Mao Mao

Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

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TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES

_{NEW YORK CITY}

TURTLE LAIR

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After the brief, somewhat casual meditation, Mikey and Leo arrived in the living room to find their brothers on the tattered couch, with the first-aid kit laid out on the coffee table. Donnie was just finishing bandaging Raph's other hand while talking his ear off about ways to reduce the swelling. Mikey had anticipated a straightforward check-up, one in which his brother's hands would be swiftly examined and wrapped up before he could get Leo for the party. But it became apparent that the injury was more serious than he had assumed. And Leo, ever the overbearing turtle, was already eager to demand answers before Mikey could say something.
 
"What happened to your hands?!" he barked, voice tinged with frustration more so than concern.

Raph gazed at his hands, resting idly on a throw pillow, and shrugged. "I had them wrapped."

"Yeah, no duh, Raph," Leo pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh, "but why?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Raph retorted, meeting Leo's gaze directly as he spoke. At that moment, Mikey sensed the familiar tension brewing between his brothers, a prelude to yet another impending petty argument. It was a weekly spectacle that had become nothing more than a nuisance, played out almost the same tiresome way every time. One would get irritated by the other, usually over training routines or after sparring, before insults are hurled back and forth for quite a bit. And then, it would inevitably fizzle out, and both of them retreated to their rooms to cool off. That was what should've occurred. Instead, Leo inhaled deeply and shifted his attention over to Donnie, determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Donnie," Leo began, casting a glare at him, "what happened?"

Mikey immediately recognized his brother's go-to tactic: intimidate to interrogate. Leo loved to play this card whenever he suspected his brothers were hiding something from him—or worse, from Sensei. And while it wasn't necessarily a horrible approach, the execution was, as always, painfully cringe. Raph burst into uncontrollable laughter the first time Leo tried to use it, and since then, outright dismissed any subsequent attempts. As for Mikey, the turtle simply charmed himself way out of trouble and slipped back into his brother's good graces. But when it came to Donnie, his sensitive nature made him easily susceptible to Leo's intense scrutiny.

Mikey knew it was time to step in.

"Leo, bro, ease up—at least until after the party," Mikey chimed in, his voice playful to lighten the mood. "The food's gonna get cold."

Leo's glare softened as if he were weighing the request. Usually, it would've been more difficult to make him change his mind on something he's dead set on doing. But then, after a moment, he sighed and stepped back from his brothers. Leo folded on the spot. "Sorry," he said somberly, directed more so toward Donnie than Raph. Mikey instinctively wanted to ease his brother's concerns

"If it helps, he didn't break his hands—the knuckles are bruised. He just has to apply ice every few hours and keep them elevated for a few days." That was his version of reassurance.

"And I'm sure Senesi won't let me sit on the sidelines. He'll probably make me meditate or read up on Bubishi again," Raph rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. And that was going to be the best he was willing to provide.

Mikey wasn't going to complain though.

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Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

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T E E N A G E M U T A N T N I N J A T U R T L E S
T E E N A G E M U T A N T N I N J A T U R T L E S

^{"Witty Quote #1"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ | Raphael Hamato | Donatello Hamato | | Leonardo Hamato | Michelangelo Hamato | _________________________________________________________ | 16 | Mutated Turtles | S U P P O R T I N G C A S T S U P P O R T I N G C A S T _________________________________________________________ [+] A L L I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Master Splinter ◼ April O'Neil ◼ Casey Jones ◼ Keno Andrada A N T A G O N I S T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Techno Cosmic Research Institute ◼ Baxter Stockman ◼ New York Police Department ◼ Commissioner Nalini Karnik ◼ Purple Dragons ◼ Hun ◼ Angel ◼ Foot Clan ◼ The Shredder ◼ Karai ◼ Old Hob ◼ Agent Bishop - P O S T C A T A L O G U E P O S T C A T A L O G U E _________________________________________________________ XX - Post Name -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ___________________________________________________________________________________ Heavily inspired by Mirage's City at War arc, their cancelled Gang Wars arc, IDW's early run, and Mutant Mayhem, I want to focus on the street level aspect more so than the sci-fi elements (not that means it's discarded). And, incorporating Silverstein's concept of NYC as a den of organized criminality and corruption, I want both the Purple Dragons and the Foot Clan to be part of the problem. Of course, the solution involves a couple of turtles who were taught ninjutsu by their master/father. As far as backstory, it remains largely the same as every interpretation: Hamato Yoshi gets exposed to a canister of "ooze" and mutates into a humanoid rat. Four turtles are also exposed, and he takes them in under his watch, calling himself Master Splinter. And in a world that would soon treat them as monsters, they are forced to take refuge in the sewer system of the city. Fifteen years later, the turtles still long to live among humans their age despite Splinter's rhetoric. While on the surface, inspiring investigative reporter April O'Neil has secured an internship at the Daily Bugle under the guidance of Pulitzer Prize winner Robbie Robertson. Casey Jones, a star hockey player at his high school, dons his goalie mask to protect his neighborhood from the encroaching Purple Dragons as a vigilante. And Keno Andrada struggles to balance maintaining good grades with working at a pizzeria as the world around him rapidly deteriorates. And that's the gist. I would like to introduce Agent Bishop if I manage to complete my initial arc and slowly bring in the sci-fi element known in the TMNTverse. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) __________________________________________________________________________________ I like turtles. As stated before, the starting arc will lean towards street level with a slice of life element as the turtles venture into the surface, do vigilante stuff on the side, and eat pizza on random rooftops after an eventful night. There will be hints of the sci-fi aspect, but it won't be the main focus of this arc. And I will also write about the human characters who will eventually meet the turtles, either by complete accident. I would like to get in touch with Silverstein to see how the Foot and Purple Dragons would fit into the overall situation in New York City. But besides that, I envision that the gang has a heavy presence in the East Village and Lower East Side. While the clan would already be known in the underworld as feared and ruthless assassins across East Asia long before they established a foothold in the United States. It would also be interesting to see what the relationship dynamics would be like with The Hand. Collabs would be limited to characters that reside in NYC, given it won't make too much sense for the turtles to go on a cross-country trip, and I'm a busser for a pizzeria, funny enough. Still, I won't mind them meeting up with the daredevils or any spiders that are roaming around the city.

_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

^{"COWABUNGA!"___}

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

I wonder how you'd feel about a plain old TMNT sheet?

Star Wars - Banshee Down

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__________________________________ CIARAN JUBERT CIARAN JUBERT __________________________________ ◂◂ II ▸▸

Ciaran sped through the jungle in his speeder, navigating around ancient trees and mossy rocks with ease. There wasn't time to admire the scenery or appreciate the breeze. Hell, he couldn't even take a moment to process the fact that he had been crying for a solid minute. Today started out bad, to say the least. Months of planning and prepping for an on-the-ground revolution unraveled in a matter of seconds by their oppressors. They managed to successfully pull off the perfect ambush on the insurgency and, in large part, on the Rebel Alliance. Now, the only feasible option left on the table was to adapt. Ciaran knew that meant retreating deep into the sacred rainforest to figure out what the hell happened out there and account for the losses. There wasn't just one singular rendezvous but a couple scattered throughout. Each one was near the jungle because it could be assembled and dismantled relatively quickly. All except for one. Located on the coast, it was intended more to alert the other sites of incoming Imperial patrols than to serve as another rendezvous point for the agent. So it lacked the manpower and supplies to properly protect them. That would have been fine under normal circumstances. But the circumstance now wasn't normal in the slightest. Ciaran figured the crash site had to be near the rendezvous, even though the starfighter itself likely sank to the bottom of the ocean. His hunch proved correct when he heard blaster fire in the distance. The scene that unfolded could only be described as a nightmare. AT-STs stood there in the water unopposed, firing on anyone who dared to make a move. The stormtroopers made certain the insurgents remained in cover, their blaster rifles suppressing them as they began to encircle the position. Ciaran was watching through the rifle scope, his speeder stashed nearby for a quick escape. It was devastating. His comrades weren't fighting to live but to be defiant bastards till the bitter end. Their little sacrifice. But Ciaran had to close his heart to their suffering and focus on finding the rebel pilot, if they were still alive. And then, he saw him: a lasat drenched and frightened, using a crate as cover from the blaster fire. That had to be the agent, Ciaran was sure of it. Now, he had to figure out a way to get the lasat out of there alive. Ciaran knew he lacked the firepower to take out walkers or the manpower to fight off an entire squad. But he was looking at a group of people who could pull something off. First, he needed to get in touch with one of them. Ciaran pulled out his comlink and spoke into it, hoping the signal wasn't jammed or intercepted by an ISB agent. "Site 7, this is Bishop making contact close by, do you read me?"

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Star Wars - Banshee Down

Quick question: Is the rendezvous point currently under attack the same one Ciaran was at or a different one?

Star Wars - Banshee Down

I might rewrite the ending because I don't like it that much. But it does the job and lets me keep my word for once.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

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__________________________________ CIARAN JUBERT CIARAN JUBERT __________________________________ ◂◂ II ▸▸

"Liberty requires sacrifice," allegedly the final words Governor Rona Larkers said to Separatist loyalists before leading them in a doomed mutiny against the newly established Galactic Empire. The very few survivors who managed to evade arrest turned it into a proverb to immortalize those who had died alongside their governor in the struggle for freedom. Soon after, it became associated with a re-emerged Insurgency and pro-Separatist sentiment, leading to it being deemed anti-Imperial speech by Governor Rax Tsundre. Since then, the saying had evolved to remind those who recently joined what they were expected to do for a Tregallon freed of the Imperial occupation, should the situation ever arise. It wasn't that simple, though. When Ciaran Jubert first heard the proverb, he thought it was a straightforward concept: be ready to die for liberty. But when he was informed that command had an actual plan of attack in the works, something within forced him to recontextualize it. Death didn't scare him as much as it should have, nor was he hesitant about killing someone. Just a possibility that you have to contend somewhat on your own, with no room for questions. An unspoken reality of a military family. Ciaran never doubted it; in fact, he felt honored to uphold the long-standing tradition as his siblings and parents did. At least until he saw firsthand how cruelty was rewarded in the academy, how the teachers and the comandante vigorously promoted it onto the cadets as the most effective means of maintaining peace in the galaxy. Ciaran flat-out rejected the notion, viewing it as unnecessary violence imposed on civilians whose unalienable rights were being trampled on. But he was the outlier, a dissident of Imperial norms, a terrorist who needed to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. All because he didn't relish in state-sanctioned sadism. His family, however, did and were more than ready to kill for it. Each and every one of them. Their minds couldn't be changed in the slightest because they were brutal enforcers of the Empire. Ciaran's parents held high-ranking positions in the military: his mother commanded her own Star Destroyer, and his father served as Chief Superintendent of IIO. His siblings rose through the ranks as pilots, officers, and even ISB agents. All complicit in the Empire's atrocities, making them valid targets for the rebels. It was a bitter pill for Ciaran to swallow, let alone acknowledge wholeheartedly. Even though he knew his family wouldn't be as reluctant to kill him themselves. But he swallowed hard and prepared for a deadly battle, knowing full well his sacrifice would mean being the last of his bloodline on a free Tregallon. A small comfort. Only the battle never came to fruition because... ...he and every rebel on the planet fell for the perfect trap. Ciaran and the squad of rebels at the rendezvous point didn't even realize until it was too late. All of them witnessed the chaos that unfolded above, powerless to stop the slaughter from the city garrison of all things. They should have been scrambling around. But no, instead, the response force was coordinated, precise, and thorough—abnormal conduct for an undersized force stationed on such an obscure planet. Hell, they managed to get their hands on TIE fighters with seemingly proficient pilots to boot. Ciaran thought it over when he saw the X-wing crash into the sea, the battle lost before it began. But three TIE fighters broke off from formation and began heading towards the rendezvous point. Only then did he recognize the trap, too little too late. Ciaran didn't want to believe it, refused to at first until he heard that damn engine roar. His comrades were in panic mode; some took cover behind crates, others behind nearby thick jungle trees. Ciaran, paralyzed with fear, remained out in the open. He had seen enough scorch marks to know no amount of cover could withstand the plasma bolts of a TIE fighter, let alone three of them. And yet they didn't open fire; instead, they flew past and left. He should've died right on the spot alongside the rebels, but they were spared. Why? The Empire rarely went against its own rules of engagement, unless there was a slight possibility that the "offenders" had any sort of knowledge of the Rebellion. In that case, and only then, would they apprehend and send the rebels over to ISB for... questioning... "We've been compromised," Ciaran mumbled to himself, thinking no one heard it. But everybody at the rendezvous did, and was now staring at him, ready to question what he was referring to. Anaoc, the squad leader, spoke up: "What did you say?" "Those pilots should've opened fire on us, but didn't. Don't you find that a bit weird?" Ciaran answered, with a little hesitation in his voice, out of concern that he'd be overstepping. He was, after all, a mere rebel and doctor. But he had to explain what he meant, forced to think like an officer of the Empire. "Well, it's because they want us alive." "For what?" "So we could be captured and interrogated," Ciaran responded. And that got a reaction out of everyone. Some of the rebels on site who were already antsy for the flyover earlier were now more than ready to retreat into the jungle. The majority, however, were skeptical or dismissive of his assertion. Not that he blamed them, given the situation they had found themselves in. "How long till they show up?" Anaoc questioned, almost like he had been taking it into consideration. "Ten minutes at best." Ciaran knew that he, like pretty much everyone in the Insurgency, deeply disliked him for what his family had done to Tregallon. But even then, first and foremost, he was someone whose insight couldn't easily be set aside and avoided. Not now, not when it came to the Empire. And he had a feeling that Anaoc grudgingly acknowledged it, because he just sighed, then got everyone's attention with a loud whistle. "Alright, everyone, you heard him. We need to leave. Take what we can carry and leave the rest behind. Veig, see if you can booby-trap the larger crates for our guest. Muriel, head back to base and tell command everything that transpired. Everyone else, let's get a move on." The group began gathering essential equipment around the rendezvous point as best they could. Ciaran was about to help out with the effort when he realized the pilot in the X-Wing carried the intel. Given that their starfighter was very much intact despite taking a beating, it likely survived the crash. Still, it contained whatever was important enough for the Empire to reinforce the planet's garrison. He was sure its pilot was dead, so someone else had to secure it before the Empire did. Ciaran found him volunteering for the retrieval mission and started making his way to his speeder stashed nearby. But Anaoc stepped in front of him and asked, "Where the hell are you going?" "Someone has to retrieve the intel. I volunteer to go." Ciaran answered simply. Anaoc shook his head. "No, we need all hands for the shitstorm that's coming to our doorstep." "I have my speeder, and I know the fastest route to the crash site." Ciaran continued speaking quickly so as not to be interrupted by his commander. "We have our orders: grab whatever the agent managed to secure and take it off-world. They might be dead, but the intel on the other hand... Well, we need it. Now, I'm not asking for much, just a simple one-man snatch and grab. And I would love to argue with you further on the matter, but we don't have time before the Empire secures the crash site and the intel. So let me through, please." Anaoc looked conflicted for a second before stepping over to the side. "Fine, go then. You'll have to explain yourself to command your absence, though." "Thank you," Ciaran said and ran towards his speeder.

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Star Wars - Banshee Down

<Snipped quote by Half Pint>

I'll get a bit more up about what's going on at the 'landing' site over the weekend likely.

@Colonel Sep

I have something to say about that in my intro. I have messaged you about it to make sure it's cool before posting.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

I'm hoping to get my intro post done before the Imp-post goes up. But I need some sleep.

Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

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__________________________________ CIARAN JUBERT CIARAN JUBERT __________________________________ ◂◂ II ▸▸

Ciaran sped through the jungle in his speeder, navigating around ancient trees and mossy rocks with ease. There wasn't time to admire the scenery or appreciate the breeze. Hell, he couldn't even take a moment to process the fact that he had been crying for a solid minute. Today started out bad, to say the least. Months of planning and prepping for an on-the-ground revolution unraveled in a matter of seconds by their oppressors. They managed to successfully pull off the perfect ambush on the insurgency and, in large part, on the Rebel Alliance. Now, the only feasible option left on the table was to adapt. Ciaran knew that meant retreating deep into the sacred rainforest to figure out what the hell happened out there and account for the losses. There wasn't just one singular rendezvous but a couple scattered throughout. Each one was near the jungle because it could be assembled and dismantled relatively quickly. All except for one. Located on the coast, it was intended more to alert the other sites of incoming Imperial patrols than to serve as another rendezvous point for the agent. So it lacked the manpower and supplies to properly protect them. That would have been fine under normal circumstances. But the circumstance now wasn't normal in the slightest. Ciaran figured the crash site had to be near the rendezvous, even though the starfighter itself likely sank to the bottom of the ocean. His hunch proved correct when he heard blaster fire in the distance. The scene that unfolded could only be described as a nightmare. AT-STs stood there in the water unopposed, firing on anyone who dared to make a move. The stormtroopers made certain the insurgents remained in cover, their blaster rifles suppressing them as they began to encircle the position. Ciaran was watching through the rifle scope, his speeder stashed nearby for a quick escape. It was devastating. His comrades weren't fighting to live but to be defiant bastards till the bitter end. Their little sacrifice. But Ciaran had to close his heart to their suffering and focus on finding the rebel pilot, if they were still alive. And then, he saw him: a lasat drenched and frightened, using a crate as cover from the blaster fire. That had to be the agent, Ciaran was sure of it. Now, he had to figure out a way to get the lasat out of there alive. Ciaran knew he lacked the firepower to take out walkers or the manpower to fight off an entire squad. But he was looking at a group of people who could pull something off. First, he needed to get in touch with one of them. Ciaran pulled out his comlink and spoke into it, hoping the signal wasn't jammed or intercepted by an ISB agent. "Site 7, this is Bishop making contact close by, do you read me?"

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