<Snipped quote by Bounce>
I hate the rabbit hole this just sent me on to understand if I was being complimented or chirped lol.
I'm still trying to sort out what skibidi means. Not literally, but more so how its actually used in language.
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I'm still trying to sort out what skibidi means. Not literally, but more so how its actually used in language.
Quite a few stories I've really been enjoying. It's bittersweet that @Half Pint is hanging up the cape and cowl because I've been enjoying the reimagined Burtonverse Batman but I'm also really excited for this new Fantastic Four. I'm assuming the Batman story was heading towards a Two-Face origin story and all the fun that comes with that, so it would have been good to see that play out but I also understand how sometimes you get a couple posts in and find out its not your preferred fit.
I'd also commented to someone that I was enjoying the Burton approach, but they'd said they found it more like Keaton cast in Nolan's films in terms of the style. Either way, its been fantastic.
I believe the Joker was what Half was working toward, as we had been discussing cross-overs where Bruce would be part of Jason's battle with Violator and then Jason was going to feature when Bruce took on the Joker, along with possibly folding in Gowi's Dinah.
I'll have to re-cast for the Violator plot maybe. It'll be a full Rocky Horror Picture Show affair, with nunjas.
I've really been enjoying everything, but particularly the OOC more so as we've started to settle into the concept of a shared space and discuss how we can each make use of the same story elements in telling our individual stories to weave them closer together. Like you, I'm more curious about seeing some really cool concepts that we haven't seen join the IC yet, particularly what @Taka has teased cooking up. Not to mention @Mao Mao's Genosha. That's a bold design that I'm really curious to see how they approach and tell that story.
Plus, I'm here for the Wraith/Sep and Supermaxx/Roman banter. In many respects, the IC is just the icing on the cake.
And whoever is writing the Smallville fanfic is 'aight, I guess. 67 as Arthur would say.
@Bounce, I'm fine with the Mutant Registration Act being introduced. I did have plans with the Friends of Humanity, if you don't mind me getting involved. To add, I had in mind Stryker leading the Purifiers after the attempt on his life til it was dissolved in the '90s. Nowadays, he's involved more politically with his political organization (learning towards lobbying but still up in the air tbh).
To be clear, I'll only be referencing them in 2013. Not current day. So it could well be possible that Friends of Humanity were a Political Action Committee 12 years ago, and in the time between have evolved into what you need for your story.
To explain, the difference is this:
In 2013, Jason investigated murders carried out by Douglas Carmody, who was motivated by anti-mutant hysteria.
In current day, Jason's investigating a copycat case carried out by Billy Kincaid, who is just a child killer psychopath.
So its just keeping Carmody's anti-mutant hysteria from early Power Pack to Inferno (when he became the Bogeyman, who will also appear) that is the motivation for using FoH as a story element.
Welcome to Middle School Monday.
We need some weekend posters to avoid me double posting in the IC :P
My post sets up our first mini-event for Worlds Collide, which will be based in Marvel's favorite city
For those who want a read-ahead:
The event will kick off with the next Middle School Monday (Oct. 20th).
Interested participants, just tag me to let me know if you'd like to participate so I can start to formulate a plan around the size of the group we have. I tagged Cyrania and MB because we've discussed this in the OOC previously, but its open to anyone.
We need some weekend posters to avoid me double posting in the IC :P
My post sets up our first mini-event for Worlds Collide, which will be based in Marvel's favorite city
For those who want a read-ahead:
The event will kick off with the next Middle School Monday (Oct. 20th).
Interested participants, just tag me to let me know if you'd like to participate so I can start to formulate a plan around the size of the group we have. I tagged Cyrania and MB because we've discussed this in the OOC previously, but its open to anyone.
CURRY LIGHTHOUSE
Amnesty Island, Maine
“This is... food?”
The shale-skinned Atlantean was more than skeptical as his purple eyes regarded something that defied what his short life experience had told him was possible, let alone edible. It was dry, more greasy than wet. And gooey.
For his part, Arthur looked as though the strange kid had just offended his religion. “Food? Bruh. Like, bruh,” the tawny-haired boy blurted aloud, both hands outstretched as declared, with resolute conviction, “This is pizza!”
Garth had been similarly confused about the concept of underwear. Or cotton in general. He was close enough to Arthur’s size that Tom had suggested a red and blue shorty-style wetsuit that stayed at the bottom of Arthur’s closet.
Red and blue were not his colors.
For his part, Arthur was still barefoot and hadn’t put his shirt back on. Which was also more or less normal. But he had, at least, changed out of his wet shorts.
For all Arthur’s reassurances, the young prince seemed quite disturbed by this unprecedented glimpse of the surface world. Thus far, it seemed every bit as savage as the stories told. “And you eat with your hands?” the black-haired youth asked, looking up to find his confirmation in Arthur devouring a slice while cheese and grease and whatever that red substance was oozed between his fingers and the sides of his palm.
Absolute savagery.
Arthur’s dad came to the prince’s rescue with a knife and fork. “Atlantean nobles don’t eat with their hands,” Tom Curry supplied as he set them down for the boy, looking at each in turn before he added, “Tis’n’t proper,” is a particular accent.
And smiled, as if he were remembering something.
“What about fish sticks?” Arthur blurted aloud, immediately recalling all the finger foods.
When Garth’s reply was a blank stare, he continued. “Popcorn shrimp? Nugs?” Still nothing!? How was there still nothing? Nugs were, like, a universal language. “Bruh, you got to have nugs!”
With a seemingly exasperated patience, the other boy turned his purple eyes up to the one person in the room who seemed to understand civility to ask, “Nugs?”
“Chicken nuggets,” Tom stated.
If it were meant to be an answer, it clearly left the Atlantean boy with more questions. “What’s a chicken?”
As long as they were asking the hard questions, Arthur had one as well. “Dad, how do you know about Atlanta or whatever?” Seriously, the whole ‘he breathes water’ thing. The ‘Atlanta nobles don’t eat with their hands’ thing.
“Your mother was Atlantean.”
Simultaneously, Garth found himself on the receiving end of two very different looks. Arthur, looking utterly shocked. And his father, looking quite aggro’d by that having been said.
Uncharacteristically, the prince stammered for a moment, as though trying to recover from a social faux pas, without concept of what he’d done wrong exactly. “Didn’t you know?” he posed, looking at Arthur.
“No. He didn’t,” Tom utterly flatly.
Tom was the reason for that. He owned the decision.
The prince started to speak, then seemed to think twice about it. When he did, he said, “My apologies if I’ve offended...”
The hair stood up on the back of Arthur’s neck. Something, like a shadow, passing just out of his view. The conversation at the kitchen table faded, as the boy turned his head and seemed to stare off at the refrigerator.
There was nothing there. Just the refrigerator, still boasting some of his artwork from when he’d been younger.
He could have sworn...
“Arthur?”
Head whipping around, the tawny-haired boy looked up at his father, getting the distinct impression that hadn’t been the first or only time his name had been uttered. “Yes, sir?”
“Something wrong?”
“No,” Arthur said, giving a shake of his head as he looked back over at Garth.
“When my parents learn what you’ve done for me, they’ll reward you, I promise,” the prince was saying when he checked back into the conversation.
“I get the feeling someone was waiting for you to be found on that reef,” Tom noted cooly.
“Poisedonis attacked our kingdom. They said they wanted to use me to draw out some people who oppose the rule of Orm Marius,” the prince explained.
Arthur could feel the animosity that radiated from his father at the mention of the name, turning his eyes up in wonder of what else his father was keeping from him.
When the prince seemed to consider the implication of what he’d said, he added, “Shayeris is peaceful, we have no army at all. We’ve never had need for one.”
“Po say what?” Arthur asked, looking back at Garth.
“Poisedonis,” Tom clarified, which seemed to confirm it. There was a lot more his dad wasn’t telling him.
For his part, Garth seemed eager to make clear that Shayeris had no part in the rebellion. “We’ve always had good relations with Poisedonis. I’m certain that this is a misunderstanding...”
Arthur’s head turned, his gaze again finding itself lingering on the refrigerator.
“Arthur?”
Drawn out of his reverie a second time, Arthur felt embarrassed as he answered, “Yeah?”
“You’re doing it again,” Tom noted patiently, picking up Garth’s empty plate and silverware as he slid his chair back from the table.
“Yeah, it’s just... doja view or whatever.” He couldn’t have explained it if he’d tried.
“I see,” Tom remarked, as he brought the dirty dishes over to the sink.
And then threw an elbow at the air.
It connected, the sound of a muffled thump and water sloshing as a man just seemed to appear, standing between the refrigerator and Arthur.
“ARTHUR, MOVE!" Tom snapped, grabbing the intruder about the head and neck. Dropping his weight, the man flipped the soldier over his shoulder. Arthur scooted out of the way just in time to avoid the stranger slamming onto the kitchen table – shattering the legs and laying both it and the soldier out onto the floor.
“DAD, JESUS!” Arthur squealed.
Three more figures seemed to appear from out of thin air, surrounding the man and two boys.
“PEACE!” the one in the center announced, holding up his hands. “Peace, I beg you. We mean you and the children no harm.”
Braced for a fight, Tom Curry seemed to be weighing his chances against the three – or four, counting the one he’d dropped, who was now rolling back up and staggering to his feet.
Outnumbered, the lighthouse keeper grudgingly lowered his arms, even as his hands stayed balled in fists.
Bowing his head in a gesture of gratitude, the middle figure then dropped to one knee before the black-haired prince. “Your Majesty,” he intoned, keeping his head bowed a moment longer before he rose back to his feet and continued, “We were so relieved to discover you safe.”
Turning his attention back to the adult in the room, the stranger remarked, “You must be the Lightkeeper. Queen Atlanna spoke of you many times.”
If the name Orm Marius had triggered recognition, when the name Atlanna was dropped, Arthur felt something even stronger.
The man addressed him next. “And you must be...”
“I... wait...”
Garth’s voice interrupted, the boy looking as though his entire world had just been shattered.
“What did you call me?”
The shale-skinned Atlantean was more than skeptical as his purple eyes regarded something that defied what his short life experience had told him was possible, let alone edible. It was dry, more greasy than wet. And gooey.
For his part, Arthur looked as though the strange kid had just offended his religion. “Food? Bruh. Like, bruh,” the tawny-haired boy blurted aloud, both hands outstretched as declared, with resolute conviction, “This is pizza!”
Garth had been similarly confused about the concept of underwear. Or cotton in general. He was close enough to Arthur’s size that Tom had suggested a red and blue shorty-style wetsuit that stayed at the bottom of Arthur’s closet.
Red and blue were not his colors.
For his part, Arthur was still barefoot and hadn’t put his shirt back on. Which was also more or less normal. But he had, at least, changed out of his wet shorts.
For all Arthur’s reassurances, the young prince seemed quite disturbed by this unprecedented glimpse of the surface world. Thus far, it seemed every bit as savage as the stories told. “And you eat with your hands?” the black-haired youth asked, looking up to find his confirmation in Arthur devouring a slice while cheese and grease and whatever that red substance was oozed between his fingers and the sides of his palm.
Absolute savagery.
Arthur’s dad came to the prince’s rescue with a knife and fork. “Atlantean nobles don’t eat with their hands,” Tom Curry supplied as he set them down for the boy, looking at each in turn before he added, “Tis’n’t proper,” is a particular accent.
And smiled, as if he were remembering something.
“What about fish sticks?” Arthur blurted aloud, immediately recalling all the finger foods.
When Garth’s reply was a blank stare, he continued. “Popcorn shrimp? Nugs?” Still nothing!? How was there still nothing? Nugs were, like, a universal language. “Bruh, you got to have nugs!”
With a seemingly exasperated patience, the other boy turned his purple eyes up to the one person in the room who seemed to understand civility to ask, “Nugs?”
“Chicken nuggets,” Tom stated.
If it were meant to be an answer, it clearly left the Atlantean boy with more questions. “What’s a chicken?”
As long as they were asking the hard questions, Arthur had one as well. “Dad, how do you know about Atlanta or whatever?” Seriously, the whole ‘he breathes water’ thing. The ‘Atlanta nobles don’t eat with their hands’ thing.
“Your mother was Atlantean.”
Simultaneously, Garth found himself on the receiving end of two very different looks. Arthur, looking utterly shocked. And his father, looking quite aggro’d by that having been said.
Uncharacteristically, the prince stammered for a moment, as though trying to recover from a social faux pas, without concept of what he’d done wrong exactly. “Didn’t you know?” he posed, looking at Arthur.
“No. He didn’t,” Tom utterly flatly.
Tom was the reason for that. He owned the decision.
The prince started to speak, then seemed to think twice about it. When he did, he said, “My apologies if I’ve offended...”
The hair stood up on the back of Arthur’s neck. Something, like a shadow, passing just out of his view. The conversation at the kitchen table faded, as the boy turned his head and seemed to stare off at the refrigerator.
There was nothing there. Just the refrigerator, still boasting some of his artwork from when he’d been younger.
He could have sworn...
“Arthur?”
Head whipping around, the tawny-haired boy looked up at his father, getting the distinct impression that hadn’t been the first or only time his name had been uttered. “Yes, sir?”
“Something wrong?”
“No,” Arthur said, giving a shake of his head as he looked back over at Garth.
“When my parents learn what you’ve done for me, they’ll reward you, I promise,” the prince was saying when he checked back into the conversation.
“I get the feeling someone was waiting for you to be found on that reef,” Tom noted cooly.
“Poisedonis attacked our kingdom. They said they wanted to use me to draw out some people who oppose the rule of Orm Marius,” the prince explained.
Arthur could feel the animosity that radiated from his father at the mention of the name, turning his eyes up in wonder of what else his father was keeping from him.
When the prince seemed to consider the implication of what he’d said, he added, “Shayeris is peaceful, we have no army at all. We’ve never had need for one.”
“Po say what?” Arthur asked, looking back at Garth.
“Poisedonis,” Tom clarified, which seemed to confirm it. There was a lot more his dad wasn’t telling him.
For his part, Garth seemed eager to make clear that Shayeris had no part in the rebellion. “We’ve always had good relations with Poisedonis. I’m certain that this is a misunderstanding...”
Arthur’s head turned, his gaze again finding itself lingering on the refrigerator.
“Arthur?”
Drawn out of his reverie a second time, Arthur felt embarrassed as he answered, “Yeah?”
“You’re doing it again,” Tom noted patiently, picking up Garth’s empty plate and silverware as he slid his chair back from the table.
“Yeah, it’s just... doja view or whatever.” He couldn’t have explained it if he’d tried.
“I see,” Tom remarked, as he brought the dirty dishes over to the sink.
And then threw an elbow at the air.
It connected, the sound of a muffled thump and water sloshing as a man just seemed to appear, standing between the refrigerator and Arthur.
“ARTHUR, MOVE!" Tom snapped, grabbing the intruder about the head and neck. Dropping his weight, the man flipped the soldier over his shoulder. Arthur scooted out of the way just in time to avoid the stranger slamming onto the kitchen table – shattering the legs and laying both it and the soldier out onto the floor.
“DAD, JESUS!” Arthur squealed.
Three more figures seemed to appear from out of thin air, surrounding the man and two boys.
“PEACE!” the one in the center announced, holding up his hands. “Peace, I beg you. We mean you and the children no harm.”
Braced for a fight, Tom Curry seemed to be weighing his chances against the three – or four, counting the one he’d dropped, who was now rolling back up and staggering to his feet.
Outnumbered, the lighthouse keeper grudgingly lowered his arms, even as his hands stayed balled in fists.
Bowing his head in a gesture of gratitude, the middle figure then dropped to one knee before the black-haired prince. “Your Majesty,” he intoned, keeping his head bowed a moment longer before he rose back to his feet and continued, “We were so relieved to discover you safe.”
Turning his attention back to the adult in the room, the stranger remarked, “You must be the Lightkeeper. Queen Atlanna spoke of you many times.”
If the name Orm Marius had triggered recognition, when the name Atlanna was dropped, Arthur felt something even stronger.
The man addressed him next. “And you must be...”
“I... wait...”
Garth’s voice interrupted, the boy looking as though his entire world had just been shattered.
“What did you call me?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The entirety and severity of Shayeris’ destruction had been a bitter pill to swallow. The rescue now overshadowed by the revelation that Garth had been delivered to safety an orphan.
A child without parents.
A king without a throne.
Arthur had helped to comfort the other boy, allowing Tom to ease back and retreat to his own thoughts of everything that had happened.
He felt as though a door had been opened. A door that he’d always known had been there, as if laying in wait for Arthur to knock. Never, in his worst nightmares, had he imagined that Arthur would have flung that door open as he had.
Finding Garth had brought to mind how he’d found Atlanna. The fall of Shayeris recalling to mind her stories of the battle with her half-brother, the struggle to not be defined by what she was. The more of Garth’s story that was told, the more that Tom felt the loss of his wife. More now than any time before.
The elder Atlantean approached the brooding lighthouse keeper. “You’re Vulko, aren’t you.”
It hadn’t been a question.
“Nuidis Vulko. I served Queen Atlanna and King Orin, her father, before her,” answered with a nod. Pausing a moment, the Atlantean remarked simply, “You don’t trust me, do you?”
With a slight nod of his head, Tom indicated where the two boys were on the far side of the room. Keeping his tone quiet, the man said, “I lost his mother to this fight over succession that she’d been trying to escape. Now you, what? Want to drag him into it?”
“I mean the boy no harm,” the Atlantean began, only to see the man bristle at that very notion. Taking a breath, Vulko tried a different approach instead. “You must understand, Orm isn’t just a threat to my world. He has no interest in governing. He knows only war. Once he’s consolidated power undersea, he’ll need a new conflict to distract from the fact that his government isn’t a government at all.”
Tom held the man’s eyes, as if weighing the sincerity of each word. “And you think, what? He’s going to take on the surface?”
“The only logical outlet.” To elaborate, the Atlantean continued, “He’s already begun a campaign of anti-surface rhetoric to set the conditions for when he’s claimed the title of Ocean Master.”
Interjecting, Tom demanded, “And you think these boys are the key to stopping him?” That was the heart of it. Why involve Arthur at all?
“Atlanna was gifted for the line of Atlan, but Arthur is by far the most powerful since Atlan himself,” Vulko stated flatly. “We both saw what happened at that reef. The sea re-shaping itself. Creatures of the deep leaping to his defense – Orm wants to be Ocean Master. Arthur is Ocean Master.”
Tom’s jaw clenched, though he said nothing.
With a wave of his hand, Vulko continued, “Though I suspect he’d prefer the same title as his mother instead.”
“Atlanna didn’t care for titles.”
“No, the queen did not,” the Atlantean agreed candidly. “But the Fates are strange, and onto those who do not seek greatness is greatness thrust upon them.”
“I won’t let you drag my son into a war,” Tom uttered flatly, stepping close to the Atlantean, as if challenging him to defy that edict.
His challenge was met, the Atlantean stepping up, toe-to-toe with him. “Your son. My king,” Vulko stated, in the same matter-of-fact tone as earlier. Then, with a shake of his head, added, “He was part of this war the moment that he was born. I understand your position. And hope to prove mine to you. He must be prepared, because when word gets to Orm about what happened on that reef, the war will come to him. And to you.”
Tom’s shoulder squared up for a moment, then slumped. He knew what the man said was true. They were the same words Atlanna had used when she’d explained why she had to leave. “How long do we have?” he asked finally.
Vulko held out his hands in an empty gesture. “Perhaps days. Perhaps weeks. Orm will want to first focus on silencing the witnesses, reinforce his control over the army.”
Glancing over at where Arthur and Garth were seated, the Atlantean remarked, “What happened at Shayeris will sow seeds of doubt by Orm’s supporters. But by his sheer presence alone, Arthur has likely reignited the rebellion. More will join us as word spreads that Atlan’s true heir – the ocean itself – has stood up to Orm’s army.”
The words caused a pain in Tom’s heart. A sinking feeling, as he looked at his son and saw a child. A child who had a right to simply be a child. When he looked back at Vulko, he said, “I knew I’d have to contend with his heritage sooner or later.”
Acknowledging Garth’s role in that, the man conceded, “At least it seems he’s made a friend.”
It was on that note that Vulko began, “They are both safer on the surface for now.”
“Even safer away from the lighthouse,” Tom reasoned, as if picking up on the same train of thought.
“Is such a thing possible?”
Looking over at a permission slip fastened by a magnet to the front of the refrigerator, Tom noted, “There’s a regional swim meet coming up. New York, I think.”
Even while the name held no meaning, Vulko understood that this ‘New York’ was elsewhere. “Orm won’t be able to track him on the surface. And if he knows that he’s not here, that likely delays any action he might take to retaliate against the harbor here.”
Tom held the Atlantean’s eyes for a moment, then simply gave a wordless nod.
An understanding at the very least, of the role that both would now play for a war that had chosen a pair of boy’s whose only crime was being born to the parents they’d been born to.
A child without parents.
A king without a throne.
Arthur had helped to comfort the other boy, allowing Tom to ease back and retreat to his own thoughts of everything that had happened.
He felt as though a door had been opened. A door that he’d always known had been there, as if laying in wait for Arthur to knock. Never, in his worst nightmares, had he imagined that Arthur would have flung that door open as he had.
Finding Garth had brought to mind how he’d found Atlanna. The fall of Shayeris recalling to mind her stories of the battle with her half-brother, the struggle to not be defined by what she was. The more of Garth’s story that was told, the more that Tom felt the loss of his wife. More now than any time before.
The elder Atlantean approached the brooding lighthouse keeper. “You’re Vulko, aren’t you.”
It hadn’t been a question.
“Nuidis Vulko. I served Queen Atlanna and King Orin, her father, before her,” answered with a nod. Pausing a moment, the Atlantean remarked simply, “You don’t trust me, do you?”
With a slight nod of his head, Tom indicated where the two boys were on the far side of the room. Keeping his tone quiet, the man said, “I lost his mother to this fight over succession that she’d been trying to escape. Now you, what? Want to drag him into it?”
“I mean the boy no harm,” the Atlantean began, only to see the man bristle at that very notion. Taking a breath, Vulko tried a different approach instead. “You must understand, Orm isn’t just a threat to my world. He has no interest in governing. He knows only war. Once he’s consolidated power undersea, he’ll need a new conflict to distract from the fact that his government isn’t a government at all.”
Tom held the man’s eyes, as if weighing the sincerity of each word. “And you think, what? He’s going to take on the surface?”
“The only logical outlet.” To elaborate, the Atlantean continued, “He’s already begun a campaign of anti-surface rhetoric to set the conditions for when he’s claimed the title of Ocean Master.”
Interjecting, Tom demanded, “And you think these boys are the key to stopping him?” That was the heart of it. Why involve Arthur at all?
“Atlanna was gifted for the line of Atlan, but Arthur is by far the most powerful since Atlan himself,” Vulko stated flatly. “We both saw what happened at that reef. The sea re-shaping itself. Creatures of the deep leaping to his defense – Orm wants to be Ocean Master. Arthur is Ocean Master.”
Tom’s jaw clenched, though he said nothing.
With a wave of his hand, Vulko continued, “Though I suspect he’d prefer the same title as his mother instead.”
“Atlanna didn’t care for titles.”
“No, the queen did not,” the Atlantean agreed candidly. “But the Fates are strange, and onto those who do not seek greatness is greatness thrust upon them.”
“I won’t let you drag my son into a war,” Tom uttered flatly, stepping close to the Atlantean, as if challenging him to defy that edict.
His challenge was met, the Atlantean stepping up, toe-to-toe with him. “Your son. My king,” Vulko stated, in the same matter-of-fact tone as earlier. Then, with a shake of his head, added, “He was part of this war the moment that he was born. I understand your position. And hope to prove mine to you. He must be prepared, because when word gets to Orm about what happened on that reef, the war will come to him. And to you.”
Tom’s shoulder squared up for a moment, then slumped. He knew what the man said was true. They were the same words Atlanna had used when she’d explained why she had to leave. “How long do we have?” he asked finally.
Vulko held out his hands in an empty gesture. “Perhaps days. Perhaps weeks. Orm will want to first focus on silencing the witnesses, reinforce his control over the army.”
Glancing over at where Arthur and Garth were seated, the Atlantean remarked, “What happened at Shayeris will sow seeds of doubt by Orm’s supporters. But by his sheer presence alone, Arthur has likely reignited the rebellion. More will join us as word spreads that Atlan’s true heir – the ocean itself – has stood up to Orm’s army.”
The words caused a pain in Tom’s heart. A sinking feeling, as he looked at his son and saw a child. A child who had a right to simply be a child. When he looked back at Vulko, he said, “I knew I’d have to contend with his heritage sooner or later.”
Acknowledging Garth’s role in that, the man conceded, “At least it seems he’s made a friend.”
It was on that note that Vulko began, “They are both safer on the surface for now.”
“Even safer away from the lighthouse,” Tom reasoned, as if picking up on the same train of thought.
“Is such a thing possible?”
Looking over at a permission slip fastened by a magnet to the front of the refrigerator, Tom noted, “There’s a regional swim meet coming up. New York, I think.”
Even while the name held no meaning, Vulko understood that this ‘New York’ was elsewhere. “Orm won’t be able to track him on the surface. And if he knows that he’s not here, that likely delays any action he might take to retaliate against the harbor here.”
Tom held the Atlantean’s eyes for a moment, then simply gave a wordless nod.
An understanding at the very least, of the role that both would now play for a war that had chosen a pair of boy’s whose only crime was being born to the parents they’d been born to.
<Snipped quote by Bounce>
That said, I’d begin writing my first post either today or tomorrow. Just to make sure, also, is there anyone else interested in using a X-Men character like Bounce did? Because my plans would involve Silver Fox, Sabretooth, Krakoa, and obviously, the team themselves (possibly Professor X, Cyclops, and Jean).
Take note that Scott Summers is in @Stormyx's list.
After two weeks of silence (and asking the GM), I finally finished both of them. Hope you enjoy the reading.
Under review. Might be a tad late on my end because my kid's been up 5 times tonight and decided he wasn't going back to sleep (at 2am), so I'm making my way through a pot of coffee to try and be functional while praying to every deity known to man that he passes out at some point so I can get at least get a nap in.
Something inbetween
Catwoman
Assuming that's Michelle Catwoman, I feel like you're legally obligated to include Max Schrek in the list.
In which case, 10 points will be awarded to Gryffindor if Max has a fever and the only prescription is more cow bell.
Shorter post than I'd intended, but it gives time for folks to address the question I'd posed earlier before I go lore diving as Jason's story will alternate between 2013 and current day.
Yes, my header graphic came out looking like Bludhaven is a ward of Tokyo. You try convincing AI that "city background" means "not Japan".
SDXL: "How much Japan do you want?"
AI Checkpoint Trainers: "Yes."
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