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Roy G Bivolo




A single bead of warm water unstopped itself from Roy's inner ear when Skeets came skittering in with a mission for Superman. When Julian accepted the mission, never acknowledging that they were many orders of magnitude less competent than they or that he could get in contact with the League themselves, he felt the sharp, slapping cold of ocean water slashing at his nerves, dragging him into the depths. He was used to tagging museum guards with paintballs and stealing priceless portraits, not fighting supervillains. He never even had it in him to talk to Nick Necro, to even ask if he could step out. He hadn't taken a single breath since Jules gave his speech when he felt his jackhammer heart quake against his lungs, as his stale blood and spent air tripped over each other's feet in a race to get the fuck out of his chest. In his minds eye, he could see himself turning blue. Maybe the others could, too.

He didn't say anything. He hoped to high heavens that Eilidh couldn't feel the goosebumps boiling out of his blazing flesh. He cranked his neck back, exhaled quickly, louder than he would've chosen if he'd thought about it, before taking a slow, conservative ration of air to try and force himself to cool off. As his thumbs twiddled against the rainbow dots stitched across his polo, he clenched his eyes, pursed his lips and asked himself a simple question.

This is what you're here for. Isn't it?

By the end of today, he supposed, he'd have his answer. If he wasn't up to it it'd sort itself out. He'd either die a nobody, bitch out, or maybe, just maybe--become a superhero. That stupid thought was all it took to pierce the oxygen starved smog that clouded his mind, shattering the windows to his soul like a baseball. Hurling his eyelids open, he took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other, marching off into his room, slipping into the familiar tights, and donning the guise of THE RAINBOW RAIDER!

Fuck yeah!

With a casual stretch of his arms, he pulsed off a prismatic puff of light that toasted his floorboards, spraying a zealous hoard of crispy snarkling hard light sparkles like droplets spurting out of a garden hose, warping the finish on the mahogany panels like marshmallows over a spit. And he took another step. And another step. He took so many steps forward that in two minutes flat he was standing downstairs in costume with everyone else, not looking the least bit cowardly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "given that I both crackle colors kaleidoscopically and have a protective aura, it makes sense that I should be the distraction if we need one. Mind you, I'm not really much for violence and, once I've drawn the attention of our felonious foes, would greatly appreciate it if one of you fine fellows would prevent them cracking me in half like a rainbow egg to see if the carpets match the drapes. With all that said, I should probably not go first."
getting behind their eyes so she, from a distance, can have a full and complete view of the field before them. Like human CCTV.


I like the term eyejacking for that (like hijacking).
This is why we need a full series Super Summary Spectacular
<Snipped quote by Enarr>

Well I mean, you've only posted once to be fair... Also I'm kinda waiting on @Deja or for @Hillan to finish his GM post of GM'ness.


I was strictly joking, Giuseppe
<Snipped quote by Natty>

If we did the whole team in Heroforge, we could do a team photo.


Or we could reach a third page. Hmmmmmm
Young Justice: Renegades
Super Summary Spectacular

001 | Hillan | Sunday, April 25th 2021
Jules uses a welder to restore the wiring of The Penthouse, which is owned by Morgan Edge. He flashes back to a time when he was chillaxin’ in a hot spring and gets a hankering for an additional helping of wine he’s never had before. He likes watching high school football, specifically the Smallville Crows, presumably an artifact of being Half-Superman. He shuffles over to the kitchen to see what else is crackalackin’ in the realm.


002 | Stormflyx | Sunday, April 25th 2021
Our girl Eilidh is loitering in her lounge chair before the power flickers back on and prompts her to resituate in the kitchen, where she anticipates the rest of the crew might congregate. While recalling the power outages endemic to her home, she pours herself a spot of tea and engages the kettle in conversation, which is probably just her being a silly girl but may be foreshadowing an ability to talk to inanimate objects!


003 | Sep | Sunday, April 25th 2021
Conor either says a bad word or performs an arcane rite in response to the lights going out before dismissing his face in a rather yucky (to put it lightly) scene of bouncing boinging boyoinging waxen flesh before taking a moment to appreciate how handsome he is. Because he’s cool, a true hipster, he doesn’t even own a television, he just has a miniature library of tomes, some of which are specifically set aside for CeCe. When the lights return, he receives a text message from a merchant informing him that a copy of something, presumably a book, is available for purchase. Banking on the fact that Eilidh would probably be making a kettle of tea, he helps himself to a cookie and a mug so she could fill it.


004 | Dead Cruiser | Sunday, April 25th 2021
During the power outage, Dandelion sequesters theirself to their bedroom so that they wouldn’t scare their xenophobic teammates in the dark. They’d given them the room with all the stuff that no one wanted because his addition had been unexpected. They’re shy about transforming in front of the others because it discomforts them, which is kind of a massive tactical disadvantage when you think about it. With the restoration of the power, they begrudgingly agree to use the stairs before entering the kitchen and asking Eilidh for a spot of tea for theirself and asking if Julian has any work for them to do.


005 | Lord Wraith | Sunday, April 25th 2021
CeCe goes for a run while spurning her nature as a cyborg by declining to insert her earbuds into her earbud ports, while savoring low fidelity sensation of sand running between her fingers, which I assume is probably a lot like the difference between listening to a vinyl record and an MP3. Then she meanderingly bemoans her lack of pain and the artificial sensations and longs for the once familiar ability to exhaust herself while she laps a trio of standard issue human joggers. Then she proceeds to take selfies and boost the profile of a local smoothie bar, using the power of her influencer status, and offering to cover the cost of the next fifty orders as a favor to the small business owner, Pablo. Then, she ascends the base building using the elevator and initiates a movie night.
I know I gave Roy rainbow Lantern blasts, but there's a part of me that wishes I also gave him a paintball gun.

Edit: Got it. I'll just have his flashback adventures as Necro's minion have him gallivant about with one
Welcome back to being a fucking nerd
Roy G Bivolo



A stiff breeze pulsed throughout Roy’s bedroom, pivoting his damp hair across the trembling goosebumps that now gyrated all along his freezing forehead. His ears stung sharply and his nose ran plentifully. In spite of his constant quivering and short-breathed shivering, he was having the time of his life as he drug his unsteady hand against the wall.

It started a few minutes prior. Roy’d just finished taking a shower when the building’s power died with a full-body whimper, along with the bathroom’s light and their electrical hot water with it, in a wanton slaughter on first-world privilege. In the cover of darkness, he scurried back to his bedroom, dripping wet, draped in a towel when he heard the sound of Vincent stripping the wallpaper from his room, which happened to be on the opposite wall of his own. It was that sound, the dull growl of hesitating paper clinging for dear life that inspired him to balance the scales. And so, while one side of the wall was exorcised of its demons, the other would be absolutely infested.

Cracking a window for inspiration, he felt the City of Tomorrow piercing him with its mighty breeze. And so, he took his shower water, the runoff of his own correction, and mixed it into his watercolor set, splishing and splashing a stylized and incomplete rainbow across the wall, with one careless sweep of his unsteady wrist after another. Though the electrical interruption had rendered him somewhat powerless to follow his path, in the act of embracing the bitter biting breeze and steering into the drift, he found serenity. Though he hadn’t quite gotten a proper scrub behind the ears, he felt cleansed to a degree that he rarely ever had. Immaculate, even.

At that, he permitted himself to dry off. Taking a gander at the rainbow he’d left on the wall. He wasn’t sure what he meant by it, not exactly, but it felt important. Even if it didn’t mean one thing precisely, it was as true as any confession he’d ever made. It was all he had, after all.

After allowing the breeze to dry him off, he finally closed the windows before feeling his chapping flesh. It was absolutely atrociously cared for, if he was to believe anything that he’d ever heard from anyone remotely dermatologically inclined but charmingly so. Slathering on a metric ton of prescription strength lotion, which had actually been designed with severe eczema in mind, he shaved and otherwise readied armed himself for a casual social encounter with the building’s other inhabitants. Golly, there sure were a lot of them.

All the same, fully dressed in a set of khaki pants and a polo bespeckled with with rainbow splashes, which he had actually sewn in place himself, he calculatedly tousled his hair before opening the door and making his way to the living kitchen, where he saw Conor and Eilidh chatting it up with Kevin and ….

He took a deep breath. They were chatting it up with Johnny, whose mildly grimy aesthetic greatly outclassed his own both in grime and in mildness. When Roy looked at himself, he at once couldn’t help but feel like he was both underwhelming and overstimulating, the sort of uncomfortable that is, more often than not, probably best politely but pointedly looked past.

Even so, there was a bestial hunger burning within him, as though his very innards might loosen themselves to go on some sort of rampage. For fear of degenerating into a self-loathing bellyaching berserker, he braved the company of kitchen dwellers and gave a wave to them before slinking into the cabinets and sheepishly snaffling a Danny Burger from the refrigerator, tipping a nonexistant hat to his fellows before standing in the corner, wordlessly, doing his best impression of someone confident and comfortable.
If @Enarr is down for it, these clowns could be fun. They'd probably be mooks or some distraction from one of The Light's grander plans, but it could still be a fit for an early scrap.


Yessir. That does sound really fun
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