console. “There’s a jump point forming behind us,” the teen announced.

Kofi and G’Kar shared a brief look, before the Kymellian stated, “I thought Lord Aelfyre's final word was that no reinforcements would be forthcoming.”

Setting her pistol aside, the Majesdanian teen was trying to get the damaged console to work with her. “I’m getting a transmission. It’s...” the girl began, before trailing off. “It’s...” she uttered, now clearly confused. After another minute, she turned her head and stated, “It’s David Bowie?”

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Whoever had invented air pods was seriously the best genius of all time.

Forty years, he’d been flying in space. One thing that he’d been missing was a way to listen to music or the radio, or anything. Now, the lyrical stylings of Let’s Dance filled the airways, as Billy had figured a way to pair music from his iPod to the Kymellian communicator that was clipped to his ear.

The small human exited the jump point in a fiery explosion. A stream of photons sailed forward, cutting a swath through the large, insectile alien ship that was descending upon Friday. The Shi’ar assault ship was already reeling in a series of explosions, even before Billy punched straight through it on a path toward the middle of the battlefield.

He cut through the Shi’ar line like a stick into water. Plumes of light accompanying the explosions that ripped through the Shi’ar ships as they were literally torn apart by the sixty-pound human bullet that zig-zagged through the widowing field amid pulsating bursts of radiation and energy.

Rising up above the line of broken and retreating warships, Billy shone like a miniature star. Plasma rolled from off his body, his eyes aflame as he peered out and declared, “Shi’ar fleet, this is Captain Batson. I hope the first round didn’t wear you out, because round two just started.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{[ Prev ] “FEAT OF CLAY, Part VII” [ Next ]}

B L Ü D H A V E N

---

^{St. Anthony’s Cathedral}

The evening mass had gone long in commemoration of the martyrdom of St. Lawrence.

Now, the streets were dark as the faithful emptied from out of the cathedral. Several ladies of the church gossiped as they helped one another down the steps. Mary Agatha, a widow twice over, was the oldest of the trio. Helen’s husband was still with them, but in an assisted living home that specialized in care for Alzheimer’s patients. Jean was the youngest, yet had been widowed the longest.

Mary Agatha didn’t drive much anymore. Two hip replacements had limited her mobility. Jean had given her a ride, and been able to park in front of the cathedral with the handicap tag that Mary Agatha carried. So, for them, the trip to the car was short. They got Mary Agatha seated quickly, standing there talking for a few minutes more. All the while, the people thinned out. The crowd dispersed. It was just Helen standing on the sidewalk, as Jean got into the car and the women said their goodbyes.

Parking in downtown Blüdhaven was always a problem. Helen hadn’t been able to find a spot in the small parking lot beside the cathedral, so she’d had to get a spot in the back. Making her way down the dimly lit alleyway, the woman was -- at first -- oblivious to the scattering of people that milled about. That was before two men stepped out to block her path forward.

Frightened, the woman went to turn back, but found another two men behind her.

“Lost, granny?” one of the men in front of her demanded, as the four men each stepped forward, pressing against the speechless woman. “Let’s see what’s in that purse, yeah?”

The alley was plunged in darkness. The sound of breaking glass echoing as one of the lights facing into the alley was suddenly extinguished. All five of them jumped, Helen as well as the four men. The knives came out. Along with a small .22.

The sound of footsteps overhead caused several of the men to look up to their left. Then a shadow, moving, sent their heads spinning as if on a swivel. Except, when they looked, there was no shadow there.

One of the men swore. “Shit, it’s Batman!”

That was when a giggling echo, like childish laughter, could be heard -- echoing down the alley.

A loud bang accompanied the arrival of a small form, descending from the rooftop to land atop the roof of a car abandoned in the alley. Turning his head up, the masked youth had a Cheshire grin plastered across his face as he asked, “Who’s Batman?”

The four men just stood there for a moment. Finally one blurted out, “The fuck..?”

Cartwheeling from off the car, the childish vigilante flipped through the air. Planting two feet straight into the chest of one of the thugs, the boy sent the man flying with surprising force into the side of the cathedral, sliding down to the ground in a stupor.

As the costumed boy made the landing, a leg sweep took a second thug to the ground. The man with the .22 brought the pistol around to aim at the kid, but coming out of the sweep the boy seemed to flip his body around like a break dancer. Both legs came up to seize hold of the man’s arm in a scissor lock, leveraging his body weight to then launch the man off his feet. The sound of bone snapping and the scream that followed gave evidence to the fact that the man’s shoulder may not have survived the encounter.

For himself, the doll used his hands to propel himself up, twisting in the air and then performing a handstand before popping back upright. It was two against one now, knives flashing in the darkness as the pair converged on the boy. Cherubic laughter echoed it a haunting melody of childish giggling.

The furl of his cape blinded the one to his left, while a wrist strike became a joint lock that he leveraged in order to spin the one to his right around, so that the two slammed into each other. A palm-heel strike to center mass supplied surprising momentum, as the thug was taken off his feet. A windmill kick ended with the sound of snapping bone, after which the other thug slammed down into a puddle on the alley floor.

A short scream caused the boy to turn around. The first thug -- the one that he’d kicked in the chest -- was back on his feet. He had the old woman with a knife to her throat. “Look, man. All I want is the purse, man. Then I’m leaving here, man. You got that?” the man sputtered, tightening his grip on the woman as he shouted, “You got that!?”

Through his robotic vision, the doll was calculating a series of angles and statistics, extrapolating physical probabilities even as he began to put a still-formulating plan into motion. Holding up his arms, as if in surrender, the boy made a slow and deliberate reach to his utility belt. Withdrawing the grapple gun, he held it out at the side, slowly bending down as if to show that he was setting it down.

Then he reversed the grip and hit the trigger.

The grapple hook fired at the side of the building, the force and angle of impact causing it to ricochet off the brick. The hook caught the man in the side of the face, embedding itself there. A high-pitched squeal shattered the night, as the knife fell away, clattering to the floor. The man dropped a second later, clutching at his face as he writhed and screamed in pain.

Stooping low, the costumed doll snatched up the purse that had been dropped. Then, walking up to the shivering woman, offered it as he said, “I’ve contacted the police. They’re on their way.” Gently, the boy placed a hand on the woman’s arm and turned her back toward the way that she’d come. “Let me walk you back to the street. The police will be here soon.”

As the pair emerged into the light, the woman at last got a good luck at the strange figure. It was a boy. Little more than a child. His dark hair was tousled and wild, framing a face that was masked. A short black cape shrouded his slight form, though glimpses of gold and crimson were visible. As they arrived at the corner, the sound of police sirens could be heard. Flashes of blue and red began to appear down the street.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman heard the childish voice say.

When she turned to look again, the boy was gone. As the first police car pulled up, with Helen caught in the headlights, the church lady clutched at her purse and then stared down the alleyway, wondering if some madness had caused her to imagine all of that just now.

...it couldn’t have really happened. Could it?

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

Childish laughter echoed off into the moonlight.

It had been a fairly benign evening. Busting up the mugging outside the church had been about the most excitement he’d had all night. That didn’t mean that it had been a quiet night. He’d been keeping up with the police scanner. All manner of routine calls had been coming in. Mostly calls for medical assists, stolen cars, or robberies of the convenience and/or liquor store variety.

Now that the hour was rolling past midnight, it was likely to get to be quieter on the police scanner and more interesting from Robin’s perspective. The people moving about at this hour could be divided up into two rather neat categories: People going to work on odd-hour shifts or people who didn’t want their comings or goings to be seen.

...or, in the alternative, wanted everyone to know their comings and goings.

The Street Demonz were one such example. Rolling through on motorcycles with bored out exhaust or glass packs to make them sound like overly aggressive Harley-Davidsons. They roared through the streets at around one in the morning, filling the streets with noise before piling into the parking lot of a closed strip mall.

As the headlights panned around the shops, they caught the form a girl. Illuminated there for a moment, the dark-haired waif broke into a run.

And the motorcycles in pursuit.

As the motorcycles swooped in, the girl found herself surrounded. Like a flock of vultures, the bikers prowled in a circle around her. “Well, what do we have here?” one asked, while others cat-called or whistled.

Clutching at the hem of the cardigan that she wore, the girl looked about, as though seeking an escape. Finally, one of the bikers broke from the circle, zipping up beside her to ask, “Past your bedtime, isn’t it cutie?”

Breaking in the direction that he’d traveled, the girl made a run for it. Two bikes cut her off, causing her to skid to a halt as the first biker came up behind her. “What the matter? Don’t you want to play?”

“Maybe she doesn’t like slime.”

As the bikers and the girl looked up, a shadow seemed to detach itself from the darkness, until a red-and-black clad figure became visible along the rooftops of the strip mall. At the realization that the figure was that of a boy, the bikers relaxed. “Halloween’s over, kid,” one of them boasted, before dismissively adding, “Now beat it. Before you get hurt.”

Vaulting through the air, the boy suddenly planted himself just an inch away from the man of the bike. Despite the size difference between the two, the man on the bike actually baked away a step, as the costumed figure said, “The girl leaves with me or you’re the ones getting hurt.”

“What was that?” one of the bikers asked, before another noted, “Oh, tough guy.”

That was when the bikers started moving. Circling and shooting toward the costumed boy and the frightened girl. Until one got too close and a windmill kick had neatly knocked one of the Street Demonz from off their pedestals. The bike were sailing into the one of the buildings, while the rider went down hard onto the pavement.

It was cause for a lot of consternation among the true believers.

“You see that?”
“No way.”
“You’re going down, kid.”

As the whirling dervish turned upon the pair, the costumed figure came to life. A grapple line took out two of the mounted thugs, while a trash can lid was repurposed into a projectile that served to turn another of the bikers into a projectile.

When the dust had cleared, the bikers and their motorcycles were laid bare, while the costumed Toy Wonder emerged victorious. Turning toward where the girl had huddled for security, the young Toyboy Jason asked, “You all right?”

Except there was no one there. Instead, glancing off to the left, the boy saw where the girl was running for her life down an alleyway. “You’re welcome,” the boy offered with a shrug.

The girl in the mini skirt and the cardigan sweater made it halfway down the alley before a police car with lights cruised by. Instantly, she froze. Backing away, she collided with something. Or someone. Turning, she looked back to realize that the Toy Wonder was standing there, behind her. “Is that what you’re running from?” the boy asked. As she shied away, he reached out, saying, “I just want to help.”

The girl adamantly shook her head. “You can’t,” she uttered flatly, adding, “I have to keep moving.”

She was a runner. “Is there somewhere I can take you?” the boy asked, almost pleading. Softly, he asked, “Do you have a family?”

The girl hesitated, “I...”

Whatever answer that he might have gotten was lost the moment that a voice broke across the strip mall parking lot and said, “Police!”

A plethora of police cars came barreling in, sirens blaring. Vaulting back up to the rooftops, the Toy Wonder vanished into the shadows.

He’d lost sight of the girl. Vanished into the night, as he had.

Rogue Continuum [CLOSED PENDING REBOOT]

The brass echoed through the big top.

Entry of the Gladiators, Op. 68 was the comical march that played through the circus, setting the mood for the proclaimed greatest show on Earth. Jugglers and clowns. Acrobats and freaks. And somewhere in the middle of all of them was a boy named…

“TORO, the Fire-Eating Kid!”

Balancing precariously atop the back of an elephant, the scruffy-haired boy from London juggled great balls of fire while, around him, his adoptive parents jumped through rings of fire and twirled batons that were ignited on either end.

It was an ordinary day in the extraordinary life of an orphan brought up in the midst of the circus, putting on a show in King’s Lynn or Peterborough or Sheffeld. The shimmery blue of his foster parent’s leotards reflected by the blue shorts that hugged the waist of the soot-marked boy. The air seemed to shimmer as heat radiated from off his body. His hands were moving too fast in the juggling routine for the audience to have noticed, but his actual hands were engulfed in flames, the fire rolling from the tips of his fingers back to his wrists. Yet, the flesh beneath was unmarked.

As the parade of the performers marched slowly on, through the cheers and gasps of the crowd, Toro settled into the rhythm of the routine. It was, after all, an act. Something that they practiced time and time again on the road. He hadn’t started out juggling atop an elephant. No one started out juggling atop the elephant.

A few had broken their necks juggling atop the elephant.

It was practice, practice, practice. Until it was nearly perfect. Until it was nearly perfect each and every time, because it had to be perfect. Because there couldn’t be any mistakes in front of the audience. No surprises.

Surprising an elephant was going to be a bad day for everyone, the elephant included.

Then the music seemed to go off-track. The world spun. Vertigo set in, everything turned upside down and inside out, until Toro found himself standing in a stadium like no other that he had ever seen before.

Under his feet, the ground gave way to a sea of magma. Fires leapt up, wrapping around his feet, traveling up his legs, until the fire had covered him from head to toe. A human-shaped flame. The cheers twisted into jeering. As he turned his head, to the left and the right, Toro found himself confronted by a multitude of tiny windows in mid-air. Screens featuring what looked like pieces of an audience watching him.

Watching him burn.

From out of the sea of lava, a large, serpentine monstrosity seemed to form from out of the liquid, molten earth. As the firey dragon bared its dripping, flaming fangs, the sound of the cheers increased while the supple fire-monster seemed poised to tear into the child-sized Human Torch…

...a splash of water snapped him awake.

Flailing, the young Toro gasped as he came to. In a fog, the boy was grasping at the last straws of his sanity. He didn’t know where he was. Freshly healed scars on his body gave witness to what they had done to him. It was a minute in which he questioned whether he was who he was. Was this real life?

Then the minute passed and Tomás felt his mind returning. This wasn’t a dream. This was a nightmare.

Curling into a fetal ball, the boy slowly pulled himself up from out of the puddle of water to stand in the stark, spartan cell where he’d been held inbetween the experiments and the gladiatorial show. He could feel the collar around his neck. Whatever it was, it seemed that when it was on that the fire wouldn’t come out.

Head down, he could only see the feet of the guard. Feel the rough hand that seized him and pulled him from out of the cell. Pushing forward, the disheveled and damp child stumbled out into the hallway. Then, he walked. For how long? He wasn’t sure. A hand reached out to stop him as they arrived in a room of some kind, before the same rough hand pushed him down into a chair. All the while, Toro just looked down at the floor. Staring somewhere past his own feet, as though willing for all the world to simply vanish in flame.

A sound, that of a door or passage opening, prompted the youth to dare to steal a glance. His eyes were low, catching only a glimpse of legs and feet. The usual escorts or guards, but there was another. Someone being pushed around. Another prisoner?

“Toro?”

The voice seemed female, though not one that he knew. Turning his head up, the boy was confronted by the sight of a creature whose angular features were distinctly inhuman. Alabaster skin. Red eyes. But the look on the creature’s face was humanized by the expression that was so relatable.

She knew him. Or, thought that she did. The boy’s mouth opened, as did hers, though the sudden flash of the collar around her neck made them both re-consider what it was that they were about to do.

For now, it seemed that they waited.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

After finally watching Endgame and Captain Marvel...

Round 2

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

C A P T A I N M A R V E L

---

^{_{W I L L I A M J O S E P H B A T S O N ♦ H O M E L E S S H E R O ♦ S P A C E ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C O N T I N U I N G C O N C E P T:

---

^{"I'm really good at punching stuff."}

William Joseph "Billy" Batson was born in Fawcett City, Ohio in the year 1929. His parents died during an archaeological expedition to Egypt in the mid-1930s, leaving Billy to be raised by his Uncle Dudley and he started working at the age of eight years in a glass factory in order to bring home what money that he could. Then, in 1938, Congress passed the Fair Labor Standards Act, effectively making child labor illegal. Billy managed to pick up work as a paper boy, though truancy laws coming about at the same time caused him to go to school for the first time. In 1940, shortly before his eleventh birthday, Billy became caught in the middle of a battle between Aelfrye Whitemane and the Skrulls, as the latter struggle crashed down on the planet Earth. The mortally wounded Billy was tended to by the Kymellian sorcerer, resulting in his becoming the empowered hero who emerged in the 1940s.

At first a local hero, the Fawcett Gazette dubbed the anonymous hero Captain Marvel -- though their artist reconstructions were often highly inaccurate, typically portraying Billy as some strange mix of Elvis Presley and Steve Reeves. The name was picked up by the Daily Planet, leading to nation-wide association with the hero. Billy participated in the Second World War in the European Theater, often mistaken for a mere child as he served as both a courier and a secret weapon of the French and Allied Resistance against the Third Reich. During this time, Billy was also a founding member of the Justice Society of America, an organization that he continued to serve until the early 1950s, when McCarthyism black listed him as a Communist sympathizer for his support of his fellow World War II veteran, Wonder Woman (who had made "un-American" statements regarding the use of the atomic bomb in Japan). This ultimately led to Billy leaving the Justice Society when the hero was prohibited by the U.S. Government from providing aid to the Korean Conflict.

Fifteen years passed. He battled against industrial tycoon, Thaddeus Sivana, ushered in the space race, and buried his Uncle Dudley. By the time that Saigon fell and the United States found itself embroiled in the Vietnam War, Captain Marvel had disappeared from both the media and the popular culture. A homeless vagrant, Billy traveled the world searching for answers about who he was supposed to be. The return of the Kymellians in 1975 ushered Billy into an interstellar conflict apart from Earth. Now, he returns to the planet of his birth. A little older, a little wiser, but still possessed with the courage of Billy Batson!

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

---

Primarily, Billy's motivation and goals are based in the Intergalactic Axis Powers conflict that formed the backdrop of his Season One story. The Skrulls are proving victorious in a war of attrition that is grinding down resistance in the Andromeda and Golden Galaxies. The Kree and the Shi'ar give no quarter to the other, as countless unsuspencting worlds find themselves caught in the crossfire. Mercenaries hope to profit, scavengers pick over the bodies for scrap, and pirates prey upon the refugees. At the same time, emerging technologies on Earth are going to bring that conflict to Billy's home, causing Billy to have to do the one thing he's been avoiding for the past 44 years -- reconcile with his past.

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

---

• Billy's power comes from the Nega-Bands and the Negative Zone, not from the Rock of Eternity.

• The Rock of Eternity is an asteroid base located within the Solar System, similar in construction to Asteroid M. This is a reference to the familiar Captain Marvel mythos, but is not intended to prevent another writer from making later use of the Wizard Shazam or the comic-canon Rock of Eternity.

• As Billy is connected to the Negative Zone, where time passes differently than in our dimension, he does not appear to age. On a practical level, this prevents the cerebral hematoma that he suffered in 1940 from killing him for so long as he continues to wear the Nega-Bands.

• Other characters associated with this Billy concept: Aelfyre Whitemane, Kofi Whitemane, the Smartship Friday, Doctor James Power, Ph.D., and Freddy Freeman.

• Rogue's Gallery: Dr. Thaddeus Sivana (Season 1), Mister Atom (Season 1), Captain Nazi (Season 1), Terrax (Season 1), Skratt (Season 2), Noh-Varr (Season 2), Gladiator (Season 2)

S E A S O N O N E S Y N O P S I S:

---

Despite dealing a devastating blow to the Skrull armada at Jagga V, the Andromeda Galaxy is an area in which the resistance against the expansion of the Skrull Empire is failing. And threats beyond the Skrull exist, through the fragile alliance of the Kymellians, Galadorians, and the Majesdanians lack the resources with which to address them. Dispatched to Tolmera on a mission to re-establish communications with the people there, Billy encounters the herald of Galactus -- Terrax.

Using the collapsing gravity of a neutron star as a prison, Billy manages to trap Terrax and escapes with the help of Kofi's teleportation magic; however, he finds himself on the far side of the galaxy, crashing on the planet Earth.

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

---

_{S E A S O N O N E: T H E L O N G W A R}

Issue 1.01: The Battle of Jagga IV
Issue 1.02: A Voice in the Wilderness
Issue 1.03: Sic Transit Billy
Issue 1.04: Terrax the Pants-Less
Issue 1.05: Battle of the Gods
Issue 1.06: No Surrender, No Retreat
Issue 1.07: By Any Means Necessary
Issue 2.01: The Long Fall Down to Earth
Issue 2.02: The Return of Captain Marvel
Issue 2.03: Lieutenant Muldowney

_{S E A S O N T W O: I N V A S I O N}

Coming soon.

ＦＩＮＡＬ ＦＡＮＴＡＳＹ Ｘ｜Ｖ： Ｔｈｅ Ｂｌｅｓｓｅｄ Ｔｗｅｌｖｅ

_{Theme: Sultana Dreaming}

Prologue

The city-state of Ul’dah had a reputation that far preceded it.

How many times had he heard stories of Ul’dah? How many more had he read of Ul’dah? From within the cloistered walls of Stillglade Fane, the young Padjal had often tried to imagine what this gleaming jewel of Thanalan -- this city of the Lalafell -- must be like. Adventurers would fill the Carline Canopy and tell stories of it. When they did, they used words such as affluence, wealth, and prestige.

The sun sparkled overhead. It’s light blinding as it radiated across a cloudless sky. Being accustomed to the forest canopy overhead, the boy was certain that this was more sky than he had seen in his whole life. Aboard the airship, he had risen above the trees, riding among the clouds as the airship traveled from out of Gridania and across Thanalan.

There were no trees below them now.

Barren rock painted the land in varying hues of brown, gold, and red. The painted desert reflected the sunlight, creating a stifling environment quite unlike the humid forests of the Twelveswood. The air here was dry. The heat pervasive and oppressive, as the sun beat down without so much as a cloud for shelter, and the barren rock reflected it upward as well.

He saw the great city. And, as soon as he did, he knew that was the jewel of Thanalan of which so many adventurers had spoken.

He saw the walls. More than that, he saw what was outside the walls. Ghettos. Ad hoc encampments of tents, clustered together for shelter in the shadow of a sanctuary denied them.

Where legend spoke of wealth, the young Padjal saw desolation. Where soldiers of fortune spoke of prestige, he saw poverty. Where others had boasted of prestige, the boy saw the disenfranchised.

It gave him pause. As the airship passed over the walls of the city, the dark-haired boy peered from over the side of the railing, looked down at the inconvenient truths that were laid bare upon the earth, and he found that Ul’dah was not the same as the city that had so often been described to him by those who claimed to know it well.

Great pillars of white marble framed the grand archway through which the airship turned, it’s descend at last brought to a shuttering halt that caused the boy to hold fast to the railing until they had, at long last, come to a complete stop.

Through one small step for Padjal, he had done was no other had since the time of A-Towa-Cant. He had left the Twelveswood on a quest to understand the larger world. Now, departing the airship, the boy took his first steps apart from Gridania or the Twelveswood. A shaft of unfinished wood tapped against the cobblestone, as the child walked with a cane in hand.

The cane was formed at the end into a hook. Or, rather, a crook -- the familiar implement of the shepherd. The staff itself was just slightly taller than the boy, himself. A simple tunic dressed his frame, a pair of short pants jutting out from underneath the hem. His knees and shins were exposed, his feet tucked into a pair of soft leather boots. He seemed as casual as any Midlander child, save for one rather unusual feature about him.

He saw the heads turn as he passed from out of the airship landing. It was something that he’d expected. As usual as the Lalafell seemed to him, no doubt a Padjal was more so to those who may never have visited Gridania. And, even then, may still not have encountered one of the heralds of the forests.

The trip from the airship landing to the Adventurer’s Guild was short, but the experience matched what he had seen from above. Men and women displaying their material wealth for others to admire, while nearby a girl danced for whatever coin that one might spare, and an old man begged for scraps that he might have a meal to eat that day.

Surely, the gleaming jewel of Thanalan was pyrite in its purest form.

The specialty of the house was something known as a crumpet.

As Mother Mionne had warned him, it seemed that mun-tuy brew was not something that the people of Thanalan either knew of nor regarded well. As such, the boy decided that he would simply have to adapt to what the people of Ul’dah considered as cuisine.

The tea was bitter. It’s acrid bite a sharp contrast to the crumpet -- leavened bread that had been saturated in honey before being doused in butter. It was as excessive as it was overstated. The perfect foodstuff for Ul’dah.

As he sipped at his tea and nibbled at his bread, the child listened while Lyveva detailed the current state of the free company.

That there might not be fame or fortune to be had was hardly a problem for the boy. Neither were objects of his desire, nor the motivation for his excursion from Gridania. Still, it was not what he had expected. Rather than the boastful hubris of adventurer’s bold, instead a recruitment pitch hers was a call for aid.

One which seemed to resonate with some in attendance. The first was a Miqo’te, though rather different it seemed from the Keepers of the Moon who prowled the shadows of the Twelveswood. The second was a Lalafell. In both cases, the colorful language that they used brought to mind stories that he’d been told of Limsan taverns.

“It is difficult to render aid when one cannot appreciate the task,” the boy noted, speaking up after a brief pause. “You spoke of reclaiming something that was lost. Pray, what would you ask of us?”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

_{[ Prev ] “FEAT OF CLAY, Part VI” [ Next ]}

B L Ü D H A V E N

---

^{1013 Parkthorne Avenue}

Fifty years, he’d been living this double life. You would think that in all that time, he’d have been a natural at all the sleight of hand and subterfuge. Instead, Dick was a stumbling fool as he tried to get the semi-conscious automaton from out of the car and into the brownstone apartment.

At least he’d laid the foundation for the rumor mill to support the inevitability of someone seeing Dick and the child-like doll going in and out of the apartment, but if anyone saw the robot now they’d be likely to think that he was drunk or high. Or some combination of the two.

Fumbling with the door with one hand and trying to corral the drunken robot with the other, Dick finally managed to get Toyboy -- that is, Jason -- onto the couch in the living room. Like a rag doll, the boy just slumped forward as though a puppet that had all of its strings cut. Stooping low, Dick was able to prevent the child-like machine from spilling out onto the floor, instead steadying him into a seated position on the sofa.

Glancing up at the loft, Dick thought about the advice that Sarah had given him. Put him to bed. In the morning, he should be functional again.

He’d made a makeshift room for Toyboy Jason there, but Dick had enough trouble wrestling the robot through the apartment. Getting him up into the loft was a feat more than Dick was prepared to undertake. At least, not now.

Right now, Dick was definitely feeling the notion of going to bed.

Taking another look at the lifelike robot -- vacant eyed stare peering out a thousand yards into nowhere -- Dick merely gave a shrug before making his way toward the back of the apartment where the master bedroom was located...

+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +

August 24, 2019. The last day of peace and quiet at 1013 Parkthorne Place.

Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now
I been feeling it since 1966 now
Might've had your fill, but you feel it still

A pair of boy’s briefs swung back and forth, as the underwear clad hero danced to the lyrical stylings of Portugal, the man. The music reverberated off the walls of the inner sanctum of the Blüdhaven vigilante known as Nightwing, the aptly named Man-Cave.

Standing in the doorway, Dick was confused about a great many things. He’d left Toyboy Jason to get dressed for what was essentially a training day. A routine patrol through Blüdhaven in order to assess how the robot was holding up with the upgrades that S.T.A.R. Labs had installed. Instead, Dick returned to find that Jason had gotten onto the refurbished Batcomputer and tabbed out a series of YouTube videos. One, the music video for Feel It Still, which was currently rocking the casbah. Then there was a video game playthrough.

Was that Fortnight?

“So...” Dick began. He was going to say, So, you were getting dressed..? but he was cut off when a small robot suddenly turned and slam-hugged him. The force of the doll’s pounce not only winded him, it almost put Dick on his ass.

Instead, the man steadied himself and rested a hand on top of Toyboy Jason’s head. “You were getting dressed?” Dick remarked finally, catching his breath.

“Can’t,” the boy remarked, turning his head up toward Dick as he added, “Not done hugging yet.”

He’d been like this ever since Dick had broken the news about the name. About the identity. Dick felt like it wasn’t much. If anything, it was only borrowed time. When Dick retired, in about two years, Jason Todd would need to disappear as well. Otherwise, people were apt to take notice of things that Jason couldn’t do, such as grow up.

Even still, the robot formerly known as Toyboy acted as though Dick had transformed water into wine and lead into gold at the same time. “All right. Hugs later,” Dick said, prying himself of Jason’s spindly arms. Picking up the dark red leggings, Dick tossed the pants over the dolls head. “For now, less Jason. More Robin.”

While Jason tugged on the pair of trousers, Dick bent down to pick up the red and black tunic. As the child-like doll straightened back up, he put his arms up over his head so that Dick could pull the tunic down over the boy’s head. While Jason fastened Dick’s old utility belt around his waist, the man picked up the short cape, fastening it to the Mandarin-style color.

Hopping back on one foot, Jason wrestled with tugging on a boot. “So you think this Clayface is back from the dead?” the boy-bot chirped, as he reached down to pick up the other shoe.

Collapsing into the chair that rested before the massive assortment of screens, Dick gave a grunt. “It’s only a hunch, but it feels right,” the former Boy Wonder opined flatly. “Hagen was an actor, so I wouldn’t put it past him to have faked his own death in the water, but it doesn’t add up. Where’s he been hiding for the last twenty odd years? And why come out now just to knock over pawn shops and jewelry stores?”

Tugging on his last boot, the spry doll hopped to his feet. Dick reached over, picking up the domino mask and then leaning forward. “Can I see the chemical analysis?” the robot asked, as Dick applied the mask to the child-like face.

Turning back toward the computer, Dick took a moment to access Bruce’s old files on Hagan. Finally, a chemical strand and associated notes populated across the screen.

“Matthew Hagan’s altered organic composition was soluble,” Jason noted aloud, scanning over the notes in less than a second. Turning his head toward Dick, the doll asked, “And you said that he fell into the ocean?”

“That’s my story anyway,” Dick stated, propping his elbows against the desk top as he explained, “I think Bruce was convinced that I threw Hagen in there.”

The nuance seemed lost on the pragmatic machine. “Either way, his survivability in an ocean environment seems improbable,” the robot noted simply.

“Well, you’ll just have to get out there and disprove my theory,” Dick remarked, turning back toward the costumed Toy Wonder.

With a firm nod, the child-like doll suddenly took off in a sprint around the inside of the Man-Cave. “Na na na na na na na... Robin! Away!” the boy-bot sang, hopping and skipping as he bounded toward the door, sounding for all the world like a stampede of elephants contained in the form of a child.

Slouching back in his chair, Dick felt the energy start to sap from out of his body as the prospect of peace and quiet in the apartment settled an appealing vision in his imagination.

Then the stampede came back in his direction. Throwing himself into the chair, Toyboy Jason again slam-hugged the former Boy Wonder.

“Last hug,” the doll promised, before pouncing off into the night.

Titans: A DC Comics Roleplay

@Retired

That can be arranged.

_{I also debated joining the Superboy battle royale as well.}

Titans: A DC Comics Roleplay

Character Name

Tara Markov
Terra

@IceHeart

_{bonjour, ma chérie.
j’ai un problème avec mon portable, il manque ton numéro!}

Preemptive F in the chat.

@ComradeMaxx

The Bounce House

L O K I

Loki Laufeyson, Ageless/Immortal
_{Vigilante based in Asgard
Active since 5 minutes ago (at least, that he remembers...)}

Character Concept

---

He doesn't know where he came from.

He doesn't know how he got here.

He doesn't know where he's going, only that he has to keep moving. What is he running from? He doesn't know. He only knows that he can't stop. They call him Seurre. A pickpocket and thief traveling across Europe with only his wits and the shirt on his back.

The Bifrost is broken. Wars have broken out across the Nine Realms. Winter has come. But can what is written be changed? Or is all the world a stage, and Loki but a player in it?

This is intended as a fantasy epic, that will be largely self-contained in terms of the storytelling.

• Book 1: When The Truth Hunts You Down. Guided by Mjolnir, Beta Ray Bill arrives on Midgard, where he discovers the god Loki reincarnated as a child named Seurre, with no memory of what happened. Seeking answers, the pair set out in search of Asgard.
• Book 2: The Dark World. On a quest to retrieve one of the Norn Stones, in the hopes of repairing the Bifrost, Beta Ray Bill and Loki must voyage over the Nidafjoll Mountains and across Nastrond to the serpent's spring.
• Book 3: Loki: Ragnarok.

Key Notes

---

Simplified Mythology (the Children of Odin)

• By his wife, Frigga: Baldur, Tyr, and Hod
• By Gaea: Thor
• By Laufey: Loki (note: Laufey is changed back to the mytholical canon female)
• By Grid: Vidar
• Unknown: Hermod

Supporting Cast

• Beta Ray Bill: The current Thor.
• Heimdall: The All-Seeing Eye. Wielder of Hofund and formerly guardian of the Bifrost Bridge.
• Leah: Handmaiden of Hela (literally).
• Brunhilde: One of the surviving Valkyries.

Rogue's Gallery

• Bloodstrike (Hogun the Grim): The last survivor of the Warriors Three, wielder of Bloodstrike on a quest for revenge.
• Skurge the Executioner: An exiled Asgardian who now rules over the ruins of Asgard, leader of the Mauraders.
• Kurse: Formerly one of the Light Elves, twisted and changed by the Dark Elves.
• Nidhog: The great serpent at World's End.

The Nine Realms

• Asgard: The realm of the AEsir, who became the Asgardians through intermarriage with the Vanir. Contains Valhalla and the spring Urdarbrunnr.
• Vanaheim: The realm of the Vanir, who fought a war against the AEsir in ancient times. Contains the valley Folkvangr and Himinbjorg, where Heimdall safeguards the children of Asgard.
• Midgard: The realm of the Humans.
• Alfheim: The realm of the Light Elves. Klarn is located here, being similar to the Savage Land.
• Svartalfheim: The realm of the Dark Elves. The island Lyngvi is located here, on the lake of Amsvartnir.
• Utgard: Also known as Jotunheim, the realm of the Giants. Contains the spring Mimisbrunnr and the forest Galgvidr (gallows woods).
• Nidavellir: The realm of the Dwarves.
• Niflhel: The realm of Hel and Niflheim. Contains the valley Nastrond, the spring Hvergelmir, and the Nidafjoll Mountains.
• Muspelheim: The realm of fire and priordial chaos.

References / Sample Post

---

Hider

RUE MONTORGUEIL
Paris, France
Thursday, January 4, 1968

The Rue Montorgueil was a street that crossed the first and second arrondissement, the neighborhoods of the ancient city. At the heart of which was the Louvre. Rue Montorgueil came off the Grand Avenue, running by Saint-Eustache and filled with cobblestones. Cars tended to avoid the area, allowing pedestrians to mill through the streets.

It had become a popular place for daily shopping. The street was lined with bakeries, fishmongers, cafes. The smells that would travel on the breeze could set the mind -- and the stomach -- alight.

Provided off course, that one wasn’t walking by the herring barrel outside the fish cart. That didn’t smell nearly as nice. It was, however, a good reminder of what the Seine smelled like.

The boy was dirty. He’d slept in these clothes for... well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure. He’d lost track of the days. The tweed jacket was too large, pock-marked with holes. He’d found it in the trash outside a home, and it had fit well enough to help keep warm. His fingers stuck out from the woolen gloves that managed to still cover most of his hands.

He moved through the crowd like a shadow. No one seemed to notice him, while he seemed to navigate the confines and cluster of bodies with a preternatural grace that belied a sense of ease.

Stepping off the street, the raven-haired waif approached where a trio of urchins huddled together for warmth in an alleyway. Reaching inside his coat, the boy produced two croissants, which he divided in two as he passed the morsels out for the four of them.

It wasn’t much. But it was breakfast. And a few moneyclips or wallets that had happened into his possession. Popping the half a pastry in his mouth, the boy put his back to the side of the building and slid down so that he was sitting on the ground as he started to go through what he’d collected.

He would need to be moving on soon.

That was always how it was. Always how it had been. He didn’t remember why, he’d just found himself on the road. And so he kept traveling. Kept moving.

He passed a few of the francs around. These kids had helped him to get his bearings in Paris. It was a busy city. With a lot of police who were either looking to grab them or shoo them away. Neither option was particularly appealing.

Gasps rose up from the street.

Turning his head, the boy was puzzled for a moment to discover the people standing still, their mouths agape and their heads pointed up at the sky.

As he craned his head back, he saw it.

It was something moving in the sky. Not a plane. Something... else. A knot started to form in the pit of his stomach. And, not from hunger this time.

He needed to move. Soon.