Recent Statuses

6 mos ago
Current Hi, very, very bored, I'm Echo.
1 like
6 mos ago
Looking for some people that may or may not be human beings to join my RP!…
1 yr ago
Happy Halloween! Hope y'all have a good one.
1 yr ago
Halloween is forever my aesthetic.


I'm EchoicChamber, though I mostly go by Echo.
I'm eighteen years old, have a tendency to scream into the void, and mostly just hang around and do my own thing. That isn't to say that I don't enjoy roleplaying, though; I'm a big fan of the supernatural/fantasy genre, horror, and superheroes. I tend to avoid RPs where there's no fantastical elements, though there are times where I step outside of my comfort zone.
I reuse characters habitually across canons, and while I try to devote time to roleplay, taking classes and real life stuff has cut back on the amount of time I can be on here.

Most Recent Posts

La Buitre

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.


“You know who I am!” Even over the distance that seperated La Buitre from her opponent, it wasn’t particularly difficult to pick up on the sheer, unbridled glee in her voice, or the fact that she was practically bouncing on the spot. “It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Gimmi- I mean, um.”

A pause. She cleared her throat. She had to be serious. A very serious, intimidating hero. When La Buitre next spoke, she had deepened her voice, and had made it sound all gravelly. Like Batman. Though she didn’t sound like Batman. She sounded like a fifteen year old girl making a very bad imitation of Batman, but being as grave about it as if the playboy himself.

“It would be nice to meet you, but because you are the bad guy and you are trying to rob the bank, it is not very nice to be meeting you.” She gave a firm, decisive nod, planting her fists against her hips. Then, fists still against her hips, proceeded to bow deeply in response to Mr. Gimmick.

“Mr. Transplan- oh! I am sorry that I did not recognize you. If you would like, you can talk to the La Buitre that was killed then, because I am sure that she would love to talk to you. You will have to stop robbing the bank, though. And it is okay! I also-”

Given that she was still striking her pose, La Buitre was unable to raise her hands in time to catch the mask thrown at her, though another pair of pale hands caught the thing a foot away from the girl’s face.

“Hey! Wait! I am supposed to be catching you!” She began to bolt after the supervillain- admittedly, not at the most impressive of speeds- though her attempt at a chase was cut short by one of the walls blasting in, a bit of rubble hitting her in the torso and knocking the wind out of her. Not, luckily, doing any more of that, of course. The armor in her costume did its job well.

Patting her chest a little, La Buitre straightened, turning to see that another supervillain had burst into the bank. Her eyes widened. Two bad guys? This would be very, very tricky, indeed. She shot a glance over to the door, relieved to see that Mr. Gimmick hadn’t taken the chance to run off, then cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted over.

“I am okay!” Then, after a moment of thought, she acted, summoning a new batch of ghostly hands to clamp down on Mr. Gimmick’s ankles. If they managed to get a good grip, they would promptly drag his ankles out from underneath him, pulling him into the air and leaving him upside down. A few more ghosts swept out throughout the bank, checking on the civilians, sweeping away rubble.

To someone unfamiliar with La Buitre, it would seem as if she was particularly excellent at multitasking.

To someone who knew the hero, they would know it was more along the lines of having her own, particularly competent, team behind her.

Clearing her throat, La Buitre turned to the new supervillain, though not exactly all the way. She still had to keep her eyes on Mr. Gimmick, after all. “I am sorry, Dr. Science, but you can not be having the bank all to yourself! If the people can not go to this bank, then they will have to go to one that is farther away! And I do not think that all of the people here own the cars, so they would be having to walk, which means that it would be very diffi-”

A sharp eye might have noticed a hand appear beside La Buitre and gently, but firmly, nudge the girl in the ribs before disappearing. A sharp ear might notice her whisper what seemed to be an apology before returning to her usual volume.

“You will not get away with this, because I am La Buitre, and I am here to fight the bad guys!” With a dramatic flair of the hand, another swarm of ghosts swept out. Faces with pitless eyes and gaping mouths rushing at the good Doctor, hands grabbing at the contraption, at his limbs, rushing for the drones.

The bank was swarming, churning, the air alive with ghosts.

It seemed as if what La Buitre had in power and supply, she lacked in actual strategy.
La Buitre

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.


La Buitre. Bruja. Maneater. “That Bitch”.

These were all her titles to claim, and ones she wore with pride. And why shouldn’t she? It was by her hands that criminal after criminal had been detained, or otherwise taken care of. When she swept through, she was a tidal wave of pure, unbridled spiritual energy, decimating those who dared to step into her path.

She feared no one. She was a force of nature.

And as she watched the villain burst into the bank, she thought of how easy it would be to make him pay for putting innocent lives at risk.

Unfortunately for her, however, she was quite dead.

Salbatora Lea Ciervo’s time had long since come and passed. And what a whirlwind of a time it had been! If there was still breath in her lungs, she would have sighed. She had accomplished so much, and went out with a bang; a very literal one, to say the least. A supervillain had planted a bomb inside the stomach of a civilian, and in her attempt to rescue them, she had died alongside them. She had been lucky enough to have bore not just one, but two children before her death- a set of twins- and had left the world without any regrets, but there were times where the nostalgia set in and left her entire being feeling hollow.

Nevertheless, now was not the time for reminiscing. Her eyes turned towards her niece, who was currently trying to sneak up to the bank’s front entrance, despite the fact that she wore the most eye-catching costume known to man.

Sweet Esperanza. The girl was capable of so much. The power that thrummed through her veins was the same that had flooded Sal’s when she had lived, honed and whittled from its raw matter until it was the sharpest of blades. If she could just work up the will to use it fully, then-


Well. At the moment, Esperanza had a...bit of a ways to go. Though no matter how long it took, both Sal, as well as the rest of the family, would be there to support her all the way.

If someone had somehow gone without noticing the brightly-clad figure bursting through the doors of the bank, or their shout, they would most certainly notice the sudden drop of temperature. What had been the normal amount of chill that got pumped out of the AC of every bank known to man had taken a sharp downturn, turning breath into mist and raising goosebumps left and right.

“I have come to stop you from robbing this bank Mr...Mr...I do not know what your name is, but I am here to stop you and capture you!” The figure’s voice was stilted, awkward, heavily accented, but determined nonetheless. It- or, rather, she- attempted to throw a pose, dramatically thrusting a hand towards the sky, though the sheer vigor of the movement caused her to stumble a bit.

It did seem to accomplish something, however. Multiple sets of ghostly hands would appear to suddenly materialize, reaching for different parts of Mr. Gimmick. Two pairs had appeared at the gun, attempting to yank it downwards and out of his hands, and others still rushed forward to grab at his limbs and hold them still.

If they made contact, one would notice that the hands would feel about as warm as blocks of ice, despite feeling just as what they seemed- hands. Disturbingly human hands, some with missing fingers or parts to them.

Aristide made no real effort to hide the way his eyes roved about the stranger as he approached, taking in the scar, the build, the height. He made no effort to respond, either, letting the words just hang in the air with no real rush to respond to them. It was only when he was satisfied with his little assessment that he shifted a little, turning his hand to inspect the length of his nails.

I am, yes. I’m assuming you must be one, yourself, going around asking about it.” His wrist lowered, one dark brow lifting in time with the movement. “And you are…?”

The stranger had, admittedly, sparked a sort of low interest in him. It wasn’t much, really- the sort of feeling you might find when something caught your eye in a shop window- but it was there, and it was enough to keep him from dismissing the fellow and going off to find wherever the hell the dorms were, so they wouldn’t have to keep lugging their things around with them. The scar, as well as the build of the boy, implied strength. Experience. It was the eyes, however, that betrayed where that experience came from.

It was curious.

@The Narrator

To say that Library wasn’t particularly enthralled by this whole situation would be an understatement. The look in her brother’s eyes told her that he had found something to amuse himself with for at least a good couple of minutes, though a conversation about his particular major wasn’t exactly riveting She gave a brief nod to the boy that had approached them, but chose to let Aristide take the reigns of this situation, entirely quiet. Even if she wanted to say anything, he would likely just force himself back into the center of attention anyway.

As usual.

She stood there for a moment, watching Ari talk, then slipped away from his side, footsteps remarkably silent against the auditorium floor.
Oh, dang, just took a look through this forum, and realized there's some familiar faces here from hundreds of years ago. I'm tempted to join, since it's been a good while since I've been in anything superhero-y. I have a few questions, but since you mentioned that you're on the road, @Count Cuddles, I'd be willing to hold off on pestering until there's a better time.
The pair had taken to leaning against the back wall of the auditorium when the headmistress delivered the speech, listening with differing levels of interest as their eyes swept the room. The way that Aristide crossed his arms over his chest, lip curled, practically screamed to the world that he wasn’t especially impressed. It was a carefully constructed look, a position of the body that declared that all the agency of his self was his, that he was a master of his own fate and his own being. It was a voice of power.

Perhaps, in some way, there was some truth to it. They were entirely on their own, after all. For the first time, they were far from home, entirely in control of themselves; unless you counted the staff of the school, which Aristide didn’t.

Library seemed to grant more respect to the situation, back straight and shoulders squared, though her eyes betrayed her disinterest. As the headmistress finished, she stepped closer to her brother, voice barely a whisper.

“I guess that means that we’re supposed to figure out where we’ll be staying on our own, then.”

“Well, it seems like she wants us to just have us a nice little Lord of the Flies…thing here, so I’m not surprised.” Aristide’s tone was just as his body suggested: bored. However, as the words left his mouth, the curled lip formed a half-smile, and he straightened up a bit. “In which case, I’m afraid you won’t last very long at all, Libby dear.”

“Thanks for your voice of confidence.” She paused. Her shoulders seemed to twitch a bit. Lord of the Flies, published on September 17th, 1954, was William Golding’s first novel. During a wartime evacuation, a British aeroplane crashes on or near an isolated island in a remote region of the Pacific Island, with the only survivors being a group of young prepubescent boys. The boys then-” Library gave a stifled noise, rapidly snapping her fingers, then quieted.

Aristide just rolled his eyes. “Absolutely helpless. Just stay close. They’ll eat you alive if they get the chance.”

“I’m not a five year old, you know.”

“Then act like it.”

“Says the person who broke a chair during a temper tantrum.”

That managed to get Aristide’s smile to tighten a bit. “Just shut up. Let’s go find some other…” He waggled his fingers. “Munchkin to associate ourselves with.”

Rolling her eyes, Library followed after her brother as he left the wall, and the two began their search for company.

After ten thousand years, my terrible, angry character is finished.

I'm still working on Aristide's profile, but I thought it would be a good idea to have Libby's up first just so I have something on here.
@blackdragon Could there be a family of one certain major type sending their kiddos? Cause my characters are supposed to come from a magical mafia type of situation, but not as mafia majors, and I wanted to check to see if that was okay.
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet