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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
T H E H U L K

B R U C E B A N N E R N U C L E A R P H Y S I C I S T N A V A P O I N D E P E N D E N T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


"No one likes me when I’m angry, not even me."

Generally speaking, Bruce Banner will simply be my take on the familiar character, with some changes to enable more potential of being someone heroic. But the Hulk actually becoming a hero won’t be an easy journey. At the start, Bruce has yet to even truly realize the fallout of the experiment that has irreparably changed him. He’s still living comfortably with his college job, a girlfriend, and her dad who hates him, but as his anger comes to bubble at the surface, it’s only a matter of time before everything crumbles around him. And it will, beginning a life of being on the run for a man who just wants to be better.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

It’s easy to see the appeal in wanting to explore anger, such a core human emotion. Through Bruce I intend to play a character who’s burning want to act had been held back by his own insecurities and fears, but now has an outlet for his repression, one that will come at a great cost until the day finally comes where he can control himself. I plan to write him as an empathetic person, tending to put himself in the shoes of literally anyone else, and in turn connecting to them, extreme cases forcing him to embrace his desires and turn into a guardian demon, blowing up out of uncontrollable emotions for the sake of another. He won’t be doing wholly good until he manages to control himself, but his actions may not be wholly bad either. Through that righteous rage he may one day be a hero, but good intent doesn’t necessarily lead to good results. Even if his journey to being a force of good turns out to be shorter than I might expect at present, he’ll still be a character who can all too easily hurt that which he doesn’t want to hurt, and demons from his past (his father in particular) will always be there.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

Notable Characters in Bruce’s Story:
Betty Ross – Childhood friend and current girlfriend of Bruce.
General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross (to possibly become The Red Hulk) – Protective father of Betty and member of the US Air Force.
Brian Banner (to become The Purple Man) – Bruce’s estranged father, not set to reenter his life until the world knows of his identity as The Hulk.
Rick Jones – Lab partner and work friend of Bruce’s.
Major Glenn Talbot – Air force member and acquaintance of Bruce’s.

Other Potential Rogues:
The Abomination (Emil Blonsky)
Flux (Benjamin Tibbets)
Leader (Samuel Sterns)

S A M P L E P O S T:

Pen bouncing against his forehead, Bruce’s hazel eyes snapped open, body jerking in his seat as he looked for the source of the offending projectile, mind on alert. Rick chortled, “I’d wonder if the accident just made you sleepier, but then I remembered you’ve always been like that.”

“Hrmn,” Bruce grunted, hand scratching at his brown stubble and adjusting his his askew glasses. Turning his chair back to the computer screen, half finished data entry still glowing at him, Bruce withdrew into his seat, head lolling over the back of his chair, the man groaning, “If this town didn’t have so many dogs barking at all hours...”

The edge of Rick’s lip twitched, “It’s not Betty keeping you up? Or, I guess it’d be mutual.”

Hunching back over his keyboard, hands going to work, Bruce admitted, “We might as well sleep in different beds. I get home late and she gets up early.”

“I was talking abou-”

I know. Exactly what you are talking about.” Rick gave a knowing chortle as he turned back to his business. Bruce looked at the clock to see he was still stuck for a few more hours, but Rick said, “You wanna leave early? I can finish up for you.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, not knowing Rick to be so charitable with his free time. “Really?” Rick glanced around at the nearly empty computer lab at the base. “I don’t have much else to do. Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Heart soothed with eternal gratitude, Bruce logged himself off, gladly taking off into the evening air of Los Diablos Air Force Base. The setting sun started to bring in the chill of the desert night, but it wasn’t a long walk to the parking lots from the lab. Slipping into his dingy pickup, Bruce let out a sigh of relief. Head leaning back, he turned to see the lab again, one hand grasping at his chest, the spot where he was struck with the beam of radiation that should have killed him. It was his own fault, since he took no heed to the security policies he’d had to explain himself, but mostly he was glad that aside from the hospital bills and the worry, it really hadn’t caused much trouble.

The Navapo streetlights were dim and dirty as Bruce mumbled his way through the light drone of the town in twilight the windshield of his car was framed in dust, only the footprints of his windshield wipers having only just left space enough to see. Turning through a light, a sudden motion made him jump, slamming on the breaks. His pickup jerked to a stop, Bruce looking out his slightly open window to see a mangy mutt skirting off, clearly panicked. Yelping noises echoing in his brain, Bruce flinched, suddenly crushed with a wave of remembrance, the memories hardly nostalgic, going back to shortly before the accident. Cringing, the pace of his vehicle slowed, suddenly a bit less eager to get home, but a sluggish pace did not steer him away from his course, and he drove in his apartment complex no less guilty. Mind still racing, replaying dogged memories he couldn’t seem to shake the more he thought about them, he stumbled to his door wishing he could think of just about anything else. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the door and slipped in, not even turning on the light as he peeked in, spotting the light of the television blinking about the living area, a shape unmoving under a blanket on the couch. Door closing with but a faint hush, lock clicking closed, Bruce kept his step light as he moved in deeper.

“I’m not sleeping you know.”

“Oh jesus!” Bruce gasped out at the noise, hand jumping to clutch his chest, the man stepping back from shock. Catching a breath, he cracked a smile, as did Betty, his overreaction quickly becoming a source of amusement. Finding it in him to laugh at his foolishness, he joined Betty on the couch, taking a seat. “You’re home early.”

“Rick took over,” Bruce explained. Glancing at the TV, ads for some drug with about a million horrible possible side effects playing, Bruce’s mood shifted back to before the door opened, shoulders slumping. Betty took notice, shifting out of her light blanket a bit, mid length dark hair rolling back over the shoulder of her white t-shirt. Not even giving her the chance to inquire, Bruce admitted, “I almost hit a dog. On the way back.”

Slumping back, Betty groaned, “It’s Navapo, I’m surprised they aren’t barking up a storm right now.” With her leaving the subject on the ground, Bruce noticed he’d been fiddling with his fingers. So did Betty. “What?” The woman sat up, torso poking out of her blanket as she put the TV out of her sight. Bruce couldn’t help but swallow, heart starting to pick up pace even from just her appearance in the scattered TV light. “A little while ago, before the accident...with the dog...” Bruce murmured. Betty closed her eyes in understanding, moving to the remote and lowering the TV’s volume, quickly saying, “I’m sorry.”

Bruce stopped, blinking as he glanced at her out of the side of his eyes. Even in the low light he could see her slump. “I...you were trying to protect me.”

Bruce flinched, “But I didn’t...I don’t get angry like that. That’s not me.” Grasping and putting pressure on one finger, he heard that yelp of pain echo in his head again and cringed at himself. It hadn’t even been a particularly big dog that went for them, went for Betty, but Bruce put all his strength into that kick, and then had to watch in shame as it trudged away in pain. Betty admitted, “I got mad at you because I didn’t realize what had happened.”

Bruce sighed, “But I didn’t have to do it.” Betty watched him as he kept his head down, reasoning, “I could have just...yelled or something. Spooked it a little.” Betty was quiet, slowly reaching out a hand, resting it on his knee. Bruce felt his body tense, and his hands stopped fidgeting, but he did not push her away. He never would. Betty said, “Well, what happened, happened. Maybe if there’s a next time...”

Bruce winced. “I don’t want there to be a next time. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Betty gave him a look. “I’m tougher than that.” Bruce knew. Taking her hand off his knee, Betty kept quiet as Bruce let out a breath of relief. Separating his hands, he took a breath before making a request. “I’ll do what I can but...if you feel like something’s wrong, could you...”

“...try and stop me?”

Betty tilted her head, hair falling over her face as she smiled knowingly. Grateful for everything, knowing he didn’t deserve a thing, he couldn’t quite look at her, though a smile found its way to his face. Looking up to the TV screen, actors moving about in intense silence, it became blurred as Bruce choked back tears. Standing up, he swallowed, managing to say with just enough of a casual tone, “I’m getting a shower.”

Please,” Betty remarked, taking up her relaxed spot on the couch again and reaching for the remote. Bruce felt the edges of his lips twitch as he moved out, amazed at her ability to flip between the sincere and the sarcastic. Amazed at her everything.

If anything happened to her, Bruce didn’t know what he would do.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

To come.
New York, United States, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:20PM GMT, 4:20PM EST

The later part of the day left the dockyard sluggish and quiet, the morning fuel burned in the crew that went about organizing its load for the next batch of ships arriving to be unloaded the next day. One container swung about on a crane, the operator slumping in his seat as he was forced to watch it swing like a pendulum before letting it settle, dropping it down properly. The innards too ticked, machinery laying dormant as a clock struck downwards, hands looming for the end of the hour.

---

At the end of her day, Tatyanna moored about the city proper, bumming about the shopping districts without much will to even spend. Window shopping was more or less her pass time. She enjoyed seeing folks mulling about, she enjoyed all the kinds of stores there were, though she had to admit she also enjoyed not having to be bothered by her mother, the aging widow being supported by her daughter in necessity. Tat certainly loved her but the requests and demands got old, so Tat spent her time literally anywhere else.

Slipping into a sporting goods shop, she was greeted with a smile before taking a look at all the gear. Seeing a white racing jumpsuit advertised, the thing having been here for ages, she felt a bit of a drag on her spirit. The other day she’d used her powers for the first time in a long time, and on purpose at that. She was glad for that but it hadn’t exactly gone with gratification either. And maybe that was for the best: Tatyanna wasn’t quite sure about her power becoming more well known. She’s heard rumors that strange things exists in this world, but being one of them? At least not openly. Her face twitched with amusement as she realized her mother might like that if it meant finding a suitor…

Marielle, France, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:10 GMT, 9:10 CET

Pulling open the trunk and hoisting out a small jug of oil, Greg stopped, lingering on a strange, round protrusion from underneath a tarp. Auburn eyebrow upturned, he reached for it, sliding out the base of a baseball bat. A wave of nostalgia came over him, suddenly gripped by memories of his last obsession. Hours upon hours over the course of days trying to practice baseball. He’d so dearly wanted to show that even having not been active once in high school, he could still make it professionally. So dearly wanted to show what he could do on his own. But he hadn’t even made it past the preliminary phase of the tryouts, and his bat had remained here ever since. Nostalgia become disappointment, he slammed the trunk of his car down, moving along.

Stance awkward as he was sure to keep the oil well away from his dress shirt, he refilled his car, mind full of considerations. Passions he’d once had that had fled him. Baseball then, superheroes now? He was en route to a training session he’d schedule himself, this late hour the only time it was really possible, yet despite going through all the hoops, here he was, managing his oil to allow himself an excuse to be late, the idea of arriving for more publicity training weighing him down. Bottle emptied, he rescrewed the cap before looking to a nearby trash can, tossing it. The jug hit the rim and bounced away, knocking to the ground. Hand running through is short hair in exasperation, he retrieved the container and chucked it properly before storming back to his car, closing the hood up before moving on, that failed through still pounding through his mind, one of many little things he couldn’t seem to stop from flitting about in his mind.
Marielle, France. April 24th 1965.

“Your safety is our priority. It has been from day one. As Quetzal Garantir grows we find ourselves asking: how can we do more? Everyone can always do more, it’s just a matter of finding out how to push themselves. And we are pushing ourselves to new heights, spreading our wings even further, to fly where no man has flown before!”

“The moon!” cried a journalist, prompting a bout of laughter.

“Leave the moon to the Americans! They can compensate all they want to match the Soviets, but we here are flying our own way. We may secure those who expect trouble, but trouble is often unexpected! And so, we have partnered with the city to keep a watchful eye, as our patented security enforcement technology will be finding itself in the hands of your local defenders of peace: the Marielle police force!” The crowd cheered, their clapping persisting as a decorated man with a mustache entered, the police officer marching up to the green suited man giving the press conference, the clicking of cameras shuttering clearly audible. The two shook hands and smiled, before the microphone podium was turned over to him.

“The Marielle police department is very pleased to be working with Quetzal, and we will be rolling out a special, experimental unit the coming August. And once we have those men on the streets, this city will officially possess the most futuristic and advance police force worldwide.”

More applause sounding, the officer stepped back, the spokesman stepping back to the stage. “Now, we will be accepting questions shortly, but we have one more guest joining us!” the man raised his head and outstretched his arm, eyes intent on something. There were a few moments of quiet, some heads turning to try and look. From the roof of a nearby building, a grapple shot out, clinging to the town hall structure surrounding the outdoor stage. With a flash of green, a figure swooped down, dark green cape billowing in its wake, layered to resemble feathers. Grapple dispersing, the cape billowed, catching air and slowing the fall, the form rolling onto the stage, nailing a knee before standing upright. Dark green surrounding light, cowl possessing a hooked nose over a visible face with a wide smile, gloves and boots a dim red, “Jade-aile has landed! Representing Quetzal Garantir is the world’s first and foremost, real life superhero.” Applause and awe followed as Jade reached the podium, standing resolute. “Grégorie Marchand, son of CEO Abelin Marchand, has taken it upon himself to learn how our equipment works, and stands before you today as ready to fight to fight as any! Now, we will take questions, starting with-”

The spokesman was cut off, Jade’s elbow nudging him in the side. Smiling it off, he said, “The police chief will take the helm and I will join him in just a moment.” Stepping away with Jade-aile, the two stood by the podium, whispering to each other while maintaining smiles.

“You revealed my identity to everyone.”

The spokesman snorted, “What?”

“My identity! My secret identity!”

“What? What’s so secret about it?”

“Well, nothing now.”

The spokesman studied him for a moment before turning back to the crowd. “You thought it was real? My god man.”

Grég’s head whipped over to him for a moment, before he turned back to the crowd. “W-well I-I-I...what was all that training for then!?”

“For that grand entrance just now, and other equipment showcases later. We didn’t get that outfit so you could wear it once. You’re a publicity stunt my boy, smile and enjoy it while it lasts.”

Brusque words putting Grég off, he could feel his heart draining as he continued the smiles and waves, joining the spokesman as they took to the podium, feeling rather low. Plucked of feathers, one could say.

New York, United States of America

“Would you like paper or plastic?” Clacking register keys, the brunette held a naked, packaged chicken as she hovered, waiting for the elderly customer to make her choice.

“Decide fer yerself,” she answered. Nametag reading ‘Tiffany’, she took a paper bag, stating, “Well if I can choose, then I will.” Continuing to ring up groceries, she went about completing the transaction. The lady taking her leave, Tiffany was left with no further customers in her line. Rapping her fingers on the side of her register, a curly haired blonde approached, speaking, “Yer shifts almost over and it’s pretty quiet. You can leave early if you like.”

Returning a smile, Tiffany took the hint. “I think I will then.” Counting out the register, Tiffany punched out in the employee room, taking off her nametag and throwing on a gray coat. Freed from work, the woman truly called Tatyanna put her hands into her pockets, arm looped around a purse as she went out, brushing past a shirky man on her way out, the only one who really noticed her leaving, coworkers distracted with gossip. Hanging back, Tat floated around the doorway, neck craning to watch as the man moved past the shopping carts, hanging straight for the register. Her heartbeat pumped up as the man pointing a pistol at her coworkers, demanding, “Scream and I shoot. Now open the register. All of them.”

The girls tittering in fear, Tatyanna went low, keeping out of sight as she dropped down to sneak behind one of the other checkstands. The robber’s attention kept going back to the door, waiting for someone else to enter the supermarket, but this early in the morning it was still quiet. Still on all fours, Tatyanna was overcome with a burst of speed, scrambling several lanes over and skidding to a stop, grabbing onto the side of one of the checklanes to keep from stumbling into view of the robber, who glanced back to the door at the noise. Looking back at the girls, he waved his gun, demanding, “Next register.”

The three circling around, moving back the way Tat had come, she angled herself and turned around, watching them through the faint reflection of the window. The two going back behind the counter, the man staying clear in the line, Tat took a breath, rolling out into the open. Blurring into motion, she accelerated right into the robber, slamming into his shoulder and spinning him down for the count. The cashiers screamed at the noise, a billow of wind following Tat down as she kept down the way, slipping out of sight as she stepped herself to a stop, nearly crashing into a display of canned vegetables. Looking back, she saw the robber on the floor, patting around for a gun that had slipped out of sight, sliding underneath one of the checkstands. Swearing like a sailor, he got to his feet, intent on the door, but Tat had started to move as well, lining herself up. As one of her coworkers screeched for the other to call the police, Tat burst into motion once again, intercepting the robber just as he threw open the door. Barreling through, she smashed into his back elbow first, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him into the ground where his head smacked the curb. Having been able to stop by transferring her momentum to him, Tat’s legs wobbled, but she was able to stop her fall by leaning against the door frame, quickly outstretching an arm to catch the door swinging back at her. Slipping an arm to grab the strap of her purse, she let out an exhilarated, “I got him!”

Blonde coworker cautious heading over, she gasped when she saw the unmoving ne’er do well, spouting, “I thought you went home! What happened?”

Catching her breath, Tat admitted, “Well, he looked shady so I hung back to watch him, then I bopped vith my purse when he ran out.” Mentally she cursed at the slip of accent, but it seemed to go unnoticed. Her coworker shook her head, “You’re crazy. You shoulda just called the cops.” Tat’s smile remained affixed to her face, inner voice scoffing, You’re welcome.”

A good hour of police questioning later, Tat was finally free to actually go about her day. Letting out a light yawn, having started her day early to stock shelves, she considered going home but didn’t enjoy the thought of her mother setting up another arranged date. That said, she wasn’t left with much else either...
Bodies with various red clothing practically being scattered to the winds, the one reddest of all may very well have been Macario. The Crimson Company forces were too numerous to arm the entire force with guns, so most went to the Verdant Company's much smaller artillery squad. However, while the armed fighter was still largely in melee ranger where he excelled, to fight dozens upon dozens, hundreds upon hundreds, it was to be expected he'd take his licks here or there.

Holding his palm open, fingers tight together, Macario shouted, "Kun!" Slashing his arm across a trio of mooks, they fell back, blood flashing as if they'd been cut. Despite his own blood being shed, Macario seemed to have no intent on slowing down.

A fair amount of time having passed since the invasion started, the med beyond the chokepoint had started to get restless, but the wall was too tall to scale without preparation, and the only other opening was chock full of Azure Company forces. Those nearest to the opening would quickly become frightened upon seeing Macario's carnage, where those behind grew restless, wondering why it was taking so long, their bodies unable to do anything despite their adrenaline in the heat of battle.

"That the hell is going on! Why has no one moved yet?" a voice came, booming from right in between Macario and a goon he charged. Punch knocking him a few meters away, the men he'd been fighting seemed anxious, looking around before someone yelled to pass a message along. Suggestions of an 'obstacle' echoed throughout the enemy forces, Macario quickly dismissing it.

Then, a minute later, the forces split like a book, the stopped charge giving Macario a moment of reprieve. As he caught his breath, he watched the slow approach of another, taller man, a black and white scarf around his neck in a red suit, hair and beard both black and bushy. Man standing a few feet above Macario, Leader Vermilion scoffed, "Where's everyone else?"

Pulling back his fist, Macario said, "Off doing their own things with the rest of your Companies. Now..." Thrusting his fist forwards, "Xun!" Force shaking the air, Vermilion was struck, flying backwards. Spittle flying out of his mouth as he fell back, he skidded to a stop, glare shooting from under his black banded hat, he brushed off his chest, scoffing, "'Scuse me if I'm surprised we've been held up for so long by one guy. Ya see I'm more of a proponent for majority rules myself." Left hand glowing white, right hand reaching a pair of fingers into the edges of his mouth, Vermilion let otu a shrill whistle, which seemed to reverberate throughout his forces. Stances going firm, faces growing serious, his men lined up, equal amounts of men on left and right moving around Macario.

"You think your guys didn't try that already?" Macario laughed. Legs buckling, he leaped to one of the groups. They brought their arms up on the defensive, but a rapid flurry of "Dui" brought them down. Shifting his position, a "Xun" knocked two men from the other group down as Macario took a step forward. With each step he shot off another punch, successfully stopping both groups, but he seemed rather fatigued by the end of it.

Taking advantage, Vermilion slipped in, knives in between each of the fingers of his right hand. Flicking one knife, Macario deflected it, letting it land on the ground with a mild 'thp'. Then he heard another 'thp', this one from just under his ear. Flinching, his arm flexed, trying to block a knife that wasn't there, as one that was dug into his leg. "Wha-?" he gasped, wincing in pain as Vermilion bore down on him, knife aiming for his eyes. Glaring, Macario's free hand snapped out, jabbing him in the stomach and stopping his charge, before his other curled over, smashing him in the face and sending him hurtling back into some of his own men. The others seemed prepared, jumping right out and aiming their swords at Macario. He took his nicks and blasted them back too as Vermilion shakily returning to his feet.

"The hell was that?" Macario and Vermilion echoed.

"Stupid ghost knives, I'm sick of ghosts!" Macario grumbled.

"You take swords like a block of marble what the hell are you made of?"

Macario winced, "It still hurts asshole."

Flicking his wrist, more knives appearing, Vermilion stated, "Well I'm still planning on cutting you apart. There's power in unity so for my interests, your body parts are best kept separated from each other."

Clenching his fist tightly as he pulled it back, Macario's eyes closed as he focused intently. "Yeah to be honest I could use a breather. "Zhen: Flaming Wind," he murmured, before letting his fist fly. Vermilion tried to leap over, but was struck, chest erupting into flames. Yelping, he was pushed back further, the flames spreading even more. Men panicking, Macario grinned, wondering, "Why don't I do that more often?" Glancing at his arm, he couldn't help but notice it was covered in flame, as were several spots on the ground around him. Dropping down to a roll, he punched his arm into the earth, yelling in pain alongside the Crimson Company, the two sides aiming to extinguish themselves. Finishing first, Macario lay down on the ground, arm red with burns, muttering, "That just made me more tired!"

Mind going as the recovering Crimson Company began to mobilize, Macario considered, I guess his power has something to do with sound? He made me hear things, he was communicating with his men...does it really matter then?

Taking a breath, knowing his body wouldn't be able to hold out in full, he took a mighty stride as he got closer, Vermilion heading himself at the front of his forces. "Now!"

His men hollered a battle cry, Macario's face turning into a glare. "While he's weak!" Vermilion said, just as another cry came from behind him as if it were echoing. Macario didn't seem to care though, despite the threat of forces ambushing him from the rear. Rather then turn and fight, he simply began to scream. A low yell quickly building to a fierce battle cry, one that shook the hearts of the Crimson Company. Vermilion grimaced, eyes wide, hand whipping forward, tossing their knives at Macario. A raise arm took the blades, but his volume only increased, matching the pain he received. Trying to step back, but blocked by his men, Vermilion tried to bark orders, but Macario was getting closer and closer, his yelling drowning out anything he could have said. His men began to fall into disarray, intimidated by the seemingly unshakable man. Those in melee range thrust out blades, but it was fruitless.

"ZHEN: LAKESIDE MOUNTAIN," Macario roared, arms blurring as he unleashed a flurry of blows. Each blow landed on some mook or another, piercing power blowing through and striking even more beyond. Vermilion just barely managed to stay out of reach, using his taller figure to scramble through his men as Macario chased him, lines breaking. Only some of the punches connected however, some stopping short without even impacting, let alone releasing their shockwave of piercing power. But despite the flaws of the technique, against such a weak force, even the failed punches still had psychological effect, as did the mass of men trying to escape, their panic instilling more fear, even as punches failed more often as the attack continued.

Macario laughed, "WHAT'S THE MATTER? YOU'RE UNIFIED AREN'T YOU? ALL OF YOU ARE AFRAID!" Line completely shattered, even has his punches stopped connecting, the effects had reverberated throughout, men shooting every which way, some even daring to slip through the hole in the wall to finally reach the palace grounds at last.

Arms finally slowing to a stop, Macario collapsed to his knees, catching his breath. "Damn, guess I can't hold off an army forever..." Despite Macario falling, with the first men who jumped him getting blasted away, no more dared encroach. It was more than a dozen minutes before Vermilion caught himself, using his Echo Echo Fruit powers to reorganize his men, readying for another charge by the time the enemy captain had made his way through to the palace.

Rallying his men, Vermilion started for the wall, but Macario laughed from his position. "Round 2 then?" Vermilion broke out into a sweat, hesitant.
Hot glow subsiding, the mirror went dark, reflecting on its surface the remains of a small Nightmare, scorched onto the surface of the alleyway. Breath sharply inhaling at the slight cold, Lumiere’s purple eyes titled upward to look at the sky lit by afternoon. Those eyes had never seen Nightmares in the daytime quite like this, and that discovery was both curious and disconcerting. Moon shaped mirror floating to her hand, the white robes around her fluttered in glow as they vanished, returning to a typical light gray sweatcoat and jeans. Holding her emblem, she put the small hand mirror into her coat pocket and sighed, glasses slipping off her nose slightly.

Returning to the road, Kohane took to the sidewalk, mind racing as the street was empty. She hadn’t been in Miso City long but aside from taking down the odd Nightmare she really hadn’t encountered much, nor had the opportunity to find anything, but at the same time she felt like she could easily draw attention to herself if she made the effort. But if there was any anxiety around that, it was certainly about the kind of attention she might draw. Maybe she’d just have to bite that bullet: encountering a local magical girl would help her find some kind of direction, she considered.

A wind blowing through making her shiver, she pulled up the hood of her coat, pushing her hands deeper into her pocket. This place was colder than she was used to in so many ways. She felt her heart fall as she realized she hadn’t had a positive human interaction since she got here. Turning her head back to look at the street behind her, this off road remained so very empty.
@TheWindel

Kohane is nearing high school graduation, yes. The light emanated from charging her attacks is limited to Lumen Invocation and Boundary Reflection (which I've added, since it would make sense for it to glow when the mirror has absorbed something). I've also removed Vision Catcher.
Working on a character~
I'm still in progress on the backstory/sample but yeah, that's fine. I've never joined a game partway or ended one so it could be a couple new things for me.
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