Avatar of Lockhart
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    1. Lockhart 7 yrs ago

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@Master Bruce @Byrd Man @Morden Man
Would writing for Deathstroke as a sort of True Neutral anti-hero character work for this roleplay? I've been replaying Arkham Origins (unfortunately on the inferior PC-port) and I'd like to eventually do some sort of similar setup to the 'multiple assassins hunt Batman over the course of a night' angle of that game, which works very well with a younger, new comer Batman.
Okay, so, took me a weeks or so but I finished a sheet!

@Vicier
Awwwwwww, I had some fun ideas for Hades, that sucks!

I'll think about it for a bit, I guess, not so inspired for any of the others...
Hey, I forgot to express interest on the check but I'm here now!

I'm interested in making a daughter of Hades, would that be cool?
I could join this, I love 7th Sea 1st Edition.
Woops! Lurking revealed!

@Leos Klien
Accidental like there, sorry, I was just looking at the thread on mobile and my thumb slipped!
@YoshiSkittlez
Actually, if you could change it, that would be great! I know faceclaims shouldn't matter too much, it's the writing that counts after all, but I'm quite attached to Grant Gustin as my character's face and it would feel weird for him to also be another character in the same roleplay. Is that okay?

@Caits
Can I ask if you saw my question here?
@Caits
Hey, sorry for how long my post took to come out, Steam Summer Sale hit my wallet hard and I've been deep in games!

I wanted to ask if collaborative posts were okay? Can two players write a post together to speed up interaction and have a conversation? I've done it on other forums and mostly it's cool but I don't want to break and unspoken rule or something!

If the answer is yes, @Juno would you like to collaboratively write a post for Ricky and Biff?
.........
Interacting with: Biff (@Juno)


In a house in Central City, there's a gentle POC sound, like something light hitting something harder. Maybe someone dropped a pen or was bouncing something?

Ricky, with one flick of his wrist, sent the pingpong ball spinning away to hit the backboard. He could sense its speed, its momentum, and it shot away. Of course, Ricky was currently moving at nearly the speed of sound (he was careful to stay just under, Iris Allen had long ago made it clear that speedsters who sonic boomed the windows better have been fighting Doomsday or else they'd be facing her wrath) so from his perspective the pingpong ball might as well have been rolling through treacle. It might seem odd to those without the ability to move at mind boggling speeds that Ricky was so often sending the pingpong ball back and forth but he found that the stupid thing kept him centred.

After all, when you can circle the world almost eight times in a second, conventional clocks rather lose their meaning.

So instead Speedsters tend to cultivate their own ways of measuring time, some external action that would act as north star to guide them. For Ricky, it was the time it took the pingpong ball to hit the backboard and bounce back into place for the next shot. While he was moving higher velocities around the house, he always returned in order to hit the ball again and counted how many times he'd done it. That way he didn't spend what felt like several hours working on some physics calculations, get up and discover that it had only been ten minutes.

It was also something of a stress reliever, a mindless repetitive action to take his mind off whatever was weighing it down. It was stressful enough having to manage the complexities of the speedforce every day, not getting lost at the higher speeds and remembering to slow down and embrace what was in front of him, let alone what was being asked of him now. This whole academy idea seemed like a joke, teaching not only heroes but villains how not to destroy the world. Wasn't destroying the world the whole point for villains? And why did heroes need to be taught not to destroy things? Wasn't that their point?

Still, if what his dad had let slip about the current crop of students was true, there was no doubt he was needed as an example. Ricky prided himself that under the intense training his father, uncle and 'uncle' (Barry, Wally and Jay respectively) had given him, he had his skills honed down to a fine point. He never accidentally exceed to speed of sound, could assemble a house of cards at mach 10 and then slow down without it falling, had mastered the tricky skill of harnessing the speedforce's ambient energies and using them to create a suit for himself, he was a Flash in his own right.

Only he wasn't. He couldn't wear the suit, couldn't use the name or the symbol, they'd been retired along with all the others. It bothered him, as much as he assured his dad it didn't. He'd never be able to run alongside the legions of speedsters from the past and future who had born the title 'Flash'. Uncle Wally had been able to, when the world thought Barry Allen was dead, and Ricky couldn't help feeling a little jealous of him. There was much in the name that Ricky desired; continuity, reliability, legacy. The Flash had saved the world dozens of times. How many times had Red Lightning done it?

That wasn't the only reason of course. While he had the skills and the speed, Ricky knew he wasn't his father, not yet. Barry Allen had an almost irresistible charm, an unassuming nature that made him instantly likeable, that had been as much a part of the Flash's mantle as the lightning bolt. Wally had it too, though he tended to make people laugh more, and Jay was more reassuring than anything else, like a kindly grandfather. Ricky, however, tended to trip over his tongue and forget himself in conversation.

They just moved so damn slowly, all of them! It was hard to slow down enough to talk to people when he could spend the time it took the sound waves to reach them to do a circuit of America. Barry said that was part of the key, knowing when to run and and when to be still, but Ricky sure as hell hadn't found the moment for standing still yet. Why should the fastest man alive ever stop moving?

All these thoughts were swirling around his head as he slumped at his desk and looked at the page of calculations below him. They were pretty standard, just your average quantum physics problems that dealt with post-light speed travel measured against the drag force of time, the vibrational properties of some rare alien materials and the potential calamities of time travel. Ricky was sure his dad had set the time travel questions to scare him off from pursuing it but if anything, it made him want to crack lightspeed even more.

As he moved through the problems, generally without much difficulty, Ricky reflected on the other things that separated him from the real speedsters. There wasn't much, mostly things that he thought of as issues of maturity or focus. They were generally better at managing their lives at different speeds, balancing going fast with slowing down in a way that Barry assured him came with time. It was about then that Ricky's dad went all misty eyed and started rambling about all the appointments he'd missed during the early days, when he was still...

Appointments.

Cursing, Ricky leapt out of his chair, grabbed a satchel full of books, pens and other learning materials and sped towards the door. He managed to restrain himself and stay under the speed of sound until he'd hit the open road and then let it rip, sending out a colossal BOOM after him as he shattered the sound barrier. Central City wasn't so far from The Academy and he couldn't be very late, he'd just completely forgotten that today was the day. This was exactly the sort of thing that would give his father grounds to say he wasn't ready to go solo yet...

With a sudden but carefully controlled stop, he arrived at the gates. There was a mill of people who couldn't be anything other than the rabble of students he'd heard about. Some were posturing, showing off and threatening each other, some were standing alone and watching as he was. He hoped he hadn't made too much of an entrance and at least he'd controlled the momentum of the air around him enough that there hadn't been the signature whoosh of air that signalled an arriving speedster.

He spotted a girl a little way off from the others regarding the group with the same trepidation he felt and smoking, an antisocial habit. It wasn't much bother to Ricky, whose metabolism could demolish almost any ailment within a few minutes, but it was often an effective social shield to the less durable. He decided he'd better start as he meant to continue (finding one equally antisocial friend and avoid anything too crowded) and went over to her.

"Hey, I'm not too late am I? They haven't started classes or something without me?" Not a particularly complex social gambit but the surroundings hardly called for much creativity. Now all he had to do was resist the urge to speed off before she answered.

Far off, back in his bedroom in the Allen house, Central City, the pingpong ball hit the table, bounced and rolled away and under the bed.
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