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10 mos ago
Current Because asking the mods "gib power" is a much better bid than demonstrating a groundswell of supporters, right? #Wraith4Mod2K19
2 likes
10 mos ago
WRAITH, WRAITH, HE'S OUR MAN, IF HE CAN'T DO IT, NO ONE CAN!
5 likes
10 mos ago
@KingOfTheSkies but could you fix it with Flex Tape? I say nay-nay
10 mos ago
That last status was literally the most mind boggling thing I've ever read. Bravo!
3 likes

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I'm the Spider-player, meaning I hold one of the biggest rogue's galleries and supporting casts, so I feel like I should speak to Hex's concerns, too. Claim culture is a very tricky area to deal with because I think we all pick our characters because we have some amount of passion for them, unless your name is Simple Unicycle. We tend to know these guys back to front, and we have a perfect little story built for them in our heads -- at least I do, for me. It's hard because we're trying to simultaneously strike a balance between telling a cohesive story that touches on all aspects of our character, but also leaving things open for newcomers. I've tried my best, but some things can't be avoided. My Peter is year one, so there can't really be a Kaine as one person wanted, and I had to shoot down Silk for another.

I guess I big question is, to what extent do we need to be open to this kind of thing? I think there is absolutely a problem with claim culture as Hex has said, but I think we need to be very precise in our handling of it. Maybe each of us can organize our supporting cast into 'tiers' based on importance to our story? And those tiers would essentially indicate how much someone would need to work with us to get an app for a given character accepted? But then, that might be asking much of the current player base. We could also maybe do a thing where we ask each player to throw together a list of some popular NPCs within their wheelhouse that they'd consider apps for? I know I have more than a couple I don't have any plans with that I'd be willing to give away.

Speaking to the larger issue of player retention, its probably really valuable to ask ourselves what things draw new players here, and what sort of things drive them away. I think that we should have a serious conversation with our newcomers that have stuck around, like Dblade and Ceta, and maybe Uni and I who only came around last game, as to what kinds of things were motivating them to stay and maybe what sort of pressures they felt that were maybe pushing them to leave? I think right now we're having a lot of old voices trying to deduce the problems that new players are experiencing, but maybe we should ask new players themselves. Hell, maybe stick a few feelers out into the wild and see what people think.

Personally, I was attracted to this group for the quality of writing and the subject matter of the game. I was almost never on the Guild at that time, so I wasn't really aware of any 'reputations' or anything. I was just a lone agent looking for a fun game. The GM team seemed strong and the OOC looked like a good time, so I threw my hat in the ring. Myself, one of the things I really didn't like is that it was hard to feel connected to the group. We do very much have a club of old hands here, and back in UOU, I felt like my stuff was mostly being ignored and that my contributions to the OOC were more or less glossed over. I ended up being fine with it, as I was having a lot of fun writing Vig and I enjoyed shitposting with Nightrunner and Uni, but I think really getting to know the group and feel like your stuff is supported is a huge part of what makes people stick with these games.

On that note, I don't think we necessarily play well with others as a unit. I still don't know very much about many of the people in this game, new and old alike, and I think that's maybe a problem a lot of us have. Hex is right -- strong games are made on the backs of strong groups of players. But so is Bounce, we need new blood. This game we're more or less missing Morden, MB, Sep, Ersatz, Eddie Brock, and more. They're missed I'm sure, bvut those losses haven't necessarily hit as hard because I think we're building another core of people who have stuck around. I think we need to make a bigger push to find people like that who will stay with us, and a huge part of that is being friendly and open and just trying to honestly get to know one another.

So this post has been rather long and rambly, but I just woke up (after royally fucking my sleep schedule), so hopefully it makes sense. Dog bless, love you hot boys.
My instinct tells me #2 as well, but I'm cautious as I think that was a factor in what killed UOU last time around. That said, thanks to the Discord, I'd say we have a more tightly knit group and that could enable us to withstand that threat, but I dunno.
@mattmanganon How would you feel about a JoJo CS getting dropped?

If you don't know JoJo, for the uninitiated; basically, throughout the world, a select handful of people have special punching ghosts that give them superpowers that are usually really funky and esoteric. They're not conventional "superheroes", but a superheroic narrative tends to be a big part of it, especially for what I have in mind. And they don't wear 'costumes', but sometimes their outfits can be...






New York City, NY --- Manhattan




“When the truth is found / To be lies / And all the joy / Within you dies…”

Peter’s Spider-Sense didn’t feel the same as he launched himself from the Queens-Midtown tunnel. There was no stabbing behind his eyes, no irresistible pull on all of his senses. It was a film over his perception, a creeping sense and a chill over his body. It felt like seeing Ben in the hospital, no pain, just dread in every fiber of him.

“Don’t you want somebody to love? Don’t you need somebody to love?”

His headphones bumped in his ears as he swang, yanking himself through the air and banking turns around the sheer faces of buildings. By now the bugs had breached Midtown and swelled into Grand Central like a typhoon, sweeping tourists into the sickness. Already the violence had leaped into the streets of Murray Hill, cracks and snaps and snarling screams erupted from the streets below. Lines of smoke were smeared into the sky, like a decidedly macabre Bob Ross painting.

“Wouldn’t you love somebody to love? You better find somebody to love, love…”

Peter fell lower from his swing and slammed into the side of a building, running down the surface of it and making shrill squeaks across the glass. He shoved off from it and hit the pavement at a sprint. This street was clear, but the buildings around him framed the picture of 5th Avenue’s chaos.

A horde of tourists and locals clashed in the road in a flurry of fists and feet and teeth. It sounded like a butcher shop, knuckles crashing into the soft tissue, and the stench of blood hung in the air like a thick fog bleeding off into the side alleys. One man dragged another behind him by what was left of his hairline, holding a cracked baseball bat in the other hand. The man in his grip gnashed his teeth and thrashed, broken legs splayed underneath him spasticity. Peter thought he saw ragged bone moving underneath the folds of his flesh, making tears and scarring the muscle inside. The first man dropped the second and brought his bat over his head, readying for a final grand slam.

A globule of webbing tagged the bat and it shot from the guy’s hand and bounced across the concrete. The sound echoed through the alley and his head snapped forward, looking for the unseen assailant.

“There's your problem, you gotta choke up more on the bat!” Spider-Man bounded forward and launched a packet of webbing into the man’s chest. He took it with a grunt and charged forward like a deranged animal, forgetting about his former target. His whole body twisted and spun as he ran, slobbering for a shot at Peter.

Peter aimed low and tapped his palms without missing a beat. Webbing stuck fast around the civilian's right leg and he dropped forward like a sack of bricks, his nose made a sickening crunch against the pavement. Peter sidestepped the man and glued his torso to the ground with a blob of webs in the same motion.

The man with broken legs was still coming, dragging his weight across the pavement with his bare hands. His fingertips were bloody and raw from the effort but he kept coming anyway, making swipes at the black leg of Peter’s costume as he drew close.

“Take five, man... and buy some leg braces.” Peter fired a web across his back to fasten the man to the ground and then threw himself out into the main body of the brawl, which had already begun to twist into the alley.

Peter was a whirling dervish through the crowd. He pulled one man into another and webbed them together before using them to push over a behemoth of a man who had squeezed his bulging muscles into a ‘I LOVE NY’ tank top that was a size too small and stained with blood. Webs came out in sheets from his wrists, plastering people to each other and into the ground, tying up their limbs so they could do nothing but gnash their teeth.

“If you’d all form an orderly line, please!” Peter absorbed a shoulder check from a pasty office clerk and hurled the man over his shoulder, knocking over another row of combatants like bowling pins. He lashed out with his fist and felt something break against it, when he felt a buzz against his leg that probably wasn’t the ankle biting toddler trying to pull out his tibia.

Incoming call from EYE-EMOTICON EYE-EMOTICON.” A robotic voice dinned in his ear. He picked the toddler up by the scruff of his neck and launched him across the street.

“Accept!” Peter yelled into the mic on his headphones. He webbed a net for the toddler on the other side of the road as the little boy came screaming down from the sky.

“This is TGI Spidey’s, may I take your order?” It was as much a response to Scott as it was a call to the legions of drooling tourists around him, screaming for his blood.

“We’re almost at Central Park, how you holding up?” Static crackled in the other teen hero’s response while Peter felt a collarbone give way under his kick. The crowd was thinning now, mostly tourists and big guys that survived the initial melee.

“I’m -- Hey! We’re not holding a kegger down here! Peter danced backward as a muscled arm lanced from the crowd, slinging a forty of vodka like a club. A web pulled the drink from the man’s hand and the glass exploded across the ground. Instantly Peter was on top of him, slamming a knee into his solar plexus.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m near Murray Hill, seeing what’s to see from the Empire State. There’s a lot of party guests out here,” Peter fired a web from either hand, hitting on gaudy superhero logos emblazoned on two people’s shirts, “I don’t think I brought enough *hng* goodie bags for everyone.” Peter tugged on the lines and they collapsed onto the concrete.

“Alright, we’ll swing down that way to help you out! Just hold on, we’ll be there in fifteen, alright?”

Swinging’s my thing, Polyphemus. Peter shoved one of the last combatants to the ground and pinned her there with a web. The street was mostly deserted now, by Peter’s measure -- but there’d be more, soon. If there weren’t any left to stream out of Grand Central, Penn Station was just around the corner.

“Meet you by Herald Square. Til’ then I got a date with the tourist patrol.” The suit squeezed around Peter’s torso and pressed the ‘end call’ button on his headphones, and the song began its din in his ears once more.

“When the garden flowers / Baby, are dead, yes…”

Peter jumped into the sky and web poured from his hands and twisted itself into a line. He swung forward and shifted his grip on the line, releasing, and he landed against glass and concrete launching off and upwards into the sky. The Empire State Building. He started the crawl up the side of it and settled into a run, dashing across long panes of glass and steady stretches of rebar and concrete supporting the building’s height.

The city expanded before him as he climbed. The block gave way to the neighborhood and then to the borough at large, a concrete jungle of architecture and art spanning out to beyond the horizon. It was form and function and style married in a mish-mash of decades and styles nestled together on one isle, one city, one voice. One New York. And it was on fire.

Pillars of smoke stood out from the skyline like the black towers spreading mechanical bugs through every major roadway. From this height, the people were ants, dueling on the rooftops and having mass warfare in the streets. Blue and red police lights were drowned in flashes of gunfire and explosions blossoming from every corner. Peter slipped and stumbled ahead on the face of the glass. He looked down and righted himself, but when he looked back -- What? That wasn’t there before.



It was some kind of aircraft, ugly and bulbous and blue, with spindly legs hanging off of it from either side. It looked a little like the spider symbol on his back, but blown up to incredible proportions. Engines hummed steadily beneath its chassis. Giant yellow eyes stared into the city beyond, undoubtedly hiding whoever was inside the cockpit.

Peter attached a webline to the Empire State and flipped backwards, rocketing down twenty feet in the blink of an eye. The ship disappeared as fast as it had come into his vision, as if it was simply plucked out of reality.

What? That can’t be right… He stared at the spot for a moment, looking for some kind of shimmer in the light, a failure to maintain the illusion. Peter frowned and ran back upwards, as the bug once again came into view.

Ah, bottom facing stealth plating. That’s some kinda advanced… Peter coiled the muscles in his body and leaped off from the building, making a lump for the aircraft. He fell in the open air as the craft went invisible again and he fired upwards. The line connected with something that wasn’t there and he brought himself around with his momentum, landing on top of it. The metal gave a dull clang as he landed. Shit, that’s some kind of armor.

He rapped his knuckles on the top.

“I really hope you’re on my team, dude.” Peter searched for any divots in the plating, signs of an entry hatch. “If not, you’d better leave the keys in the ignition for me.”


A F T E R M A T H


By JAMESON, J. JONAH; -- Editor, Local News

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Issue 9




New York City, NY --- Queens




Peter had begun to notice the smells of the Parker house once again. It was like old books and flower scented cleaning chemicals, the tiniest bits of sawdust trailing from the creaking stairs and the smell of plastics loved to death with sweat and use. The blindness to it was gone, somehow deactivated by the subtle grease of wheelchair wheels making slow tracks through the house and the smell of burning casserole rising into the air.

“Oh! Peter!” May called as she pulled open the oven, swatting at the rising smoke with a mitt as the fire alarm began to trill, sharp and crisp. Peter pulled a stool across the floor, three legs dragged across the hardwood floor and Peter pushed himself up, pulling the alarm from its housing. He wrestled the batteries out. The sound went out of the room all at once, but for the creak of the wheelchair as Ben rolled himself into the room.

“Casserole today, May?” Ben raised an eyebrow as the corner of his mouth turned up.

“I got this recipe from the internet…” May mumbled as she pulled the smoking remains from the oven, a crusty black thing shriveled up in the casserole dish. May placed it on the counter and folded her arms, content to let the last of the smoke froth.

“Well,” Peter said, “we’ve all seen A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” There was a moment of silence then, but for the sound of the house settling and the rolling of distant tires. Ben cracked first, breaking into a belly laugh that immediately took in May and Peter. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Pizza, then?”

*


Peter chewed his slice, and watched Ben across from him over the arc of his pizza crust. He felt a lift in his stomach and a tingle across his shoulders. He smiled.

“So, Pete, you figure we’ll find some way to rig up one of those wheelchair elevators?” Ben asked, pausing before the choice of plain cheese or mushroom-and-onion.

“Another DIY project? Ben, the insurance said--” May began. Ben waved her off.

“No, no -- I’m sure Peter and I can figure this one out. Right bud?” He put his slices on his plate and reached for the parmesan cheese.

“Well, we’ll need to see what we can borrow from Mr. Stacy’s garage.” Peter smiled into his bite, taking a mouthful of cheese. He chewed, thinking through the parts.

Some kind of elastic rope or track or something. Non-stick webbing would do the trick. Would suck to develop it and then have that full time, though… Peter looked up from his slice and met Ben’s eyes, staring back at him. Peter felt the ache in his shoulder again. It hadn’t burned like this since breaking into the lab a few days ago.

“Have you heard anything from Gwen, Peter?” Ben asked. Peter swallowed.

“About what?”

“You haven’t been keeping up with the news, sweetheart?” May tilted her head.

“You know, May. Back to school.” Peter shrugged. The table creaked as he pushed his ceramic plate an inch forward. She shook her head.

“That Spider-Man character has been making a tear through the city.” May pulled her rose lace jacket around herself. “They just announced that he attacked the Police Station. And in this neighborhood, I…” May sighed.

“And to think he calls himself a superhero.” Ben crunched through his slice, crushing mushrooms and shredding onions with his teeth. Peter fished in his pocket for his phone.

“They’re all so self-righteous.” May wiped her hands on a napkin. “Their way or the highway with all of it. Dreadful! And with what he did to that Mr. Morbius!”

Damnit. Peter clutched his cellphone and squeezed.

“Now, that name does sound familiar…” Ben tapped his chin. He snapped his fingers. “Peter, didn’t he work at Doctor Connors’ lab with you and Gwen?”

“Yeah. Doc’s assistant. Mrs. Connors was telling Gwen and I what happened.” Peter brought his hand out of his pocket. Hospitalized. Stable, conscious, but they still can’t figure out what the hell I tagged him with… He felt tension at the back of his head, muscles tightening. He lifted another slice. Not like I know, either…

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Peter said through a mouthful.

“Peter!” May looked at him.

“Sorry! Sorry. He’s just… I dunno.” Peter rubbed at his wrist. In the days since, he still hadn’t been able to make the suit lance out like that. It worked better than his webs ever had -- but why did it stop?

“Innocent people.” Ben said. “Disgraceful.” Peter ripped at his slice with his teeth.

“You never know. Superheroes, people to save, things to do.”

“When was the last time he saved someone?” Ben was looking at him now, pools of brown like burnt gold locked onto his eyes.

When I stopped the X-Men’s car from -- or when I catch Tombstone or… Peter breathed through his nose.

“I don’t know.”

“So reckless. Dangerous. Not like those X-kids. Putting their necks out there for those boys at Bayville, God help them.” Ben wiped the crumbs from his hands, they fell to his plate.

“I don’t know if I trust any of them. People in masks. It doesn’t sit right with me.” May said.

“You’re starting to sound like Jameson, Aunt May.”

“Never agreed with the man, but… Well, maybe he’s onto something. If they can’t hold themselves accountable? Can’t take the responsibility that comes with what they can do…” Ben turned his hands up.

“Like Spider-Man doesn’t?” Peter cut back.

“I haven’t seen Supergirl fighting with the police. She doesn’t seem to need a mask for that, Pete.” Ben said evenly.

“Ben--” Peter’s muscles tensed. He felt lightning and pain at the back of his head. He pulled himself forward with his forearms, the table shook.

“Peter Benjamin.” May said. Soft, but firm. Peter relented. He scooped his plate into one hand and pushed his seat back.

“I’ve got lots of homework to do.” He got to his feet and rounded the table, passing Ben and making for the second floor.

“It’s a Saturday, kiddo.” Ben craned his neck to track his nephew but stopped as Peter got behind him. He tried to twist himself in his wheelchair, bringing his left tire to be caught under the table.

“And your Uncle just came back from--” May stood, reaching out to help her husband.

“And I just got back to school. Need to catch up. Study, and stuff.” Peter took the stairs two at a time. His sneakers squeaked across the floorboards and he crossed to his room.

He heard their voices come from the first floor as he twisted his doorknob.

“What’s gotten into him?”

“He’s a teenager, May. He’s just… Having a rough time of it.”

“Should we--?”

“No, no. I’m sure he’ll figure it out. He’s a smart kid.”

Figure it out, Ben? Peter pulled his phone from his pocket and held the power button as he clothes deformed and the black cloth of his suit began to bubble and rise around him. Silk against his skin. His phone hummed to life as the lenses closed around his eyes. I’m gonna ‘figure out’ how to walk on eggshells in this goddamn… The phone buzzed in his hand.

Incoming Message from: OSBORN, HARRY

Dude! R u seeing the news rn?

Incoming Message from: WATSON, MJ; STACY, GWEN; and +1 More

Are you guys okay??? @ home? Not in Manhattan??


Peter swiped the notifications aside and clicked on his news app. It flashed onto his cracked phone screen -- dozens of slapdash articles, most posted just minutes ago. Almost all with the same photo of a man with a spiked helm and huge shoulder plates, arms crossed, staring down at the camera with a twisted face.

"New York Times: Metahuman Supremacy Front Threatens NYC (DEVELOPING)”

“CNN: Metahuman Terrorists Invade New York City With Super Bug (DEVELOPING)”

“Daily Bugle: Mutants Invade Manhattan, Mounting Casualties (DEVELOPING)”


The articles went on. There was a feed at the top of the page. Peter was already halfway to the window as he clicked on it. The footage was grainy, but stable, supported. A reporter with a flat top of orange hair stood in the middle of West 57th street. Most of the cars around him were abandoned, some smoldered in the sunlight. He stared straight ahead, clutching his mic close. Peter though he saw a body in the background. Limp, with its arms and legs at odd angles to the torso.

“This is Eddie Brock, reporting with *ktsch* on the scene at *ktsch* where civilians are --” The camera twisted and shuddered as the reporter spoke. It tipped over and skittered across the ground like a dying roach.

“Jack? You good?” Peter saw the Brock’s feet taking slow steps backward as he spoke to his cameraman. Another pair of feet entered, settling into a staggered run.

Fucking--!” The video cut at the last second.

I might need a little backup… He tapped out of the news app and pushed off from the window, sending out his first webline. He tapped the phone icon and started to dial.

“Hey, Eye-guy? I don’t wanna be that friend that only calls when he needs help or whatever, but, uh, well, you might wanna turn on a TV.”
As the magnanimous Lord Wraith said, we're looking for new players! I thought I'd take the time to throw together another list of Big Boys that you might've heard of that could make Absolute Comics their home! Plus, I thought I'd give a little testimonial.

I really do think that Absolute Comics is probably some of the most fun that you can have on this website. I've come to the Guild and left many, many times, but something about Absolute and its predecessor Ultimate One Universe has really convinced me to stick around. We have a genuinely great group of players with some honest to God talent hanging around the game, and I've found everyone to be very lovely and supportive. Even if comic books aren't super your thing, we have a really creative group here that can make any premise work, and for many of us, the name of the game is really just about improving our writing. Like a weirdly DC/Marvel focused writing workshop, in many ways.

Perks of the game and the group aside, some rad shit happens. Take, for example;

-Captain America fights a goddamn werewolf
-The Flash murders Captain Boomerang for the giggles
-Everything that comes out of Blue Beetle's Mouth, ever
-Blade bonds with a vampire hunter that totally doesn't want to kill him
-"Guess we're goin' 'ta go fight a demon in Walmart now. Sounds like my average Tuesday night."
-HUAC vs. Billy Batson
-Thor vs. Draaga
-... And a Major Multiplayer Event, Kingsman Style.

And this is only a fraction of some of the rad shit that can happen. Why not jump in with a character listed below, or someone else from the long Marvel/DC legacy you can think of?

New Spidey post! The ending segment is maybe a bit sloppy, but I swore I'd get it posted before I went to bed -- will maybe edit it in the morning, depending on how it looks then. Now I need to go the fuck to sleep.
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