this looks sooooooo laaaaaaammmeeee
No but yeah interested and whatnot
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Evil Ghost Note
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Reading back through the OOC and the IC after being out all day, I have some comments to make as a GM.
First and foremost, the very first rule of this RP.
I am all for healthy interaction between GMs and RP'ers-that is a necessity for an RP to function. RP'ers need to have faith that the GM has a good idea for a story and will allow the RP'ers the opportunity to play meaningfully. In turn, the GM's need RP'ers who are willing to play along and will be respectful and follow the rules. Now, I am not suggesting that you never give any feedback, never offer any criticism, but something needs to be made clear: this RP is ultimately being run by Lone. Beneath him are Jazzy and myself, and that's only because he's appointed us there. If this RP was being run by someone else, I would defer to their rules. If I did not like their rules, I would leave.
That being said, I am not suggesting you follow us blindly. If you have questions or concerns, feel free to enumerate them (just as it says in the rules). However, at the same time, remember that it's Lone's call at the end of the day. If he wants to make one of his characters exponentially stronger than the rest of ours, well, we have to deal with that because it's his RP and his rules. If we're that bothered by it, we can leave. If we're not, we have to play along. The point of all this is that if you have a serious disagreement with a GM, you should discuss it politely and respectfully. At the end of the day, if you're still disagreeing, you need to go with what the GM says. It's not a grey area, it's pretty set-in-stone. This applies to Jazzy and myself just as much, albeit we serve as moderators when Lone can't/is being lazy. (Yeah, I can Fight The Man too.)
Now, the second point, and this has been irritating me for quite a while before this, is that a great many of you are trying to win this RP. You need to stop doing that. This RP is not directed towards any one person, it is not made for any one of us to enjoy. It is a colloborative effort. Even the lead character in a play would be useless without every other person to act and make the rest of the play function. In a similar manner, the fictional strength of your made-up character does not determine jack shit. As a result, there is no point in our engaging in a dick measuring contest regarding what our characters can and cannot do. Some of the best written characters I've ever seen were horrible fighters. If everyone continues to try and one-up each other by not-so-subtly mentioning how their characters are surely "among the best at the Academy" or "far more experienced than everyone else" then I'm going to start calling people on it individually and I will likely not be tactful about it. I am asking politely for people to stop doing this, as it will eventually cripple an RP. I have seen it happen many times, particularly in superpower RP's. This is not an individual power fantasy or a forum for you to create your own story. Your subplot should not override the RP, your characters are not the focus. If your characters die, the story will still go on. This is a fact you all need to accept and be prepared to deal with. If my character gets backed into a situation where she cannot plausibly survive, I will let her die, because the integrity of the RP does not yield to me wanting to use my character. I think you all need to take a step back, look at how you've been RP'ing, and focus more on your character's development, personality, and psyche. If you try and engineer your character to be the best, the most badass, the coolest, it will not work. Not to be an asshole, but no one really cares about the badass characters. How many people in your life can kick your ass? Are they somehow better people because of it? If everyone in this RP is focused purely on combat, on being the strongest, on having the most tragic backstory and, subsequently, the most hardened, badass character now, we're going to be screwed later on. We have a disproportionate number of characters who have killed people in the past, endured abuse, etc, and are displaying next to no psychological repercussions as a result. For those of you who haven't seen or read Watchmen, I suggest doing so, and thinking about what effect violence, traumatic situations, etc, have on your character. And from a purely mechanical standpoint, we will be facing enemies later on who are infinitely more deadly than any character in the RP is. I don't care how strong you think your guy is, the antagonists we have in mind will destroy them with ease. You will need diversity of powers, creativity, teamwork, etc to overcome them, not raw force. Thus far, we are severely lacking in those categories. Remember, this RP's going to get pretty dark by the end. There is a good chance that a lot of your characters will die. An RP is like an improv sketch: we have a loose idea of where we're going, but really, what we're trying to do is work together and make something that's enjoyable. You cannot "win" at improv, and neither can you "win" at RP'ing. Right now, a number of you are alarmingly similar to Michael Scott's improv (for those of you who do not watch the Office, he does the same thing in every improv activity: he declares himself an FBI agent, whips out a pistol, and begins shooting people, regardless of the situation).
Discrimination, abuse, and violent pasts can break people psychologically as-is. Throw superpowers into the mix? God bless the psychiatrist who's willing to touch that case.
This diatribe is not directed at any individual, but is rather a word of caution for the group as a whole. If you take it as a personal attack, first off, stop being silly, I just said it's not, and second off, maybe you should wonder why you assumed it was about you. On the other hand, don't assume you are above doing this either-I have been RP'ing for a great many years and I still fall prey to some of these things. I get that nobody wants to have a lame character, but we as a whole need to stop trying to have badass caricatures and focus on more well-rounded characters. Savvy?
First and foremost, the very first rule of this RP.
1. I have ultimate authority. What I say goes. Deal with it, scrublord.
I am all for healthy interaction between GMs and RP'ers-that is a necessity for an RP to function. RP'ers need to have faith that the GM has a good idea for a story and will allow the RP'ers the opportunity to play meaningfully. In turn, the GM's need RP'ers who are willing to play along and will be respectful and follow the rules. Now, I am not suggesting that you never give any feedback, never offer any criticism, but something needs to be made clear: this RP is ultimately being run by Lone. Beneath him are Jazzy and myself, and that's only because he's appointed us there. If this RP was being run by someone else, I would defer to their rules. If I did not like their rules, I would leave.
That being said, I am not suggesting you follow us blindly. If you have questions or concerns, feel free to enumerate them (just as it says in the rules). However, at the same time, remember that it's Lone's call at the end of the day. If he wants to make one of his characters exponentially stronger than the rest of ours, well, we have to deal with that because it's his RP and his rules. If we're that bothered by it, we can leave. If we're not, we have to play along. The point of all this is that if you have a serious disagreement with a GM, you should discuss it politely and respectfully. At the end of the day, if you're still disagreeing, you need to go with what the GM says. It's not a grey area, it's pretty set-in-stone. This applies to Jazzy and myself just as much, albeit we serve as moderators when Lone can't/is being lazy. (Yeah, I can Fight The Man too.)
Now, the second point, and this has been irritating me for quite a while before this, is that a great many of you are trying to win this RP. You need to stop doing that. This RP is not directed towards any one person, it is not made for any one of us to enjoy. It is a colloborative effort. Even the lead character in a play would be useless without every other person to act and make the rest of the play function. In a similar manner, the fictional strength of your made-up character does not determine jack shit. As a result, there is no point in our engaging in a dick measuring contest regarding what our characters can and cannot do. Some of the best written characters I've ever seen were horrible fighters. If everyone continues to try and one-up each other by not-so-subtly mentioning how their characters are surely "among the best at the Academy" or "far more experienced than everyone else" then I'm going to start calling people on it individually and I will likely not be tactful about it. I am asking politely for people to stop doing this, as it will eventually cripple an RP. I have seen it happen many times, particularly in superpower RP's. This is not an individual power fantasy or a forum for you to create your own story. Your subplot should not override the RP, your characters are not the focus. If your characters die, the story will still go on. This is a fact you all need to accept and be prepared to deal with. If my character gets backed into a situation where she cannot plausibly survive, I will let her die, because the integrity of the RP does not yield to me wanting to use my character. I think you all need to take a step back, look at how you've been RP'ing, and focus more on your character's development, personality, and psyche. If you try and engineer your character to be the best, the most badass, the coolest, it will not work. Not to be an asshole, but no one really cares about the badass characters. How many people in your life can kick your ass? Are they somehow better people because of it? If everyone in this RP is focused purely on combat, on being the strongest, on having the most tragic backstory and, subsequently, the most hardened, badass character now, we're going to be screwed later on. We have a disproportionate number of characters who have killed people in the past, endured abuse, etc, and are displaying next to no psychological repercussions as a result. For those of you who haven't seen or read Watchmen, I suggest doing so, and thinking about what effect violence, traumatic situations, etc, have on your character. And from a purely mechanical standpoint, we will be facing enemies later on who are infinitely more deadly than any character in the RP is. I don't care how strong you think your guy is, the antagonists we have in mind will destroy them with ease. You will need diversity of powers, creativity, teamwork, etc to overcome them, not raw force. Thus far, we are severely lacking in those categories. Remember, this RP's going to get pretty dark by the end. There is a good chance that a lot of your characters will die. An RP is like an improv sketch: we have a loose idea of where we're going, but really, what we're trying to do is work together and make something that's enjoyable. You cannot "win" at improv, and neither can you "win" at RP'ing. Right now, a number of you are alarmingly similar to Michael Scott's improv (for those of you who do not watch the Office, he does the same thing in every improv activity: he declares himself an FBI agent, whips out a pistol, and begins shooting people, regardless of the situation).
Discrimination, abuse, and violent pasts can break people psychologically as-is. Throw superpowers into the mix? God bless the psychiatrist who's willing to touch that case.
This diatribe is not directed at any individual, but is rather a word of caution for the group as a whole. If you take it as a personal attack, first off, stop being silly, I just said it's not, and second off, maybe you should wonder why you assumed it was about you. On the other hand, don't assume you are above doing this either-I have been RP'ing for a great many years and I still fall prey to some of these things. I get that nobody wants to have a lame character, but we as a whole need to stop trying to have badass caricatures and focus on more well-rounded characters. Savvy?
That power would need some pretty heavy drawbacks, Vipera
Cordelia Lynn Holmes
If you ever want to truly learn about someone, fight them. The visceral rush of kill-or-be-killed, the routines of adrenaline junkies, reveal quite a bit about one's character. There were the Amandas and Sylvias, charging headlong into battle, the Peters, reacting with cold logic and strategy, and the Nikkis, going fetal and hiding away.
There were also the Cordelia Lynns. As the alarm blared, Cordelia didn't flinch, she merely lazily flicked her eyes up and began to ready herself. It was a strange looking ritual, one of gently shaking her legs and arms. Lynn stretched out her arms casually, flinging them to her back, grasping her hands and rolling out, then back in, cracking her neck to one side then the other. All the while, her features were calm, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. She was getting in the zone, finding her chi, readying to kick some ass. Lynn's style of fighting was a bastardization of the others around her. There was the part of her that had taken more punches and dished out more than most of the kids here, the part that was hungering for battle and longing for a chance to snap Morticia's spine like a toothpick, the part that watched the luminescent Alex, eyes flickering for any would-be attackers. The heat of that part of her, however, had been tempered by a great many street fights, to the point that she threw out no trash talk, gave no furious shouts. She merely ran through her list of possibilities, probabilities, and gathered herself. The lights around her extinguished and Lynn's shadow seemed to fill the absence, growing and stretching. And, one tiny part of her, it curled up and hid away, deep inside herself, to wake back up when the bloodshed was over.
Peter hit the ground a split second after Lynn's shadow, moving at speeds humans could not reliably visualize, lifted her up off the ground. She reacted to this, albeit just barely-there was a look of surprise followed quickly by practiced acceptance-she and her shadow, they worked, fought, bled in tandem. They moved in more-or-less perfect rhythm, and any action that seemed erratic to the other was quickly understood a moment or two later. As the entire arena burned with lightning, Lynn was spared the tingle of electricity, the current washing harmlessly over the shadow's immaterial feet. "Thanks," she murmured, her arms clinging around the shadow's neck princess-style. The shadow nodded its head, perhaps said a word of silent encouragement, and eased her back down. It collapsed to the ground, resuming its post as a normal, two-dimensional shadow.
Eh? Nightlight and the roomie had run off. "Tin Man," Lynn barked. "I'm the battle buddy you mentioned. I'll watch Gabe and Alex." without giving Iron Man a chance to shoot down or approve this, she took off at a steady jog after the two, who were easily tracked with the light they were giving off. All in all, this was a pretty solid strategy. Lynn had pride, but she knew when to bend it. She was cool yielding to Dick Cocks, who apparently had spec ops training or some shit, because he was throwing around a bunch of crazy terms. At first, Lynn had thought pincer formation meant the scorpion guy, but then she realized it was, like, a metaphor. They were all the pincer. Click-click-clack.
Lynn caught up to Alex and Gabe fairly quickly, but not too quickly-rope-a-dope, that was the name of the game. There were a lot of fuckers here who were going to go full throttle and burn out fast. Lynn didn't have the raw physical power to match anyone here (but the guardian angel that trailed behind her, silently watching for danger...?), and although her senses were improved in the shadows, the harsh light Gabe was giving off kept interrupting her abilities. No sense tripping and spraining an ankle on the first day. No sense at all.
Another interesting side effect of Lynn's ability was the somewhat reckless nature in which she was able to move. While Lynn was cautious and controlled, she was simultaneously able to throw everything into her attacks and movements-there was a safety net waiting for her. It was similar to a high ropes course-up to a certain point, your body's still too afraid of heights to successfully tiptoe across the wire. Once your higher processes manage to convince your lower glands that, hey, your ass ain't going anywhere, shimmying across is much easier.
And Lynn's higher processes had a couple years to make their case.
"Easy, it's Lynn," Lynn announced as she moved up behind them. Just common sense to announce your presence as a friendly when running up to two rather dangerous individuals, in the dark. Her voice was low and soft, audible over the lasers but only just. I'll be playing bodyguard for you two." Lynn gave Alex a firm clap on the shoulder and a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Mary Poppins. I gotcha."
If you ever want to truly learn about someone, fight them. The visceral rush of kill-or-be-killed, the routines of adrenaline junkies, reveal quite a bit about one's character. There were the Amandas and Sylvias, charging headlong into battle, the Peters, reacting with cold logic and strategy, and the Nikkis, going fetal and hiding away.
There were also the Cordelia Lynns. As the alarm blared, Cordelia didn't flinch, she merely lazily flicked her eyes up and began to ready herself. It was a strange looking ritual, one of gently shaking her legs and arms. Lynn stretched out her arms casually, flinging them to her back, grasping her hands and rolling out, then back in, cracking her neck to one side then the other. All the while, her features were calm, eyes closed and muscles relaxed. She was getting in the zone, finding her chi, readying to kick some ass. Lynn's style of fighting was a bastardization of the others around her. There was the part of her that had taken more punches and dished out more than most of the kids here, the part that was hungering for battle and longing for a chance to snap Morticia's spine like a toothpick, the part that watched the luminescent Alex, eyes flickering for any would-be attackers. The heat of that part of her, however, had been tempered by a great many street fights, to the point that she threw out no trash talk, gave no furious shouts. She merely ran through her list of possibilities, probabilities, and gathered herself. The lights around her extinguished and Lynn's shadow seemed to fill the absence, growing and stretching. And, one tiny part of her, it curled up and hid away, deep inside herself, to wake back up when the bloodshed was over.
Peter hit the ground a split second after Lynn's shadow, moving at speeds humans could not reliably visualize, lifted her up off the ground. She reacted to this, albeit just barely-there was a look of surprise followed quickly by practiced acceptance-she and her shadow, they worked, fought, bled in tandem. They moved in more-or-less perfect rhythm, and any action that seemed erratic to the other was quickly understood a moment or two later. As the entire arena burned with lightning, Lynn was spared the tingle of electricity, the current washing harmlessly over the shadow's immaterial feet. "Thanks," she murmured, her arms clinging around the shadow's neck princess-style. The shadow nodded its head, perhaps said a word of silent encouragement, and eased her back down. It collapsed to the ground, resuming its post as a normal, two-dimensional shadow.
Eh? Nightlight and the roomie had run off. "Tin Man," Lynn barked. "I'm the battle buddy you mentioned. I'll watch Gabe and Alex." without giving Iron Man a chance to shoot down or approve this, she took off at a steady jog after the two, who were easily tracked with the light they were giving off. All in all, this was a pretty solid strategy. Lynn had pride, but she knew when to bend it. She was cool yielding to Dick Cocks, who apparently had spec ops training or some shit, because he was throwing around a bunch of crazy terms. At first, Lynn had thought pincer formation meant the scorpion guy, but then she realized it was, like, a metaphor. They were all the pincer. Click-click-clack.
Lynn caught up to Alex and Gabe fairly quickly, but not too quickly-rope-a-dope, that was the name of the game. There were a lot of fuckers here who were going to go full throttle and burn out fast. Lynn didn't have the raw physical power to match anyone here (but the guardian angel that trailed behind her, silently watching for danger...?), and although her senses were improved in the shadows, the harsh light Gabe was giving off kept interrupting her abilities. No sense tripping and spraining an ankle on the first day. No sense at all.
Another interesting side effect of Lynn's ability was the somewhat reckless nature in which she was able to move. While Lynn was cautious and controlled, she was simultaneously able to throw everything into her attacks and movements-there was a safety net waiting for her. It was similar to a high ropes course-up to a certain point, your body's still too afraid of heights to successfully tiptoe across the wire. Once your higher processes manage to convince your lower glands that, hey, your ass ain't going anywhere, shimmying across is much easier.
And Lynn's higher processes had a couple years to make their case.
"Easy, it's Lynn," Lynn announced as she moved up behind them. Just common sense to announce your presence as a friendly when running up to two rather dangerous individuals, in the dark. Her voice was low and soft, audible over the lasers but only just. I'll be playing bodyguard for you two." Lynn gave Alex a firm clap on the shoulder and a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Mary Poppins. I gotcha."
No, I meant you had a point, not him. I really gotta be better about using vague pronouns.
i see both sides of it. This RP's leaning more towards vaguely pseudoscientific but at the same time the majority of things are outright supernatural. I think the supernatural nature of things is okay (ex. Lynn's shadow) provided there are concrete/realistic limitations on it. For example, there's no way Gabe's lasers could ever be a real thing, but they still burn her hands/take energy like they would if they were somehow possible. I think Jazzy's concern is just that if powers get to where they're purely supernatural, it becomes that much more difficult to decide where to draw the lines of plausibility.
Or something, I dunno.
i see both sides of it. This RP's leaning more towards vaguely pseudoscientific but at the same time the majority of things are outright supernatural. I think the supernatural nature of things is okay (ex. Lynn's shadow) provided there are concrete/realistic limitations on it. For example, there's no way Gabe's lasers could ever be a real thing, but they still burn her hands/take energy like they would if they were somehow possible. I think Jazzy's concern is just that if powers get to where they're purely supernatural, it becomes that much more difficult to decide where to draw the lines of plausibility.
Or something, I dunno.
Hey! That's semi-autonomous to you, scrub!
No but really he has a point.
No but really he has a point.
SerpentGear said
Uh, He Who Walks Behind, Atticus isn't in his human form right now, he's been in his creature form since his introduction.
My bad, after doing the wrong team's descriptions from Lynn's Point of View, I admittedly rushed through the others. I'll go back in and fix that, haha. One of those days.
Aw, thanks man, I appreciate that.
It truly is more fun to make a character that's the underdog rather than a more powerful one. One of the coolest powers I ever saw somebody use was that their character could talk to inanimate objects. That was it. Their character just thought they had schizophrenia, and it was a really interesting idea. The non-combat side of RPs is usually more fun than the combat side of it. Raw power only takes ya so far.
It truly is more fun to make a character that's the underdog rather than a more powerful one. One of the coolest powers I ever saw somebody use was that their character could talk to inanimate objects. That was it. Their character just thought they had schizophrenia, and it was a really interesting idea. The non-combat side of RPs is usually more fun than the combat side of it. Raw power only takes ya so far.
Cordelia Lynn Holmes
Say what you would about Nightlight, whom Lynn quietly suspected of having either a severe dependency on Valium or Molly, she at least had emotions. Lynn didn't think the Tin Man would show anything if you showed a bottle of WD-40 up his ass and cleared out his rust from the inside-out. Did he even have an asshole? A stomach and stuff? The questions about this place just kept piling up, and Lynn was generally content to let them accumulate. She was never one to really care too much about abstract concepts like metal assholes-the more pragmatic, immediate things in life interested her. And, if this guy was a doctor like he said, that meant he was probably loaded, because doctors are always getting good money and stuff. All she had to do was figure out where these papers were headed, acquire them, and get 'em back to Rust Limbaugh over here? Yeah, that sounded like a pretty easy way to get money to her. And, say, the good Doctor didn't feel like paying, well, she'd be sure to run these papers through a copy machine first and sell them to somebody who did care. Stem cells? Lynn didn't know what the fuck those were, which meant it was probably some advanced, top-level shit. Maybe like CIA projects or something. Who knows.
"No, I definitely catch your drift, Doc," Lynn said, the grin of someone who was about to fuck up their probation stretching across her face. "Tell you what. This place is a little too...witnessy for my liking. I'll find you later and we can hash out the details. Color me interested."
Then...capture the flag. Meh. Lynn nodded her head at Petey and meandered away with Alex, wisely thinking that staying too long around him would draw suspicion. She wasn't looking to build a rapport with this guy, just to take his money and go on her merry way. Lynn was, in that regard, in possession of a remarkable work ethic: provided you paid her and didn't fuck over any of her immediate friends, she got the job done and she got it done without complaining. There's a certain reliability in people like her, albeit a great many types of unreliability as well. Time would tell which type the Academy valued more-Lynn, rather cynically, was banking on the wetworks kind.
Ah, damn. Alex's enthusiasm was contagious. Lynn, even though they were playing capture the flag like a bunch of little bitches, was pretty pumped to on Alex's team too. Strength in numbers and all. Plus Nightlight was chill. "Right on, Mary Poppins. You know, this..." she gestured vaguely at the arena as a whole, "is gay. But, if we're playing a game, we might as well kick some ass. That whole 'we're not judging you on who wins and who loses' thing? Bullshit. Alex, you're putting somebody in the hospital before this game is over." she scanned their team. Oh. Joy. Apparently, the Americans with Disabilities Act got applied to this place too. Well, time to size these fuckers up.
Hmm. Okay, this first fucker. He looked vaguely familiar in an asshole kinda way. Ah, yes. Suits. Well, teamwork be damned, she was getting in a good suckerpunch to Suits' vagina before this was all over. Lynn ruled him off the list of "People Who Can Contribute To The Team", merely by virtue of his being rich enough to afford suits, and presumably, the rich kids payed their manservants to play capture the flag for them when they were kids.
Some blond, bitch-looking kid. Hair...gay. Face...gay. His suit...not gay, but still wimpy looking. Weird looking. Somebody called him Atticus, which was possibly the whitest name Lynn had ever heard given. Thus far, their team consist of Suits and The Little White Boy Who Couldn't. Fuckin' A.
Third...damn. Lynn almost did a cat-call. That little spandex suit was suiting her pretty well. Of course, the guys were flocking to her like moths to slutty flame, and Lynn figured odds were pretty good she had more STDs than a New Orleans gloryhole. Looks like that, acts like that? Wear a rubber, fellas. In order to remember the dangers of unsafe sex posed by this little heartbreaker, Lynn put her down as "Rubber". She, however, beat out Suits and White Boy for the spot of "Possibly Useful", in that they could probably use her to distract some people or whatever that were coming. Lynn wondered vaguely if her power had something to do with her killer body, this chick was fine.
Tin Man. Eh. She'd sized him up early. Probably useful, but so damned slow, and only one arm. Lynn figured they could leave him behind at the base to guard the flag and, presuming he didn't start making love to an electrical outlet or something, he'd probably be pretty useful. Lynn was skilled at micromanaging like that, recognizing her teammates' strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps, in another life, she would've made for a lovely HR rep.
Hmm. Some black girl. Looked like a runner. Not cause she was black (although Lynn wouldn't hesitate to say so if she thought that-Lynn was a great many things, politically correct not being one of them), but because she was all athletic and trim. Lotta scars on her legs though. Like she tried to run a 5k through a meatgrinder. Eh. Probably fast, looked to be in pretty good shape. Seriously, she was one scraped knee from being Oscar Pistorious. Start wearing jeans or something, Jesus.
Demon kid. Tail. He was perched on the roomie's shoulder, next to some prissy looking guy. Well, the three of them were obviously a thing-not like a sexual thing, like a family or whatever. Patches could handle herself, Lynn felt. Lynn had no desire to talk with her, but she had the sort of "don't fuck with me attitude" that Lynn could appreciate-the kind that you earn, no put-on antisocial teenage bullshit. Besides, she could get the other two (although what could the demon kid even do, he was so damn little. Lynn opted for leaving his ass at the base) to work with them, so her primary value lay there. Patches, Braveheart, so many different ways to go with that one. Then...brother, maybe? They had a vague resemblance to each other. She wondered how much inbreeding had to go on before you got metahuman powers.
Then, Mary Poppins. Smart, chill, and Lynn had a feeling she was a hell of a lot tougher than you'd expect. Besides, their partnership took precedence over the team-Lynn was gonna be watching her back and making sure nobody fucked with her. Lynn had lost a lot fights, but not a single one had ended with the other party walking away healthy. She might not have the strength to match some of these guys, but they'd be crying in the nurse's office for damned sure afterwards.
What the fuck? They had Quasimodo on their team. Jesus. One person missing an eye, this bitch who can't walk right, Oscar Pistorius, and of course, Suits, who suffered from a medical condition known as "Having an Ass for a Face". If there was a God, He wanted Lynn to lose this capture the flag game. And she had The Thing from those old movies growing out of her, it looked like. Okay, she and Tin Man were on guard duty, because nobody was getting within arms length of that chick. How did she shower? Or sit down? There was no way she could run fast. God. Lynn had some irrational hatred for this chick's uselessness. She really fucked up the superpower lottery.
Now this dude, this dude they could use. He was tall, built, and getting pretty feelsy with Oscar. Ah, they were an item, okay, that clicked. But she didn't seem to be really that into it...Lynn studied her for a minute. She was no relationship counselor, but Lynn was as savvy as they come when it came to sizing up people's body language. Okay, they needed to blitz the other team with this guy before she dumped his ass. Hm. Hm. Well, if he was dating Oscar, that made him Reeva. Also he was giant motherfucking scorpion, which was pretty metal all things considered. Lynn was pretty sure she'd seen a dude hanging with Oscar beforehand, one who wasn't a scorpion, so maybe he could change or whatever? That was better than the Panda guy. Lynn was pretty sure he was a panda ALL the time, and there was still some freakshow chick boning him. Bleh. Weren't pandas all afraid of fucking anyways? Lynn forced herself to ignore the bedroom dilemmas of an interspecies couple and focus on the more immediate issues, which were the cadre of cosmic rejects she'd been handed as teammates.
Next. Ginger, kinda nerdy looking. Librarian material. Ginny Weasley might be able to Rain Man them a solid strategy or something, but she didn't carry herself with the weight of a fighter. Not like Patches or Reeva, or herself (for all Lynn's shortcomings in terms of height and weight, she undoubtedly had that presence, the cold confidence of a warrior). Hm. Probably not totally useless, especially if she had a cool power-(Lynn thought she overheard something about clothes, but wasn't really listening)-but not top tier. The Weasleys never were. Wait, she was more like Hermione, wasn't she? Shit. Hmm.
Oh dear God. This girl looked like one of those prissy, rich-people dogs that had fur that was like six feet long. Her hair was grey. Who had grey hair? They had the Hunchback of Notre Dame and the octogenarian Fairy Godmother on their team, apparently. If any other nursery rhymes wanted to come join, now was the time. Also, red eyes that you could barely see through those ash-colored bangs. Okay, so she was prematurely grey and demon possessed. Maybe she and the kid with the tail were related or something.
Another scrawny white girl. Maybe we should form a club. Well, she looked like nothing special, wasn't really carrying herself with too much confidence. But, hey, maybe she had some trump card up her sleeve. Aislin was too hippy of a name for Lynn to bother remembering, so she was sticking with "Average White Girl".
Another bitch with bangs. Gah. Well, Lynn could sorta-barely see a scar underneath him, so that at least explained it. Still, didn't like too much. Nothing really remarkable jumped out at her, not like the parasite chick. Eh. Bangs II: Bad Hair Boogaloo.
Well, fuck. They'd lost.
"Alright, Lynn muttered to Alex, "The good news is that the other team is worse than we are, because that's the only reason the admins would give us such a handicap. Here's what I'm thinking: we go talk shop with the two or three people that look like they can do something, then go and try and get the flag. If we get out, fuck it, I really don't care about this game anyways. If we don't, then game over and we can go do some cool stuff or whatever. Two of us'll stick together, though. I'm gonna try and avoid throwing down with anybody on the other team, just because I don't want the school nurse to have to sew somebody's dick back into place on the first day of school. You got any objections, lemme know." Lynn stuck her hands in her pockets, and found nothing there. No pockets anymore. Right. Stupid suit. Feeling ridiculous in the damned spandex, she moved over to where her roommate and her posse was standing.
"'Sup," Lynn muttered, not really bothering with introductions, which were dumb and annoying. "Look-" Lynn paused. Gabby? Gab...Gabe. Gabe. It was Gabe. "Gabe, don't know how vested you are in this, but if we've got to play this bul-" she bit her tongue, remembering Jaska was there. "...this game, we, uh, might as well win." She lowered her voice a bit, not wanting the entire team's egos to be broken by the epiphany of Lynn's opinion of them. "I'm thinking us," she said, indicating herself, Alex, the three of them, "And those two," she nudged her head at Oscar and Reeva, "Are probably are best ones. I say we stick the Iron Giant and Kafka on defending this place, send everybody else up the middle as a distraction, and then we split around the sides. Then, like, bring it back or whatever." Lynn tugged at the neck of her suit, which was annoyingly tight. Everything was annoyingly tight, actually. "I want to get out of this f-" don't say fucking don't say fucking"fffffreaking thing, so if you have any better ideas, I'm down."
Say what you would about Nightlight, whom Lynn quietly suspected of having either a severe dependency on Valium or Molly, she at least had emotions. Lynn didn't think the Tin Man would show anything if you showed a bottle of WD-40 up his ass and cleared out his rust from the inside-out. Did he even have an asshole? A stomach and stuff? The questions about this place just kept piling up, and Lynn was generally content to let them accumulate. She was never one to really care too much about abstract concepts like metal assholes-the more pragmatic, immediate things in life interested her. And, if this guy was a doctor like he said, that meant he was probably loaded, because doctors are always getting good money and stuff. All she had to do was figure out where these papers were headed, acquire them, and get 'em back to Rust Limbaugh over here? Yeah, that sounded like a pretty easy way to get money to her. And, say, the good Doctor didn't feel like paying, well, she'd be sure to run these papers through a copy machine first and sell them to somebody who did care. Stem cells? Lynn didn't know what the fuck those were, which meant it was probably some advanced, top-level shit. Maybe like CIA projects or something. Who knows.
"No, I definitely catch your drift, Doc," Lynn said, the grin of someone who was about to fuck up their probation stretching across her face. "Tell you what. This place is a little too...witnessy for my liking. I'll find you later and we can hash out the details. Color me interested."
Then...capture the flag. Meh. Lynn nodded her head at Petey and meandered away with Alex, wisely thinking that staying too long around him would draw suspicion. She wasn't looking to build a rapport with this guy, just to take his money and go on her merry way. Lynn was, in that regard, in possession of a remarkable work ethic: provided you paid her and didn't fuck over any of her immediate friends, she got the job done and she got it done without complaining. There's a certain reliability in people like her, albeit a great many types of unreliability as well. Time would tell which type the Academy valued more-Lynn, rather cynically, was banking on the wetworks kind.
Ah, damn. Alex's enthusiasm was contagious. Lynn, even though they were playing capture the flag like a bunch of little bitches, was pretty pumped to on Alex's team too. Strength in numbers and all. Plus Nightlight was chill. "Right on, Mary Poppins. You know, this..." she gestured vaguely at the arena as a whole, "is gay. But, if we're playing a game, we might as well kick some ass. That whole 'we're not judging you on who wins and who loses' thing? Bullshit. Alex, you're putting somebody in the hospital before this game is over." she scanned their team. Oh. Joy. Apparently, the Americans with Disabilities Act got applied to this place too. Well, time to size these fuckers up.
Hmm. Okay, this first fucker. He looked vaguely familiar in an asshole kinda way. Ah, yes. Suits. Well, teamwork be damned, she was getting in a good suckerpunch to Suits' vagina before this was all over. Lynn ruled him off the list of "People Who Can Contribute To The Team", merely by virtue of his being rich enough to afford suits, and presumably, the rich kids payed their manservants to play capture the flag for them when they were kids.
Some blond, bitch-looking kid. Hair...gay. Face...gay. His suit...not gay, but still wimpy looking. Weird looking. Somebody called him Atticus, which was possibly the whitest name Lynn had ever heard given. Thus far, their team consist of Suits and The Little White Boy Who Couldn't. Fuckin' A.
Third...damn. Lynn almost did a cat-call. That little spandex suit was suiting her pretty well. Of course, the guys were flocking to her like moths to slutty flame, and Lynn figured odds were pretty good she had more STDs than a New Orleans gloryhole. Looks like that, acts like that? Wear a rubber, fellas. In order to remember the dangers of unsafe sex posed by this little heartbreaker, Lynn put her down as "Rubber". She, however, beat out Suits and White Boy for the spot of "Possibly Useful", in that they could probably use her to distract some people or whatever that were coming. Lynn wondered vaguely if her power had something to do with her killer body, this chick was fine.
Tin Man. Eh. She'd sized him up early. Probably useful, but so damned slow, and only one arm. Lynn figured they could leave him behind at the base to guard the flag and, presuming he didn't start making love to an electrical outlet or something, he'd probably be pretty useful. Lynn was skilled at micromanaging like that, recognizing her teammates' strengths and weaknesses. Perhaps, in another life, she would've made for a lovely HR rep.
Hmm. Some black girl. Looked like a runner. Not cause she was black (although Lynn wouldn't hesitate to say so if she thought that-Lynn was a great many things, politically correct not being one of them), but because she was all athletic and trim. Lotta scars on her legs though. Like she tried to run a 5k through a meatgrinder. Eh. Probably fast, looked to be in pretty good shape. Seriously, she was one scraped knee from being Oscar Pistorious. Start wearing jeans or something, Jesus.
Demon kid. Tail. He was perched on the roomie's shoulder, next to some prissy looking guy. Well, the three of them were obviously a thing-not like a sexual thing, like a family or whatever. Patches could handle herself, Lynn felt. Lynn had no desire to talk with her, but she had the sort of "don't fuck with me attitude" that Lynn could appreciate-the kind that you earn, no put-on antisocial teenage bullshit. Besides, she could get the other two (although what could the demon kid even do, he was so damn little. Lynn opted for leaving his ass at the base) to work with them, so her primary value lay there. Patches, Braveheart, so many different ways to go with that one. Then...brother, maybe? They had a vague resemblance to each other. She wondered how much inbreeding had to go on before you got metahuman powers.
Then, Mary Poppins. Smart, chill, and Lynn had a feeling she was a hell of a lot tougher than you'd expect. Besides, their partnership took precedence over the team-Lynn was gonna be watching her back and making sure nobody fucked with her. Lynn had lost a lot fights, but not a single one had ended with the other party walking away healthy. She might not have the strength to match some of these guys, but they'd be crying in the nurse's office for damned sure afterwards.
What the fuck? They had Quasimodo on their team. Jesus. One person missing an eye, this bitch who can't walk right, Oscar Pistorius, and of course, Suits, who suffered from a medical condition known as "Having an Ass for a Face". If there was a God, He wanted Lynn to lose this capture the flag game. And she had The Thing from those old movies growing out of her, it looked like. Okay, she and Tin Man were on guard duty, because nobody was getting within arms length of that chick. How did she shower? Or sit down? There was no way she could run fast. God. Lynn had some irrational hatred for this chick's uselessness. She really fucked up the superpower lottery.
Now this dude, this dude they could use. He was tall, built, and getting pretty feelsy with Oscar. Ah, they were an item, okay, that clicked. But she didn't seem to be really that into it...Lynn studied her for a minute. She was no relationship counselor, but Lynn was as savvy as they come when it came to sizing up people's body language. Okay, they needed to blitz the other team with this guy before she dumped his ass. Hm. Hm. Well, if he was dating Oscar, that made him Reeva. Also he was giant motherfucking scorpion, which was pretty metal all things considered. Lynn was pretty sure she'd seen a dude hanging with Oscar beforehand, one who wasn't a scorpion, so maybe he could change or whatever? That was better than the Panda guy. Lynn was pretty sure he was a panda ALL the time, and there was still some freakshow chick boning him. Bleh. Weren't pandas all afraid of fucking anyways? Lynn forced herself to ignore the bedroom dilemmas of an interspecies couple and focus on the more immediate issues, which were the cadre of cosmic rejects she'd been handed as teammates.
Next. Ginger, kinda nerdy looking. Librarian material. Ginny Weasley might be able to Rain Man them a solid strategy or something, but she didn't carry herself with the weight of a fighter. Not like Patches or Reeva, or herself (for all Lynn's shortcomings in terms of height and weight, she undoubtedly had that presence, the cold confidence of a warrior). Hm. Probably not totally useless, especially if she had a cool power-(Lynn thought she overheard something about clothes, but wasn't really listening)-but not top tier. The Weasleys never were. Wait, she was more like Hermione, wasn't she? Shit. Hmm.
Oh dear God. This girl looked like one of those prissy, rich-people dogs that had fur that was like six feet long. Her hair was grey. Who had grey hair? They had the Hunchback of Notre Dame and the octogenarian Fairy Godmother on their team, apparently. If any other nursery rhymes wanted to come join, now was the time. Also, red eyes that you could barely see through those ash-colored bangs. Okay, so she was prematurely grey and demon possessed. Maybe she and the kid with the tail were related or something.
Another scrawny white girl. Maybe we should form a club. Well, she looked like nothing special, wasn't really carrying herself with too much confidence. But, hey, maybe she had some trump card up her sleeve. Aislin was too hippy of a name for Lynn to bother remembering, so she was sticking with "Average White Girl".
Another bitch with bangs. Gah. Well, Lynn could sorta-barely see a scar underneath him, so that at least explained it. Still, didn't like too much. Nothing really remarkable jumped out at her, not like the parasite chick. Eh. Bangs II: Bad Hair Boogaloo.
Well, fuck. They'd lost.
"Alright, Lynn muttered to Alex, "The good news is that the other team is worse than we are, because that's the only reason the admins would give us such a handicap. Here's what I'm thinking: we go talk shop with the two or three people that look like they can do something, then go and try and get the flag. If we get out, fuck it, I really don't care about this game anyways. If we don't, then game over and we can go do some cool stuff or whatever. Two of us'll stick together, though. I'm gonna try and avoid throwing down with anybody on the other team, just because I don't want the school nurse to have to sew somebody's dick back into place on the first day of school. You got any objections, lemme know." Lynn stuck her hands in her pockets, and found nothing there. No pockets anymore. Right. Stupid suit. Feeling ridiculous in the damned spandex, she moved over to where her roommate and her posse was standing.
"'Sup," Lynn muttered, not really bothering with introductions, which were dumb and annoying. "Look-" Lynn paused. Gabby? Gab...Gabe. Gabe. It was Gabe. "Gabe, don't know how vested you are in this, but if we've got to play this bul-" she bit her tongue, remembering Jaska was there. "...this game, we, uh, might as well win." She lowered her voice a bit, not wanting the entire team's egos to be broken by the epiphany of Lynn's opinion of them. "I'm thinking us," she said, indicating herself, Alex, the three of them, "And those two," she nudged her head at Oscar and Reeva, "Are probably are best ones. I say we stick the Iron Giant and Kafka on defending this place, send everybody else up the middle as a distraction, and then we split around the sides. Then, like, bring it back or whatever." Lynn tugged at the neck of her suit, which was annoyingly tight. Everything was annoyingly tight, actually. "I want to get out of this f-" don't say fucking don't say fucking"fffffreaking thing, so if you have any better ideas, I'm down."
That was how we had it originally, but given the number of characters we had that were just way too strong we resorted to this. And I have to be honest with you, if you're entering this RP trying to see whose character is stronger through duking it out, I really don't think your sheet's going to do so well, because most of the characters geared towards being "the best" got shot down and needed extensive rewrites. This is an RP, not a competition. Your character can't be "better" than anyone else's.
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