Bounce

The Bounce House

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

K A I - R O

^{_{G R E E N L A N T E R N C A N D I D A T E 2 8 1 4 ♦ T R A I N E E ♦ M O G O ♦ G R E E N L A N T E R N C O R P S}}

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

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The rings of Oa are the most powerful weapons known to man. Across 3,600 mapped sectors of this galaxy, the rings of Oa enable the heroic agents of the Guardians of the Universe -- the Green Lantern Corps! As peacekeepers, these Green Lanterns come under attack by all manner of force, natural and man-made. Through hard won victory or bitter defeat, the Corps is continually planning to induct new members into its ranks to fill the void left by those who have gone before them. To that end, the rings are sent out to the cosmos to find those rare individuals possessing extraordinary will.

Unfortunately, now and again, a ring comes back on the hand of a kid who is maybe ten or twelve years old.

This is the story of how a boy from Earth came to wield the powers of Green Lantern. Drawing inspiration from Ender’s Game, the New Mutants, and Jonny Quest, this concept combines 50s pulp sci-fi adventures with slice of life elements in order to tell the story of the kids who might be the next generation of Green Lanterns.

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:

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I’ve written Kai-ro a few times before, but always cast him in the role of Hal Jordan. This eschews that approach for a different take that better uses my talent for world-building by using a concept capable of both sandboxing and collaboration across storylines/locations in our shared universe. The goal is to start with the story of how Kai-Ro became a Green Lantern candidate, transition into Alien-of-the-Episode type adventures, before unveiling a larger storyline at the conclusion of the initial story run.

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

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The following are characters, concepts, or organizations in use with this story:

• Al-x: An alien from Sector 0424, who has a Greys-like appearance. He is 104 years old, but young for his species. Strategic and analytical, but hesitant to act without all the information.

• Arisia Rrab: A young Graxosian, with golden hued skin and hair, as well as pointed ears. Hot-blooded and precocious, she often acts without thinking.

• B’dg: A diminutive H’lven, with a squirrel-like appearance. What he lacks in size or strength, he makes up for with a large personality.

• Alisand’r: A Green Lantern from the planet Tamaran, the chosen instructor for the current class of Green Lantern cadets.

• Ganthet of Oa: One of the Guardians of the Galaxy, who has adopted the role of overseer to the Green Lanterns training program and mentor to the young cadets.

• The Planet Mogo: The headquarters of the Green Lanterns cadet training program, and also secretly one of the Green Lanterns most secret weapons -- a sentient planet who is, itself, a Green Lantern.

• The Spider Guild: An insectoid race of spiders that prey upon the planets that they conquer.

• The Reach: An interstellar empire that assimilates other planets into its collective through careful political manuevering and subterfuge, subjugating the populace only after its collaborators and sleeper agents have established control over the populace. Rebellions are usually bloody and short.

• The Manhunters: The precursor to the modern day Green Lantern Corps, robotic peacekeepers created by the Guardians of the Galaxy and empowered to preserve order in the galaxy. Unfortunately, the Manhunters determined that organic life was a threat to order and massacred the planet Ryut before the Guardians could put a stop to them.

• Tybalt Bak’sar: An intergalactic bounty hunter who wields anti-Green Lantern weaponry.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Hider

T I B E T
_{SECTOR 2814}

The call to prayer came before the dawn.

It would be several hours before the sun rose, in fact. Dawn in the Tibetan mountains would come around 7 a.m. in this time of year. Which would be about four hours from now.

The boy woke atop a thin mat, laid out on the floor. The room was no more than a closet, with three children of similar age crowded into the shuttered space. As they stirred to wake, each picked up the red-orange cloth that had served as their sole bedding. Shifting and tucking it around their bodies revealed the reality that the sheet was, in fact, their clothing.

Bare feet padded from out of the cloistered confines, spilling out into a temple hall in which monks of varying ages had begun to mill about. The three boys made their way to the showers, to begin the day by first preparing their bodies. In times past, there would have been more of them. Child-monks, given to the monasteries by a cultural tradition in which one son of each Tibetan family was trained as a monk, but today they were less than a handful.

Banned. Prohibited, by the laws that had superimposed themselves on Tibet. As the boys made their way along the halls, the banners of China hung alongside images of Communist Party Leaders.

“Tayata om...”

The young monk paused. He was laboring at a churn, a traditional method of making the yak butter tea known in Tibet as po cha. As children, monk initiates were required to have a sponsor, who guided their education and their place in the monastic order. In his case, that sponsor was Monk Lhakpa, who was also in charge of the monastery’s kitchens.

“Tayata om bekanze...” the boy began, re-starting the attempt at recitation. Monk Lhakpa had been teaching him a new mantra, to help guide the meditative exercise for this morning. After they had finished preparing breakfast for the monks, in any case. Looking up from his butter churn, the boy seemed to pose a question as he uttered, “...bekanze razha?”

A solitary finger was raised, over at where the aging monk was preparing a large pot of porridge. “Bekanze maha, bekanze razha,” the elder monk stated, before adding the conclusion, “Samudgate soha.”

“Tayata om bekanze maha bekanze razha samudgate soha,” the boy recited, completing the mantra. When he had finished, he looked up at his teacher, as though for affirmation.

“Good,” Monk Lhakpa stated, eliciting an immediate smile from the child. Then, the solitary finger again returned to the air as the monk asked, “Now, what does it mean?”

The smile fell. A look of confusion played out across the youth’s face, as it was plain to see that the child was wrestling with any manner of thoughts or emotions, before finally looking up and stating, “But... you didn’t tell me what it means.”

“It’s not a recital, Kai-Ro,” the man quipped back, invoking the religious name that had been given to the boy when he had taken his first vows. As the man started to prepare the food to be served, he shifted his attention to the boy. Crossing over to the butter churn, the man began to decant the butter tea into a large kettle for service. As he did, he continued, “I didn’t ask what it means to me, I want to know what it means to you.”

The child’s head went back, his face betraying both irritation and surprise with such honesty that the monk couldn’t stop the laugh from reaching his lips.

“I don’t want you to answer now, but think on it,” Monk Lhakpa said, not bothering to suppress his own amusement at the boy’s theological quandary. Instead, pressing the heavy kettle into the boy’s spindly arms, the monk then touched the child’s head and commanded, “Go. Serve the tea. When you have finished, pray. Meditate on this mantra, then come back to me and give me your answer.”

For his part, Kai-Ro was conflicted. On the one hand, he had the distinct impression that he was being laughed at. On the other, he rather appreciated the head pat from the fatherly monk. That duality of conflict was plain as day on his face, as he lifted the kettle and said, “Yes, sir.”

With the large kettle in his arms, the boy shuffled barefoot from out of the kitchen. In the main hall of the temple, the monks had begun their prayers. Some meditating, a few reciting mantras aloud, while others prostrated themselves before the various iconography in the temple. Meditations upon mandalas, prayer wheels, or the different forms of the Buddha.

As he passed by, those who had their cups out were filled. Mostly, those were in groups that had begun their day with debate and discourse over the sacred and the profane. Mostly, the latter were talks of the Dalai Lama in exile and of the Chinese government’s reach into the monastic lives of Tibet’s cultural religion.

The reason why there were so few child-monks now was the fact that the practice was forbidden, as was education in Tibetan language. Kai-Ro had been smuggled into the temple and made criminal alongside the language that he spoke, and the teachings of his people that only existed in these walls and in the halls of those who had escaped from Tibet to live as exiles.

It was a topic that the boy would not claim to have any knowledge of. China had come to Tibet long before he had been born. And his earliest memories were of the monastery, making this criminal existence the only one that he had ever known.

“I’ve heard that the local party has finally appointed a loyalty director for the monastery.”

They were five monks around the table. All just of age to have taken their second set of vows. Twenty, or so, from what Kai-Ro knew. They spoke in conspiratorial whispers, even as the boy poured the tea for them.

“A permanent presence? Here?” another monk asked. In truth, China had begun planting permanent Communist Party overseers in the monasteries over the last several years. Theirs was one of the increasingly few that had remained under relatively lax monitoring. “How would we keep the...”

A third raised a hand, stopping the man short before he could finish his statement. Looking up, Kai-Ro was suddenly uncomfortable at the realization that everyone at the table was looking at him.

“...the Dalai Lama’s picture a secret?” the monk uttered finally.

It was a lie. They weren’t talking about his Holiness at all.

The first monk who had spoken reached over, lifting the tea kettle from out of the child’s hands and inspecting it. Handing it back, the monk said “Fetch more tea for us, Kai-Ro.”

Cradling the kettle in his arms, the boy stepped back even as he gave a respectful bow toward the table. Uncertainty gripped him as he started to wind his way back toward the kitchens. If the Chinese had a permanent Party representative in the temple, then where would he and the other child-monks go? How could they continue to live here.

As he crossed from out of the main temple structure and into the courtyard, he heard a sharp cry. The first rays of dawn had just started to appear in the sky, the fading twilight still dark enough that it was dim. Still, there was light enough to see the indistinct shapes of two men. And a third, smaller, that seemed to be struggling against them.

Bhuti cleaned the courtyard each morning, before dawn, so that he wasn’t seen.

A gasp froze in Kai-Ro’s throat. Grabbing the hem of his robe, the monk took off in a run toward the kitchens. Shadows in the window told him something was wrong before he made it there. A glimpse in the light of a blue-gray cloth.

The color of the police uniforms.

Dropping the kettle to the ground, the boy turned and sprinted back to the temple. Bursting through the door, the breathless child was met with confusion and aghast looks at the sudden interruption during the prayers. “P-police!” the child managed, between gulps of air.

In a moment, everyone snapped into motion. The picture of the Panchen Lama was put away, swapped instead for the image of the Chinese proxy installed as the Panchem Lama after the abduction of the child-monk that the Dalai Lama had ordained. A small image of the Dalai Lama was pressed into Kai-Ro’s hands, along with one of the Tibetan language texts that they used for study, as the child-monk was ushered along as the monks began preparing for the raid.

“You should be safe in your room,” one of the monks said, grabbing Kai-Ro by the shoulders and pressing him toward that wing of the monastery. “Go there now!”

Struggling to hold the hem of his robe, the texts, and the image of his Holiness, the boy stumbled as he tried to run through the temple. As he neared the steps that would take him up to the closet-like room, menacing shadows told him that the police had already entered on that side. Instead, the boy took a sharp turn, and found himself bolting out of the temple in an effort to avoid them.

Instead, he found himself on the temple steps.

And, below, on the landing was a row of police officers armored in riot gear.

His chest was tight, pain lancing through his lungs as he seemed to forget to breathe. Instead, he stood there. A boy in a saffron robe, holding an image of the Dalai Lama. A rebel and a seditious traitor in both being and appearance. As the police started up the steps, the boy found himself rooted in place.

He was done running away.

And he was done being afraid.

He was Tibetan. He was Buddhist. And the Dalai Lama was his guru. The language of Tibet was his language. If he was to be punished for this, then so be it.

It would not change who he was.

Holding onto the picture of the Dalai Lama, the texts written in the forbidden script of his culture shifting around in his arms, the young child-monk raised his head up high to regard the riot-armored police who advanced upon the child.

He could not change his fate, any more than he could change the Chinese control of Tibet. But he could choose to face it with eyes wide open.

That was when the light grabbed him.

It was an experience like none that the boy could have described. A sudden burst of green light. Penetrating him. Surrounding him. Before he was even aware of what was happening, the boy saw the advancing pair of police officers become small.

That was when he realized that he had, in fact, been catapulted into the air. He tried to keep his grip on the sacred texts and the image of his Holiness, but some slipped from his arms as he tried to maintain any sense of bearing.

It was then that the small jade object floated into view. A jade ring, emblazoned on the crest with the likeness of a lantern.

“KAI-RO OF EARTH, YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO OVERCOME GREAT FEAR.”

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

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_{ACT 1: AD ASTRA PER ASPERA}

• Post link goes here

_{ACT 2: UNACCOMPANIED MINORS}

• Post link goes here

_{ACT 3: AND ALL MY DREAMS, TORN ASUNDER (Part 1)}

• Post link goes here

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{“T H E G E O M E T R Y O F S H A D O W S”
[ Prev ] Part II [ Next ]}

A T L A N T I C C I T Y
_{HALY’S CIRCUS}

It was some time after one in the morning.

The crowds had all gone home. Now, the clean up began. Clowns and freaks changed out of their colorful costumes and set to work, not only in cleaning up the grounds but also in breaking down the tents and booths. The work would take them into the next day, where they’d get a brief rest while waiting for the trucks to arrive. And then it’d be down the road to set it all up again in Gotham.

They were going to do one more show, a big July celebration in Vegas, and then go on hiatus for a few months. A little breathing room for vacations, then the planning for the next series of shows would begin in earnest. Swap out different acts, hold auditions and take on a few new routines before the next tour would be announced.

“Jason!”

Trina Todd had changed out of the colorful leotard. Instead, the acrobat look the part of working mom in a pair of worn jeans and her hand tied back with a bandana. “Jason Todd, get out here this minute!” the woman was going through the broken down carnival, in an otherwise mundane pursuit for a family that was anything but.

She turned a corner and nearly ran into C.C. Haly. “Oh, C.C. Have you seen Jason?”

The aging entertainer just gave a knowing smile. “Watching the tamers put the lions into their cages,” the former magician supplied, putting a thumb in the direction that the woman should travel.

It was when Trina had turned to walk away that the man caught a glimpse of someone walking toward him. Waldo Flynn. Still in his clown make up.

Once upon a time, he’d have been relieved to have seen Waldo. His make-up off, bow tie askew, and usually two glasses of whiskey that they’d share.

But that had been when the Graysons had still been with them. Everything had changed after the Graysons had died.

Especially Waldo.

A cellphone was extended out toward him. “Call for you, Mister Haly,” Waldo stated, the clown make-up appearing to twist the man’s smile into something strangely wicked.

The hair stood up on the back of the man’s neck. Gritting his teeth, the old man refrained from accepting the phone. “I’m busy right now,” the man uttered brusquely.

If the smile was creepy, then the gleam in Waldo’s eye was down right dangerous. “It’s a very important call, Mister Haly.”

The patriarch had started to step away, and hesitated then. He lingered, unsure of whether to take one step forward or one step back, for a moment longer. Then relented and accepted the device.

“I hear every show in Atlantic City was sold out. Congratulations on your success.”

The voice -- graveley, with a thick Jersey accent -- immediately sent shivers through the old man’s body. Gooseflesh crept up the back of his hand as he held the phone to the side of his head.

“Of course, none of us would be where we are if we didn’t have help, now would we? You’ll be in Gotham this week, and I still haven’t received my invitation. Frankly, I’m a little insulted. Haven’t I been good to you? Star City, New York, Atlantic City... no problems with the cops. No social services breathing down your neck about the minors in your crew. No hustlers, you just do your thing. You think that kind of protection is cheap? I’m charging you pennies on the dollar. Now, tell me, I ain’t on your side.”

“It is way past your bedtime!”

At the sound of Trina’s voice, the old man looked off to one side. The woman was dragging Jason, still in his Little Lord Fauntleroy clown suit and make-up, off toward the trailers.

The fact that there were families counting on his business for their livelihoods was not lost on the entertainer. With a sigh, the old man finally spoke into the phone. “I’ve just been distracted by all the showtimes, Mister Dent,” the old man said. His free hand dipped into his pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief to dab at his forehead. “You know I appreciate everything that you’re doing for us, sir. If this is about more money..."

“I got money. And I’ve spent a fair amount of it to your benefit. What I want is to see what the return on this little investment of mine is. I’ll need a private show while you’re in Gotham. And I trust this little talent show of yours will prove worthwhile. Capice?”

It was cordial, but something about it sent a cold terror straight through the man’s soul. “I understand, Mister Dent.”

The connection ended with a click. Never had C.C. been so happy with having been hung up on.

Waldo’s hand reached for the phone. As he gestured for the man to hand the device back, the clown’s twisted visage mocked the former magician as he happily offered, “Didn’t I say it was an important call?”

C.C. slapped the phone back into the palm of the clown’s hand. “What happened to you, Waldo?” the man demanded, staring down the man who’d been with him since the beginning. A man he’d have said he knew best, except he was starting to realize that he didn’t know him at all.

This time, the clown face seemed genuine as he gave a laugh. “I’m only laughing on the outside. My smile is just skin deep,” the clown stated, using his free hand to trace the drawn smile upon his face. “If you could see inside, you might join me for a weep,” he said, the poetic recitation ending with a flourish, before the clown turned and walked off.

The sound of his fading laughter made the man only grind his teeth more.

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B L Ü D H A V E N
_{LATER THAT MORNING...}

He’d tried to go back to sleep. Instead, he’d just found himself staring up at the ceiling for hours on end, the demarcation of time marked by the clicking of the clock that hung on the wall in the kitchenette. By the time the sun came up, Dick had been seated inside the bay window that looked out into the downtown and already two cups into a second pot of coffee.

He’d managed to do some laundry, stumbling around the inside of the apartment with his arm and leg in a cast. Nevermind the impact that had to Nightwing, how was Dick Grayson supposed to manage like this?

It was around eight when his phone rang. The number was familiar, though it wasn’t someone that Dick spoke to more than about once every year. Usually his birthday.

The name on the caller ID was C. C. HALY. He almost let it go to voicemail. Hesitated even as he reached to pick up the phone and swipe to answer the call.

He didn’t say hello. Why? He couldn’t have offered a reason. After that dream, after that nightmare, it was still just too real that he’d be talking to Old Man Haly of all people right now.

“Dick? C.C. Haly. We’re coming to Gotham and I just thought that I should give you a call before we came.”

A lump formed in his throat. Swallowing that down, Dick finally managed to find his voice. “Yeah, Mister Haly. I appreciate that.”

“Would you come by to see the circus?”

The old man sounded hopeful just now. It made it hard for Dick to answer. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

“I understand.”

Silence. Had that been the only reason for the call? Dick had seen the advertisements about Haly’s Circus returning to Gotham. It would have been impossible not to have. All the Gotham Gazette had been talking about was the fact that this was the first visit by Haly’s Circus to Gotham since the death of the Flying Graysons.

It wasn’t that they had any bad blood between them. A lot of good memories in fact. But the bad one hung like a cloud over every facet of his childhood.

“What about a job?”

As though hit by a bolt of electricity, Dick froze. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He wanted to hang up. Hang up, be done with it, and not give it a second thought.

He didn’t. Instead, he asked, “A job, sir?”

“I’ve got a pair of acrobats. Husband, wife. You know how that goes.”

Dick’s heart stopped. His chest was tight, like there was an elephant sitting on it.

“They’re good, but they’re not John or Mary. They’re as good as natural talent and repetition can make a person, but the right coach would get them to their potential. And, you know there aren’t a whole lot of people that I’d trust to do that sort of thing.”

Dick’s free hand had come up to his chest. He’d broken out into a sweat. “Yeah. I know, Mister Haly.”

“Obviously, we’d reimburse you for your time. With a little extra, because, I know this probably doesn’t sound like something you want to do.”

That fact didn’t so much as require a reply.

They both knew it was true.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you, Dick.”

“I’ll come by and see the circus, Mister Haly.”

“Good! We’ll talk then--”

He hung up on the old man. Cradling the phone in his lap, Dick just stared down at the blank screen for a long minute.

The fuck was he doing?

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{“T H E G E O M E T R Y O F S H A D O W S”
Part I}

G O T H A M C I T Y
_{NEW JERSEY, 2008}

The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.

“The fearless Flying Graysons! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old Dicky Grayson. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Stepping back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees.

There’s a strange twang overhead. I look up, but it’s just the tension wires. In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine. But it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too little. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired. Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days.

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

The sound again. Louder, the cable and support structure giving a snap-CLAP of protest that echoed like a roll of thunder. I heard it. I bet the audience below heard it.

My parents heard it.

They’ve paused their routine, missing the jump. They’re lower than they should be. From this vantage point, I can see that the trapeze is sagging. My dad’s looking up at the cables. My mom’s looking at me. I can see her face.

I can see her fear.

“Mom?”

The cable snaps before I can even get back to my feet. “DAD!” I see them drop, and lunge forward. I collapse onto the platform, peering over the ledge and I see everything.

I see the end of the world.

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ATLANTIC CITY
_{PRESENT DAY}

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 young boy.

Balancing precariously atop the back of an elephant, the youth was costumed as a little clown, white greasepaint and bright colors adorning his face, as he juggled a variety of balls while, around him, his 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 a child brought up in the midst of the circus, putting on a show in Metropolis or Las Vegas or Star City. The shimmery blue of his parent’s leotards matched the piping on the comical Little Lord Fauntleroy styled clown suit that he wore, with its ruffled collar. As the parade of the performers marched slowly on, through the cheers and gasps of the crowd, the boy-clown 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.

And then it was over. In so brief a time, the elephants had done their parade through the Big Top and now the ring was being cleared as the circus transitioned into the next part of the act. As an intermission, a clown car was brought out, distracting the audience’s attention as the acrobats moved up the tent poles and into position.

“And now the moment you’ve been waiting for! The fearless flying trapeze!”

Safely in the shadows, the small clown dismounted from off the back of the elephant in a single, graceful backflip. The hairpins that fastened the conical hat to his head still didn’t quite manage to secure it in place, as the boy flipped upright and was oblivious to how disheveled he’d become from the motion.

Instead, rushing up to the edge of the shadows, the small clown poked his head back into the Big Top as the trapeze act began.

Turning his head up, the boy stared up at the aging patriarch that was standing there watching from the sidelines. “Will I ever be up there, Mister Haly?”

He had to know that the question was coming. The boy asked it every day. Sometimes multiple times in a day. He practiced with his parents. He knew the routines. He knew the act. But if was always when you’re older or when you’re taller or maybe one day.

“Maybe one day, Jay,” the old man uttered. Reaching down, the aging patriarch straightened up the child’s costume. A patient smile tugged at the corners of the man’s well-lined face, as he said, “Maybe one day.” Then, clapping the small clown’s arms, said, “Why don’t you go outside the tent and run around for a bit? I’m sure there’s some stragglers out there that would love to be entertained.”

The boy’s face betrayed any number of emotions. “Okay, Mister Haly,” the youth said, before turning and ducking low across the floor as he gathered up a few balls to juggle. And then he slipped underneath the tent and was gone.

As the old man watched the boy leave, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was watching another boy. Except, the person he was thinking of hadn’t been a ‘boy’ for some time now.

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B L Ü D H A V E N
_{1013 PARKTHORNE AVENUE}

The man's eyes snapped open, his breath frozen in his throat as he awoke to a world inverted and a sudden feeling of vertigo. He screamed -- out of fear, out of rage, a well-spring of frustration and despair -- as he flailed out with his arms to try and feel for his bearings. He hit the floor less than a second later, as the bed sheets followed shortly after, entangled as they were in his legs.

A second sound escaped his throat then, exasperated as pain shot up through his leg and side. It dropped him to his knees.

As he crouched there, it was some time before Dick Grayson truly knew where he was. He had been back there, that circus in which he had spent the earliest part of his life. Which might well have been the better part it, yet remained the bane of his existence. Surviving and living were two distinct and separate realities, a lesson which Dick had found hard learned. And not forgotten. Through the fog of memory and dream, amid halting breaths, the man came to cope with the fact that he was not where he had believed himself to be.

This wasn’t Haly’s Circus. This was his apartment. Standing upright on his knees, the raven haired Roma caught his breath, before pressing a hand down on the bed and pushing himself to his feet. Staggering through the confines of the brownstone to the bathroom, the former Boy Wonder rubbed at his eyes before plunging his hands under a sink of cold water and splashing it on his face.

Letting the water run down, the man felt up the wall for the medicine cabinet concealed behind the mirror. There was a prescription there, staring back at him as he held it in his hand. An anxiety prescription, one intended to be taken on the rare occasion that Dick experienced traumatic memories from the Flying Graysons, the adventures of Batman and Robin... In reality, Dick subsided on it. Become so routine with its use that he feared what life might be like without the pills and only the nightmares.

The clock on the wall mocked him with the question of whether he should go back to bed, though the thought of more dreams was enough to dismiss that idea. So, instead, he showered and changed into fresh clothes as he went through the motions of someone living a normal life. Someone who didn’t check behind every door for an instrument of paranoia and imagination.

Replacing the bottle in the cabinet, the man caught his own reflection in the glass as he swung it closed and beheld the mirror. His face was gaunt. Bags having long settled under his eyes. There was always an excuse not to sleep. Dreams. Duties. The man in the mirror wasn't at all the Boy Wonder he recalled, almost a stranger, made all the more haunting by the echo of that which was familiar. He was that which survived. And this was the price for living, he supposed.

He made his way into the kitchen. As he pulled out what he needed to get the coffee maker going, he found a stack of envelopes on the counter. Picking those up, Dick shuffled through the bills. Insurance, medical claims...

Even with Wayne Enterprises coverage, he still had deductibles and co-pays. And regular bills. And rent. As he set aside the stack of papers and got the coffee started, Dick casually picked up his phone and scrolled over to his mobile banking app.

His savings really wasn't what he needed it to be. A glance over at the new 65-inch 4K HD television in the apartment was a recent purchase decision that seemed to be kicking him in the ass about now.

He might be Bruce Wayne’s foster kid, but asking the old man for a hand-out was not on Richard Grayson’s To-Do list for this morning. Or any morning.

So what now?

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Quickly, Robin! To the crosswalk!

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

R O B I N

^{_{J A S O N P E T E R T O D D ♦ M A L E ♦ A C R O B A T ♦ H A L Y ' S C I R C U S ♦ B A T - F A M}}

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

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<sup>"I'm not a normal kid -- I'm like you -- my parents were killed too and I can't let that lie any more than you can."
- Detective Comics #542 (September 1984)</sup>

Journey back to 1983 and the original origin of Jason Todd. Not a street smart punk from the gangs of Gotham who would become the "bad boy" Robin, but a talented circus acrobat who came to endear himself to Dick Grayson, and then later be introduced to Bruce Wayne. He'd not brash, he's not confident. He's scared and uncertain, but most of all, he wants his family to be proud of him as he tries to find his place in this brave, new world.

When an injury sidelines Dick Grayson's vigilante activities, he takes up an offer to coach and mentor a young athlete growing up in similar circumstances to those Dick experienced with the Flying Graysons. But, just as with Haly's Circus all those years ago, Dick's exposure to the nostalgia of his childhood will reveal that the make-up and lights hides a number of secrets. And the more that Dick tried to shield Jason from the shadows among them, the more the darkness closes in around them.

This is Robin II: Year Zero. A series of events that will take you through the story of how a boy named Jason Todd would come to be the successor to Dick Grayson and Batman's new partner in the war on crime.

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:

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I had a good thing going with Toyboy, but after awhile it started to feel like a gimmick. This gets me back to writing what I do best, while fleshing out and exploring a facet of Jason Todd's character that is often overlooked or outright dismissed, which is the brief period of 1983-1985 before his Post Crisis reboot and personality change. Other than that, I'm counting on @Inkarnate to help me avoid sandboxing solo as I had been doing with Dick/Toyboy. The goal here is to be more organic, more natural with the development, and take time in telling the story of how a circus orphan becomes the second Robin.

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

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Note: All NPCs shared with @Inkarnate

• Richard "Dick" Grayson (Nightwing) - the original costumed sidekick known as Robin, having grown from a mere boy to a young man now making a life and a name for himself in the city of Bludhaven. After an injury takes him out of the fight, he picks up a job as a trapeze coach for Haly's Circus in order to make medical bills and rent for himself, rather than continuing to rely on Bruce Wayne for money.

• Colin Wilkes (Abuse) - A young orphan in the care of the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency.

• Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl) - a young, teenaged superheroine who has crossed paths with the Batman. Serves as Jason's regular babysitter when Dick isn't available, particularly as Alfred is getting too old for that sort of thing.

• Julia Pennyworth - The daughter of Alfred Pennyworth and the former French heroine who was known as Mademoiselle Marie, Julia is an assistant district attorney working in Gotham.

• Amanda Groscz - A social worker with the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency, assigned to the case of Jason Todd.

• Mandy de Paolo - Another social worker with the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency, and the sister of Fr. Daniel de Paolo, a Catholic Priest with the Gotham Diocese.

• C.C. Haley - The owner and general manager of Haley's Circus

• Waldo Flynn - One of the clowns and a longtime member of the circus troupe, this former friend of Dick Grayson seems different than how Dick remembers him.

• Harvey Bullock - A police detective whose slovenly appearance and rough demeanor mark his as one of the worst police officers on the Gotham Police Department.

• Harvey Dent (Two-Face) - The former District Attorney for Gotham City, twisted into a cruel crime boss. Tapping into the longshoreman's union, Two-Face has built a criminal empire that uses a blackmail and protection money racket to fix electoral votes, buy police officers, and hold the city hostage through its corruption.

• The Court of Owls - A mysterious organization that manipulates events in Gotham City for its own ends.

• Raymond McCreary (Talon) - A childhood friend of Dick Grayson's who also grew up in the circus, through appeared to have later runaway from it.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Hider

“T H E G E O M E T R Y O F S H A D O W S”
_{P A R T O N E}

G O T H A M C I T Y

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^{Haly’s Circus}

The ground is forty feet below me.

There’s no net.

Nothing holding me up. I let go of the flying trapeze and, for a moment, I’m flying. I can hear the gasps, the collective holding of breath, and even a few shrieks rise from below. I’m starting to fall, but I’m not afraid. I just stretch out my arms, and I know she’ll be there to catch me. Because she’s always there. Because she always does.

The gasps echo, louder this time, as we both go sailing through the air. Me, dangling in mid-air, and my mother holding onto my arms with her legs hooked around the trapeze bar.

Then she lets go.

The screams pierce the air. I shut out the audience - the blur of faces and lights - as I tuck into a ball and flip through the air. Once. Twice. What they don’t see is my father, standing on the platform. He let the trapeze bar go right as I finished the first rotation. Coming out of the second, I plane my body out. My hands open wide, the trapeze bar smacking right against the palms. Holding fast, I sail through the air. Dismount, tuck into a backflip, and make the landing on the platform.

The cheers break out, even as my mother is following suit, until all three of us are standing on the platform together. The applause grows in intensity as she dismounts and joins us, then transforms into a standing ovation as we take a bow.

“The fearless Flying Trapeze! Let’s have a great Gotham round of applause for ten year old Jason Todd. The youngest acrobat performing today!”

I step back, and soon I’m the only one standing on the platform. The performance goes into the second act and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

Taking another step back from the platform, I put my back against the tent pole and slide down. The strength seems to go out of my legs and I’m starting to realize that my arms are numb. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m still trying to catch my breath. Below, it probably feels a little cool inside the tent. Up here, with all the lights, it feels like it’s a hundred degrees.

In between the platforms, mom and dad are really putting on a show. I know every move. I know each routine, but it’s still incredible to witness. It takes my breath away, and I get to see this every day. The audience below? Amazed would be an understatement. I wish that I could be out there with them, but I’m still too young. Mom and dad are worried that I’ll get tired.

Tired during practice is one thing. We have nets and safety harnesses while we learn a new routine. It gives us that little extra security to push ourselves to the limit to figure out what works and what doesn’t. Which, in my case, usually doesn’t. I hit the net four or five or even a dozen times some days.

But that’s practice, and this isn’t. So I come in at the start of the performance for the first act, then I’m sidelined for the second, and come back toward the end of the third. But I don’t really have any stunts after the first act.

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

---

_{PART I: "THE GEOMETRY OF SHADOWS"}

Coming soon.

_{PART II: "AND THE ROCK CRIED OUT, NO HIDING PLACE"}

Coming soon.

The Bounce House

S H A Z A M
S H A Z A M

^{"Five thousand years ago, the world needed a hero. Instead, it got me."}

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 _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Teth-Adam _________________________________________________________ Ancient Egyptian (Canaanite) | Earth’s Champion _________________________________________________________ Mount Justice | Rhode Island | USA C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► S H A Z A M • The Stamina of Shu • The Speed of Horus • The Strength of Amun • The Wisdom of Zehuti • The Power of Aten • The Courage of Mehen ► F R E N E M I E S • Jebediah of Canaan • Freddy Freeman • Dr. Thaddeus Sivana • The Demon Sabac • Yurrd the Unknown (Famine) • Rogga of the Seven Atrocities (War) • Zorm the Desolate (Pestilence) • Azraeuz (Death) ► N O T E S • Kahndaq is a municipality in the Southern Sinai Peninsula, which includes Mt Sinai and Mt Horab. In the ancient world, it became known as the Slave’s Kingdom following a revolt during Egypt’s Old Kingdom. Today it is part of modern Egypt. The ruins of the ancient city of Shiruta are a UNESCO World Heritage Site. • Theo Ramses Teth-Adam was the fabled boy-king of Kahndaq, whose existence is debated by modern Egyptologists. • Teth speaks 40 languages fluently. • As Teth and the Wizard are connected to the Rock of Eternity, they do not age. Their physical appearances are a manifestation. The Wizard’s weariness expressed as old age, Teth’s youth the result of being unable to let go of the trauma of his childhood. • Teth's Theme Song: Shaman's Harvest [In Chains] - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Thousands of years ago, the Council of Wizards protected the developing human societies from all manner of threats. Over the course of centuries, those battles took their toll on the Council, until Shazam was the last. It was only then that the man recalled the life he’d left behind, the family that he’d forgotten, and went in search of the tribe that he’d turned his back to many generations before. He discovered his people massacred, a single boy pulled from the fire to survive his family line, placed in shackles and cast into the turquoise mines of Ancient Egypt. When the spark of rebellion was ignited by the boy’s brash nature – courage or foolishness - he was to be executed, a child sacrifice to serve as a slave to the god Toth. The Wizard saved the boy from death, keeping their relation concealed as he allowed his powers to flow through the youth. Shazam’s purpose was to mold the boy into a proper champion who could protect humanity after him. That was 5,000 years ago. Teth-Adam is still learning, and it’s been a rough road to get here. Shazam gave the boy the power to overcome his demons. Instead, the child conquered his enemies. Leading a revolt, the city-state of Kahndaq in the ancient world was founded upon a turquoise mine as the slaves cast off their shackles and drove out their Egyptian masters. And, for a time, there existed a place of prosperity, knowledge, and peace that was unrivaled by any, a desert analog to the fabled Camelot. A classless society, where all men were free and equal to one another. But women were traded as property, not even second-class citizens. Order was maintained through a strict series of laws, with public executions carried out in the middle of each week. For hundreds of years, this jewel shone brighter than Egypt’s dynasties, until an usurper known as Ahk-Ton seized the throne of Kahndaq through an infernal pact known as the Crown of Sabac. The Wizard Shazam intervened in the battle that unfolded, which laid waste to the great city of Shiruta. He broke Ahk-Ton’s crown and banished the demon Sabac back to the flames of Hell, and then entombed Teth-Adam in the wreckage of his city to dwell over the choices that had ushered in the tragic rise and fall of Kahndaq. That tomb was unearthed by a British archaeologist in 1928, but it wasn’t a boy who stumbled out of his prison – it was a young woman. Stripped of his (her) powers, Teth-Adam found that the only spell that he (she) was capable of casting was the name of Shazam. Adopting the identity of Mary Bromfield, he (she) would become a member of the Justice Society of America during the Allies European campaign in World War II. Unable to say the name Shazam, the red, gold, and white garbed hero became known as Captain Marvel, though the heroic actions of both herself and her companion Liberty Belle were often denigrated in comparison to their male counterparts - precisely the lesson about walking in the shoes of the oppressed that the Wizard had in mind for Teth. At the end of the War, Teth/Mary was tasked to stop the atomic bombing of Japan. Refusing, Teth/Mary instead allowed the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima to take place, as he/she believed it a strategically sound move on the part of the Allies. For this defiance, the Wizard summoned Teth-Adam to the Rock of Eternity, restoring him to his original form before casting him across the cosmos, to make his way back (literally and metaphorically) to being Earth’s champion. Billy returned to find the world embroiled in war once again, this time from the sea as Atlantis invaded. With his youthful appearance, violent disposition, and brash manner, Teth-Adam clashed with the Justice League and instead found more of a kinship with the teenage titans that operated on the fringes of the League’s tolerance (or apathy, whichever may have been the case). Today, he is a solitary figure who often sits atop Mount Justice and looks out over the world that has caused him so much grief. He’s supposed to be Earth’s champion. It’s a job he’s been training for since time immemorial, and he’s still got a lot to learn. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Drawing inspiration from Justice League Beyond’s interpretation as Billy, Shazam, Black Adam, Mary Marvel, and Captain Marvel being 5 separate identities sharing 1 body, this is a reinterpretation that pitches Teth-Adam singularly in those roles. Typically, I focus on Billy Batson but my vision often chafes against the modern retelling of his personality. In this instance, I merge the idea of “Asshole Batson” with Black Adam, probably not at all from having watched the movie recently and I think it makes for a more compelling and interesting character than either Billy or Teth-Adam by themselves. I’ve worked out a connection with Static with @Retired owing to their shared “titans” history. Other characters of the period are also welcome to work in connections.

---

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{T H E D E C O N S T R U C T I O N O F F A L L I N G S T A R S
[ Prev ] P A R T I I [ Next ]}

T H E M I L K Y W A Y G A L A X Y

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^{Space Sector 2814 | The Sol System}

On January 11, 2007, FY-1C, a Chinese weather satellite in low Earth orbit, was destroyed. On January 14th, the United States accused China of using anti-satellite weaponry, a fact that China would deny until January 23rd.

With a mass of 750 kilograms, the destruction of FY-1C was the largest creation event for space debris, with more than 2,000 pieces of notable shrapnel and an estimated 150,000 particles traveling at a speed of several hundred miles per hour, more than 500 miles above the planet.

As of December 2019, more than 3,000 pieces of debris from FY-1C have been flagged as a threat to the International Space Station.

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THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
_{L O W E A R T H O R B I T}

Fifteen days.

It’d be another twelve before a Russian resupply mission to the ISS would supply their re-entry vehicle to return to Earth. Until then, Commander Albert Michaels and Lieutenant Micah Flint were NASA’s chosen lab rats for carrying out experiments and surveys aboard the station -- not the least of which was the ongoing attempt to understand the effects of low gravity environments on the human body.

Oddly enough, the timing had put them in a rather unique position to record a phenomenon that might have otherwise escaped scrutiny. What it was, exactly, was still a matter of conjecture. It was definitely a spike in the electromagnetic spectrum that was detected inside the Van Allen radiation belt. The first had been along the outer belt, with a secondary bloom and then a third that had been an exponentially more significant increase in the readings, located in the inner belt.

Albert had gone to check on the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer, in order to pull the readings from there for comparison against the terrestrial sensors.

“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”

With the EM flare in the Van Allen belts being the day’s hot topic, Micah didn’t think twice when the radio crackled. Instead, floating over toward the intercom, the astronaut toggled the station’s internal communications as he announced, “Mission Control’s on the line.”

“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Over.”

Drifting over to the external communications panel, the American pilot donned a headset. Toggling a few switches, he announced, “Kennedy, this is Alpha Station. Read you lima charlie. Over.”

Albert was just gliding down into the module when the response came back. Flipping another switch, Micah put the audio over the external speakers. “Alpha Station, we have a malfunction light on the S2 board. Can you confirm? Over.”

The two astronauts exchanged a look. Micah floated away, toward the mentioned panel, as Albert took his place by the comms port. “Kennedy, this is Commander Michaels. Standby. Over.”

Micah looked back from the console. At the faint shake of the man’s head, Albert said, “Kennedy, we are status green. Repeat. Status green on S2. Over.”

“Alpha Station, this is Kennedy. Understand status green. We show carbon dioxide readings increasing. How you? Over.”

The atmospheric monitors were over on Michaels’ side. Drifting away a moment, the man glanced at the dials. Then he checked them again. Floating back to the panel, Albert looked straight at Micah as he said, “Kennedy, Alpha Station. They’re up by one-point-eight percent.”

Micah inverted himself in mid-air, reaching underneath the console. “Let me try re-setting the switchboard,” the pilot stated aloud.

“Kennedy, Micah’s resetting the fault on the S2. Standby. Over.”

There was a minute pause. The lights went out on the switchboard, as Micah forced the breaker reset. Then, all the lights came on a few seconds later. As the diagnostics trickled through the start up routines, a number of indicators cycled from red to amber to green.

All except for one.

A bright red indicator light was showing.

“Kennedy, Alpha Station. We have a critical failure on the ELSS. Over.”

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M E T R O P O L I S
_{T H E C I T Y O F T O M O R R O W}

The boy sat out on the fire escape.

The bare iron of the rickety, scaffold-like lattice that snaked up the side of the mid-century brownstone was rusting against the rapidly aging structure. Graffiti marked up the lower part of the building, layers of paint fading against broken plaster and broken brick, with trash lining the alleyway below.

A pair of hand-me-down headphones -- the cushion pad missing from the left ear -- hugged the side of the child’s head, the music turned up and still unable to drown out the sounds coming from the apartment behind him.

A flash of light was followed by a sudden darkness and a loud crash. Someone had thrown a lamp.

His parents fought for a lot of reasons. His father drank too much. His mother smoked too much. He was laid off from work. Her job didn’t pay enough. They were behind on bills.

But, mostly, they fought about him.

“That lil crotch goblin’s your blood. Ain’t no cousin of mine a god damn mutie!”

“Fuck you! Fucking dad of the god damn year. You ain’t had a job in weeks.”

“Yeah, and if it wasn’t for the mutants in this fucking family, maybe we’d be able to get the fuck out of this god damn mutant town.”

Tears slipped down either side of the child’s face. Large, amber eyes peering out from behind a rubbery flesh that was a brilliant orange, sparkling like sequins as the low light glinted off the fish-like scales. Fins extended out from the bald head.

Sammy was different.

Sammy was a mutant. Because of that, the only place in Metropolis that they could find a landlord willing to take them was here. A three block area of the slums that were referred to as Mutant Town. His mother had grown up here, dreamed of leaving and wound up pregnant her senior year of high school with a mutant baby that had bound her back to the very legacy of poverty that she’d longed to escape from.

His parents weren’t married. His dad had tried to skip out on them, but after a few years the child support garnishment had caught up with him, and he’d moved in then. At that point, it had become a cycle of abuse, rehab, and foster homes.

The familiar sound of police sirens echoed up from the street. Blue and red lights reflected off the walls, as a police car pulled into the alley off the street.

Maybe this was another night where he’d be taken to sleep in a different home…

A flash of lightning overhead drew his eyes upward. There was no thunder. Just pulses, like heat lightning, coloring the sky.

Except the lightning was... green?

Rising up from his seat, the deformed mutant clung to the fire escape even as he strained and squinted to make out what was happening above.

There was another flash and flicker of emerald lightning, followed by something like a spark. That spark was falling from out of the clouds.

Then it started to zig-zag. Like a drunken butterfly, it weaves an erratic path in the air, skimming over the top of Metropolis’ high rises. Dipping perilously, struggling to lift itself, the green spark clipped the side of a nearby building. Now it was tumbling, slipping lower and lower. As it came nearer, it seemed to bounce off the side of the neighboring apartments, bouncing off into the alley where Sammy stood.

When that happened, he had a glimpse of the green light as it passed. It was a boy. A boy engulfed in green flame.

Bouncing off the side of the building, the flaming boy smacked into a dumpster and then tumbled out into the alley floor below.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

It began in the summer of the sixteenth year of the rule Alesand’r of Clan Quohog, Twelfth of Elona and first of House Tamarus.

The great sages, K’Ehelyr of Okaara and Ganthet of Oa, recorded that it was on the 43rd day of Maktag when the fire first appeared in the skies over Tamaran. It was the start of what all the nearby stars would come to know as the Citadel War -- an aggressive push by the Citadel Star Empire for interstellar dominion. The heavens beckoned the Tamaraneans to answer a call to arms, and their warrior culture responded in kind. Since the time of the first High Kings, the advance of the Citadel was halted against the immovable spirit of the Tamaranean people.

And the heart of Tamaran caused great changes in the cultures of their neighbors. The once peaceful planets of Okaara and Euphorix adapted to ensure the survival of their societies, and the first Council of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds was formed. Where once Okaara had fostered men of great learning in the Grand Viziers, now it became feared for the shrewd, unmatched strategy of those who would be called Warlords. Euphorix, prized for its engineers, harnessed its knowledge of energy to great impenetrable shields that secured their world and those of their allies.

And so the war lingered on, day by day, year by year, decade by decade. Neither side yielding, as the Citadel consolidated its power throughout the Vega Galaxy. From beyond the edge of their stars, the Guardians of the Universe moved to contain the malevolent ambition of the Citadel to within its own galaxy, restricting the Citadel’s reach while also limiting the ability of Tamaran, Okaara, or Euphorix to receive aid.

So has it been for more than one hundred years.

...until today.

_{- excerpt from the memoirs of Shaka, "When the Walls Fell."}

_{T H E D E C O N S T R U C T I O N O F F A L L I N G S T A R S
P A R T I}

T H E M I L K Y W A Y G A L A X Y

---

^{Space Sector 2814 | The Sol System}

The ship blinked into existence.

Exiting out from the jump point, the small vessel listed to one side as it careened wildly through the unfamiliar star system it had just entered.

Inside the cockpit, a golden child struggled to breath through acrid smoke that was clouding the interior. An unkempt mass of fiery red hair framed his youthful features, and the term fiery was used advisedly -- as shimmering and flickering flames seemed to spark within the thick mane of hair. His eyes were as gleaming emeralds, entirely green with no visible sclera.

Flashing in the heads-up display, two larger vessels appeared in the space behind him. Lights ignited the heavens, as bolts of plasma sailed over the canopy. The ship bucked and rocked, pitching the lad from out of his seat as the vessel was assaulted.

The boy’s left hand dialed in a series of commands to the vessel’s navigation. A series of red markers, however, gave notice that the ship’s engines would not support another jump. He had exhausted his resources in the fleeting leap that had brought him here.

...where ever here was.

So, instead, the boy began looking for alternatives. There were eight planets in this star system, two of which were gas giants and one of which had a substantial debris field encircling it.

Angling the ship toward the epistellar jovian, the child did his best to hold course as the ship struggled against his hand, and the repeated harassment of the larger vessels was certainly not helping to smooth the passage.

As chunks of ice and rock began to become more thickly present, that difference in size started to work to his advantage. Weaving among the particles and debris, the boy managed to maneuver a small lead over the attacking vessels.

Pushing the engines for what they might yet yield, the boy sped toward the middle of the star system. An internal debris disk offered a wealth of asteroids, both massive and miniscule. If he could find a cave or shelter, or even just find a place to land and power down, then his pursuit might well mistake him for the rock.

He had barely made it half the distance, when they caught up with him again. Red bolts of plasma lanced into the side of the ship, sending the vessel into a slide that the boy could not repair. So, instead, the youth threw the helm over.

The small vessel seemed to shudder, bucking against the rudder even as it turned back upon its course. As it did, it collided with the closest of its pursuers. In the impact, both vessels were engulfed in a plume of flame as their reactors briefly flared into miniature novas... and were quickly extinguished by the vacuum of space.

And, from out of that cold, endless dark, a green spark ignited.

Enveloped in emerald flame, the child flew through the stars under his own power. The flames burning from off his head seemed to lengthen, forming a brilliant contrail as he pushed onward toward one of the asteroids.

Slipping under and behind the first, the child looked for a second to duck away to, before the enemy ship re-positioned to try and re-acquire him.

A sharp, burning sensation was piercing beneath his breast. A hand pressed to his chest, as he tried to quell the pain. The smoke inside the cabin of his stolen transport had not given him the opportunity to prepare for exposure to vacuum.

Turning his hand over, the jewel atop the gauntlet that he wore around his wrist glowed faintly. The fourth planet from the sun was closest to this orbital axis, but the measurements indicated that its atmosphere was too thin to have offered any respite. The third and second planets, however, were showing indications of a more substantial atmosphere.

Slipping between another pair of asteroids, the flaming haired nymph risked the briefest survey for signs of the enemy, before he launched in a dead sprint across the endless night for the faint blue-green light that might be his only hope.

The burning in his chest was gnawing at him. The veins in his head and neck became prominent as the body began to lapse into the grip of suffocation. His vision was blurred, even as he felt himself colliding with a powerful radiation source. Green flame spiraled from off his body, as the energy he absorbed began leaking through every pour. He would have screamed in pain, if he had so much as a single breath left him.

He knew not whether the world below was paradise or poison, but as the child descended upon its atmosphere, he felt his consciousness slipping away even as he succumbed to the harsh embrace of its gravity...

ＦＩＮＡＬ ＦＡＮＴＡＳＹ Ｘ｜Ｖ： Ｔｈｅ Ｂｌｅｓｓｅｄ Ｔｗｅｌｖｅ

_{[ theme ]}

"I'll rent a chocobo to pull this along, and everyone can get into a carriage--we go straight to the Goblet!"

The young Padjal inclined his head slightly. Picking up the shepherd's crook, the horned child had a confused look on his face as he uttered, "We're going straight to a cup?" Seriously, goblet? Had he heard that right? What did goblets or saucers or even full-sized dinner plates have to do with Free Companies or adventurer housing?

Following along with the others, the Padjal at first sat in the carriage... though as the ride progressed, the boy started looking back over his shoulder. Then craning his head to try and see over the side of the carriage. Then finally stood on his knees, with his body leaning over the railing so that he could look and see all the things.

He could see the housing district up ahead.

It did not, in fact, resemble a goblet in any way. In his opinion anyway. Just who was in charge of naming these things? At least Lavender Beds had actual lavender flowers... or so he was told, anyway.

Peering out from the opposite side from how Lyveva was facing, the boy hadn't seen whatever had caught the woman's attention. But when she had hoped out and said that it was because of a boy, the woman had his attention. Bounding from off the bench on the carriage, the small White Mage leapt down with a renewed sense of energy and purpose.

"I was just about the ask if there were any children here," the Seedseer chimed, somewhat wistfully. "I'd rather like to meet one," he added pensively. It was rather difficult to meet any kids his age in Gridania. For one, the Seedseer Council was forever occupying his time with studying, or meditation, or more studying. And, two, the presence of the Woodwailers discouraged pretty much anyone from getting too close to one of the Hearers. It made it difficult to even have a conversation with someone. Particularly someone without horns on their head.

"...for purely professional reasons, of course," the Padjal added, as his eyes darted off to the left for a moment.

Children needed healers from time to time after all.

Not for any other reason.

...were there trees? How did one build a proper fort in a desert such as this?

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

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

R O B I N

^{_{J A S O N P E T E R T O D D ♦ M A L E ♦ A C R O B A T ♦ H A L Y ' S C I R C U S ♦ B A T - F A M}}

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

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<sup>"I'm not a normal kid -- I'm like you -- my parents were killed too and I can't let that lie any more than you can."
- Detective Comics #542 (September 1984)</sup>

Journey back to 1983 and the original origin of Jason Todd. Not a street smart punk from the gangs of Gotham who would become the "bad boy" Robin, but a talented circus acrobat who came to endear himself to Dick Grayson, and then later be introduced to Bruce Wayne. He'd not brash, he's not confident. He's scared and uncertain, but most of all, he wants his family to be proud of him as he tries to find his place in this brave, new world.

When an injury sidelines Dick Grayson's vigilante activities, he takes up an offer to coach and mentor a young athlete growing up in similar circumstances to those Dick experienced with the Flying Graysons. But, just as with Haly's Circus all those years ago, Dick's exposure to the nostalgia of his childhood will reveal that the make-up and lights hides a number of secrets. And the more that Dick tried to shield Jason from the shadows among them, the more the darkness closes in around them.

This is Robin II: Year Zero. A series of events that will take you through the story of how a boy named Jason Todd would come to be the successor to Dick Grayson and Batman's new partner in the war on crime.

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:

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I had a good thing going with Toyboy, but after awhile it started to feel like a gimmick. This gets me back to writing what I do best, while fleshing out and exploring a facet of Jason Todd's character that is often overlooked or outright dismissed, which is the brief period of 1983-1985 before his Post Crisis reboot and personality change. Other than that, I'm counting on @Inkarnate to help me avoid sandboxing solo as I had been doing with Dick/Toyboy. The goal here is to be more organic, more natural with the development, and take time in telling the story of how a circus orphan becomes the second Robin.

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

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Note: All NPCs shared with @Inkarnate

• Richard "Dick" Grayson (Nightwing) - the original costumed sidekick known as Robin, having grown from a mere boy to a young man now making a life and a name for himself in the city of Bludhaven. After an injury takes him out of the fight, he picks up a job as a trapeze coach for Haly's Circus in order to make medical bills and rent for himself, rather than continuing to rely on Bruce Wayne for money.

• Colin Wilkes (Abuse) - A young orphan in the care of the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency.

• Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl) - a young, teenaged superheroine who has crossed paths with the Batman. Serves as Jason's regular babysitter when Dick isn't available, particularly as Alfred is getting too old for that sort of thing.

• Julia Pennyworth - The daughter of Alfred Pennyworth and the former French heroine who was known as Mademoiselle Marie, Julia is an assistant district attorney working in Gotham.

• Amanda Groscz - A social worker with the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency, assigned to the case of Jason Todd.

• Mandy de Paolo - Another social worker with the Gotham City Child Welfare Agency, and the sister of Fr. Daniel de Paolo, a Catholic Priest with the Gotham Diocese.

• C.C. Haley - The owner and general manager of Haley's Circus

• Waldo Flynn - One of the clowns and a longtime member of the circus troupe, this former friend of Dick Grayson seems different than how Dick remembers him.

• Harvey Bullock - A police detective whose slovenly appearance and rough demeanor mark his as one of the worst police officers on the Gotham Police Department.

• Harvey Dent (Two-Face) - The former District Attorney for Gotham City, twisted into a cruel crime boss. Tapping into the longshoreman's union, Two-Face has built a criminal empire that uses a blackmail and protection money racket to fix electoral votes, buy police officers, and hold the city hostage through its corruption.

• The Court of Owls - A mysterious organization that manipulates events in Gotham City for its own ends.

• Raymond McCreary (Talon) - A childhood friend of Dick Grayson's who also grew up in the circus, through appeared to have later runaway from it.

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

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_{CIRCUS ARC | "THE GEOMETRY OF SHADOWS"}

Part I
Part II

_{COURT OF OWLS ARC | "AND THE ROCK CRIED OUT, NO HIDING PLACE"}

Coming soon.

Retracted

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

W I L D F I R E

^{_{R Y A N D ' R O F T A M A R A N ♦ E X I L E ♦ M E T R O P O L I S ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

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^{"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am stronger than I look."}

Ryand'r of Tamaran is the youngest of three siblings and the only son of King Myand'r of Tamaran and his queen, Luand'r. According to Tamaranean law, he is currently second in the line of royal succession, after his sister, Koriand'r. This is due to the fact that their eldest sibling, Komand'r, was deemed unfit to rule. Like all royalty of Tamaran, Ryand'r was sent to the Warlords of Okaara for education off-world and thus experienced a Spartan-esque childhood.

During the Citadel War, in which Komand'r led the Citadel Empire against her people, Ryand'r and Koriand'r were both captured and handed over to the Psions for experimentation. When loyalists attacked the ship ferrying them, Ryand'r and Koriand'r were able to escape, but were separated in the attempt. Ryand'r crashed on an alien world that was unknown to him, pursued by the Psions.

This world is not his home, but it is safety for the time being.

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:

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Ryand'r is an alien to Earth, allowing me a good POV for exploring the mutant fear and including social justice commentary in an otherwise action-adventure storyline. As far as goals, I realized that I had written myself into quite a sandbox and so this character is an attempt at interacting more, by building in connections to other characters (such as @Inkarnate's Supergirl and @Byrd Man's Green Lanterns).

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

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THE GOOD
• Al-x. A Green Lantern cadet learning the ropes.

• Sammy Pare. One of the so-called "Morlocks" living underneath Metropolis.

• Micah Flint (Rock). A mutated astronaut.

THE BAD
• Albert Michaels. An irradiated S.T.A.R. Labs scientist now known as the Atomic Skull.

• Reggie Meyer. A young mutant with the ability to create duplicates of himself, shared with a hive mind. The strength of his clones multiplies based on the number of clones that he creates.

• Worldkiller.exe. A Kryptonian artifact uncovered beneath the melting permafrost of the Arctic.

THE UGLY
• Suicide Slums. The last refuge of the homeless and destitute, where crime is rampant, police presence is minimal, and life is cheap. M-Town can be found here, one of the only places where mutants may find landlords willing to rent to them. At least the ones that can pass as human. It's rumored that underneath the Suicide Slums, those poor souls too inhuman to walk among society hide in the shadows...

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

---

_{CHAPTER 1: THE DECONSTRUCTION OF FALLING STARS}

Part I
Part II

ＦＩＮＡＬ ＦＡＮＴＡＳＹ Ｘ｜Ｖ： Ｔｈｅ Ｂｌｅｓｓｅｄ Ｔｗｅｌｖｅ

Since its been awhile since we spammed the OOC thread, I just want to say here that all talls deserve to be bopped.

_{Sincerely,
The Smols.}