psych0pomp

Rangers

And now I am in tears. Sloane is amazing. lmao

@Potemking

Awe, thanks! It's been a minute since I've played a shit stain of a person.

Man. I've been loving everyone's posts. This is such a fun and dynamic group. I need to catch up with the veteran group. I was trying to get a post out. Had a weirdly busy 24 hours.

Also. Like the blind person I am, I just saw the header on the first OOC page. It's sweet. Look at those nerds.

Rangers

| 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : ANGEL GROVE COMMUNITY CENTER | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : VALLORY & ROSS | 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢 : "Imma smile right through it..." |

“You’re too rich for our blood, Sly,” David said, leaning against the ΩΑΞ's (Omega Alpha Xi) booth. It had the honor of securing a corner spot and the extra space that went with it. Along with the red, blue, and gold decorated booth, there was a dunk tank. Currently, they were both empty as people were slowly trickling by, but eyes hadn’t quite peered into that lofty setup. So, the three members of the booth weren’t really paying attention. The flyers promoting a brotherhood centered around the accomplishments both scholastic and athletic were still tied up, and cardboard signs that insured an enriching experience laid on the ground.

“Oh, come on, David,” Sloane said, resting a baseball bat on his shoulder. He glanced at Travis, who was pretending to look at his shoes. “Alright. Alright. I bet you twenty bucks that I can do it.”

Travis and David perked up about that time. “Fine fine,” the latter said. “I want to see this.” He reached for his wallet. “And I want my money back with interest when you fail.”

“Yes!” Sloane grabbed the bills out of their hands and stuffed them into his pockets. Oh, they weren’t getting them back. A few passers-by eyed the three young men, trying to figure out if they were affiliated with the booth they were in front of. Sloane caught their gaze and flashed a bright smile. “Come one and all!” he announced, engaging his diagram. “Watch what sort of excellence that the Oh-Au-Xi welcome into their numbers!”

David snickered and moved towards the dunk tank—removing his bright red ΩΑΞ jacket. He climbed in. They’d rigged the thing to not fall unless a lot of pressure was applied to the target. It would be far more than a kid with a baseball could achieve. It wasn’t because they wanted to disappoint anyone, but there were certain safety certificates that none of the frat brothers had remembered to get.

“Lo and behold!” Sloane leaned back, placing the knob of the baseball bat on his forehead, balancing it. Sure enough, it stood completely erect as he centered himself. “Feel free to take pictures. Just remember to tag me.”

David cupped his mouth. “Boo! You’ll have to do more than that.”

Sloane couldn’t see the people in front of him, but he heard some light cheering and claps. Fine. If they wanted a performance—he’d give them one. He leaned back, slowly lifting his leg and standing on his tip-toe. The bat wobbled but nothing happened. “Huh?”

There was a little more cheering. It was then that he hopped, changing legs, and kept the bat precariously in place. A few more leg switches, a twirl, and a stilted dance move or two, and he kept the bat nearly unmoving and completely unfallen. People were calling out now. “One more,” he said. “And this one is for the ladies.” There was a light bit of chuckling. Sloane’s knee was hurting by now, but he had promised.

It was then that a small crowd watched a twenty-something man in expensive, but apparently forgiving, khakis slide into the splits. Well, he was a half-a-foot from the ground, but there was only so much he could do in dress clothes. The bat wobbled. Sloane extended his arms. It stayed. The applause then came in earnest. He tilted his head forward, letting the bat fall into his hand.

Travis got behind the booth as a few interested parties moved towards it. David scoffed behind Sloane, only a foot back but a few feet upwards suspended over water. “Whatever, I guess you earned it. Good to know that daddy McCabe paid all that money for you to be a circus clown.”

Sloane started to pull himself up, purposefully leaning into the target for support. It gave way, and the seat went out from underneath David—water splashing.

“What was that?”Sloane pressed his hand against his ear. “Just as I thought, nothing.”

David sputtered. “When I get out of here, Sly, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Sloane glanced down at his wrist, pushing up the sleeve of the red ΩΑΞ coat. “Oh look at that. It’s lunchtime.” He took the bat in one hand, and shot David the finger with free one—hiding it away from the crowd. “And I have forty bucks to get whatever I want in the shitty food court.”

Sloane winced as pain lanced through his knee and up his leg. He’d definitely overdone it. But he knew that if he didn’t fully commit he wouldn’t hear the end of it from David—the sentient pebble. And, hey, he’d made some money. His phone pinged a few times as people had started tagging him in photos and videos of that stunt. There were a few showing him purposely dunking David. He needed to rebound from that shit move pretty fast. Sloane glanced around at the decent but not sizeable crowd. No one would think negatively of promoting the event he’d already “volunteered” at. Roped into, was more like it.

He hopped on a vacant table, grabbing his phone and panning it around as he recorded. A few people waved, a few people ducked into their clothing, and a few people gawked at the guy on the table in a bright red blazer, slacks, blue button-up shirt with roses on it, and boat shoes. Sloane pushed his blond hair from his face and turned the camera towards him. “At the Angel Grove Youth Center with my boys, Oh-Au-Xis. Come join us. And if you come after lunch, you’ll have a chance to dunk this handsome face in the water.” He leaned in, whispering. “I know you want to.” He then turned off the camera. Before he could hop off the table, he caught two figures at a table apart from everyone else’s. It only took a moment to recognize Vallory Vance from the wrestling league, and the guy that arranged the entire thing—Ryan or something.

Instead of getting off of the tables, he hopped to one that wasn’t too far away and was mostly vacant. There were a few gasps as he avoided everyone’s lunches with studied precision. A couple more table leaps later, and he’d fully pissed off most of the food court. That was fine, it just meant that they’d visit the booth later to dunk him. PR was PR. It didn’t have to be good.

“Vallory Vance!” Sloane said, loudly. He lifted his arms as if he was greeting an old friend. “Can I get a picture with you for my gram? I assure you, it’ll get some more eyes on Starshine and the Waffle.” It was then he glanced at the other person. “And you too, the guy who organized the thing—Randy or whatever.”

| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : @metanoia @Zoey Boey |

Rangers

@Zoey Boey Oh totally. Name and affiliation alone would be enough for Sloane to sidle up and start a conversation. So, that sounds great! I'll follow your lead. I still need to nail down exactly what Sloane's frat and whole big deal is. I'll probably just make something up.

Rangers

To quickly catch up on the OOC. I think Sloane would be too terrified of Charlie to loop her into height jokes so they, unfortunately, fall on Ross. Sloane's in a frat, he understands the fear of pecking order. The destruction of Sloane's phone makes sense. He'll show up with a new one the next day to remind everyone he's rich, and maybe as a challenge to Jordan. That'll lead to him secretly recording Clint and making a tiktok whose entire gimmick is "country big guy in an urban small town with occasional guest appearances of Starshine, and some other people I don't care about."

Also, out of curiosity, I threw together a height chart from a program on a website. Sorry, the colors are off, they only had half of them.

It's Like a Mug Shot

EPISODE ONE IS NOW READY TO GOOOOOO!!!!! IT'S MORPHIN TIME!

@OGSG

Amazing first post, and such an awesome way to dive right in. I'm excited to post. I'll probably finagle a header up this evening and get something out tomorrow.

But hey, onto the characters getting to know each other? Maybe Sloane tries to take a selfie with Vallory? Y'know, for instagram clout.

@Zoey Boey

If she's there in full wrestling regalia (I didn't want to assume) then heck yeah. Anytime he can tag anyone even semi-famous on his insta, he will.

Rangers

Glad you are here and awesome character :3

Also, I love your icon by the way. Just had to say that lol

@Akayaofthemoon

Ah, thanks! I will admit, I read everyone else's CSes numerous times in hopes of making Sloane measure up to everyone's awesomeness (and also not to double up on any personality traits/life skills.)

Oh, and thank you. I probably deep dive a bit too hard into graphic editing, but the moment I realized we could have .gifs... I may become a monster.

and those who might benefit from not being so over the top (I'm looking at you Ross and Sloane).

@metanoia

I can only imagine one of two futures. One, they don't get along and bounce off each other until someone really needs to put them in a timeout. Or two, their combined dramatic energy immediately summons all the writers from CW shows.

Probably the former, because right out of the gate Sloane's going to be like" "What magical growth hormone juice did you two drink?" Pointing to Clint and Vallory. "And why didn't you give any to him?" Points at Ross. "He's so cute and tiny, like our little mascot."

It does seem they all have something to teach and offer each other which is nice. :3

@Akayaofthemoon

Sloane can teach everyone how Instagram works. Everyone can teach Sloane how not to post pictures on Instagram of him at the base.

A forewarning, it's going to be real hard.

Rangers

I'm excited to be here. Also excited to prove that not all red rangers have leadership skills.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

Just getting in touch quickly for the people that are waiting (very patiently) for an update. The week really did a number on me, and I'm taking the weekend to recharge. I may well have a burst of inspiration and get an update out, but I want to be able to give you all an update that matches all of your brilliant posts, so no promises. If not today, then Monday for definite.

@Romero

I think this week penciled everyone in for a bad time. I know mine was a hectic, how do I say this politely, poop fest. Anyway, I'm enjoying myself, and I'm in no rush. You've made an awesome RP, and batteries always need to be recharged.

Rangers

Sloane McCabe - Red Ranger

_{Sloane McCabe / N/A / 21 / Red Dino Ranger / DC143C / Renan Corbani}

A P P E A R A N C E

Where to even begin on this Adonis of a man? Kidding. While there's some truth in the gloating, Sloane's attractiveness is far overstated and overrated. Yet, you wouldn't be able to tell from the way he presents himself. Standing a little under six-foot, he isn't abundantly tall, but he does make sure to straighten his spine and pull his shoulders back. His physique is that of someone in sports. What sport, specifically? Well. Vague athleticism has gotten him this far, and it can only propel him forward. Sloane has blond hair. Not from the bottle he assures you, standing next to his family of natural brunettes. He has gray eyes because he can't be entirely perfect, a square jaw, and brows that are always asking "wait, did I miss something?"

Despite all this pomp regarding his appearance, there's something resolutely saccharine about the man. He doesn't have a tendency to be standoffish, but oddly enough he's fine with pulling everyone in—and yes, it probably is for a selfie. Prone to smiling wide, laughing hard, and probably shooting one-too-many finger guns, Sloane appears a welcoming person. There only seems to be one chink in his Prince Charming facade, and that's a literal chink. There's an odd hitch to Sloane's step that throws him off from time to time. He says nothing about it. The picture he paints has to be perfect, but not for himself—for everyone else.

S T Y L E

The man was born with a silver spoon in his mouth—nay a golden one—so should anyone be surprised his wardrobe reflects that? Sharp cut, sharp-dressed, and smelling like a million bucks,—jury's out if he rolled in it Scrooge style or not—there's not anything about Sloane that could be classed as "lazy," "tacky," or maybe even "comfortable." Prone to floral prints, light colors, and interesting accessories, he looks ready to hop aboard a yacht, play cricket, or pose listlessly for a fashion magazine. The only things that seem to be constant in his dress are his ear piercings and a ring on his right thumb that he twirls when he thinks. Beyond that, no one has managed to ever catch him in shorts. Not that he doesn't make up for it with a wide variety of colors and prints.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

• SILVER TONGUED - Sloane tries to be likable, even if there are so many factors working against him in that theater. It doesn't help that he knows how to talk his way up, down, and around situations. And despite the almost political nature of this talent, it doesn't seem preprogrammed into him like a robot made of false promises. There's something magnetizing in the way that Sloane can make someone feel important and wanted. Much like a single ray of sunshine. It won't be there forever, but it sure is nice when it comes by.
• SELF-ABSORBED - If Sloane was a sponge, the Atlantic Ocean would fail to exist. Definitely a product of his upbringing, he's never known what it's felt like to not have eyes on him. He loves it. He adores it. He gets jealous if a shadow interrupts his perfect lighting. This is not to say that he can't see the world beyond his own reflection, but more so that he's staring at a mirror framed in his own expectations. And those expectations may include other people—hell, they usually do—bt Sloane won't forget Sloane.
• GOAL ORIENTED - One might start to describe him as a team player before remembering the above personality trait. What one could say is that he always wants to get the job done with the optimal results. Sloane will press pause on the "me, me, me" if a little "we, we, we" can garner him a solution to a problem. Surprisingly, he can be pragmatic and a bit of a strategist when he puts his mind to it. After that, it's back to the vapidness of his existence. But that spark does burn sometimes.

F A C T S

• What does everyone know about Sloane McCabe besides his family name? Well, the fact that he used to be captain of the Angel Grove baseball team and an Allstar Batter that was destined for greatness. Not only does he have one of the highest batting averages in the region, but he's also known for leading his team to an unprecedented and unchallenged victory in their circuit. There are a lot of trophies, murals, and medals in the glass cases lining the halls of Angel Grove Highschool. There are rumors abound as to why Sloane never pursued his scholarship to Vanderbilt and a possible baseball career after that. To ask him, he just says he got tired of the sport.
• The McCabe's have a weird past with GENESIS. Ten years ago, it was released that the wealthy family had been one of the financial backers in the project that led to... well... the war. The patriarch of the McCabe family, Julius Isaacs, denied that he knew the goings-on of GENESIS, and the following investigations backed that claim. While the family took a bit of a hit, they were able to build back good PR from donations, community give-back, charitable gatherings, and a lot of smiling and waving. People haven't forgotten, though—especially people Sloane's age.
• Sloane currently attends Angel Grove University with all the posh and panache of someone that should be attending Yale. He didn't need his parents' status to get in, not that it proves much considering he barely stays above passing. He's joined a frat since then, attended numerous parties, hosted several social media events, headed a few car washes, and even meets at a bimonthly DnD group where he plays Augdarsh the Half-Orc Barbarian. Sloane has quite the social life even if he's slow to call any of those people his friends.

R A N G E R

Why is Sloane a good fit with the Rangers? How on the world's spinning surface could Sloane even be a good fit? Oddly enough, it has more to do with what Sloane doesn't have rather than what he does. He lacks the ability to see failure as an option. The man has only ever failed once in his life, and it sits on his shoulders with the weight and magnitude of a tombstone. Sloane will see anything and everything through. He says he doesn't have anything to prove, but maybe there's something in the back of his mind that wants to atone for that he's not vocal about. And maybe he wants to reclaim his glory days and being a ranger seems to be the best way to do so. He'll make sure that they don't fail, or so help him.

Trash for the Trash God [Just Breaking BBCode]

GL

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

G R E E N L A N T E R N

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^{_{H A N A H A Z Z A R D ♦ F E M A L E ♦ 1 8 ♦ H U B C I T Y}}

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

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^{"Are you done talking? Because in my head I've already punched you three times. Four, now."}

Say hello to Hana Hazzard, a child that suffered from not only a lack of parental supervision but also had Hub City to call her backyard. A city where you should be worried about being eaten by the sharks of corruption, and depending on the day, literal sharks. She was the only daughter and youngest child in the slew of boys with similar names and similar shit-eating grins. So, it was fair to say that her life was a series of dares that always escalated into a game of "chicken." Hana had it ingrained into her very soul to never back down. This would follow her well into her early teens and her rise into adulthood. But maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. You may ask yourself how does one such as Hana end up a hero? End up a Green Lantern, for that matter? You might assume that the Guardians of the Universe pissed in some all-powerful cosmic entity's cereal, but that wasn't the case. Or maybe they did, but that's their own business.

Hana grew up barely above the poverty line, but her family was never without they just didn't have excess. This meant her childhood was spent rifling through the local junkyard with her brothers to find things that their father could use in his garage. It'd also lead to a lot of daring adventures across piles of junk, dangerous slopes of refuse, and so much tetanus. She attended public school and learned the hard way that her trajectory was never upward bound. Her grades barely surfed above passing, and she didn't have the money or the time to join any sports. Outside of class, she'd pick fights with upperclassmen when they talked shit about her wardrobe being a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs from her brothers. While many didn't think her terrifying, they'd learn quickly that Hana never stayed down. She'd curse at them with her sub-par insults but punch them with above-par fists. Her parents tried—they really did. They couldn't help it that the economic handholds in this city were as slippery as an oiled tarp. This would lead to disciplinary action, which would in turn, lead to her being forced into a school function of some sort. The one that cost the least was theater. In a little under a year, Hana was the lead in their very pathetic rendition of CATS. But she loved it.

Now there was an outlet for Hana's passion and attitude. She had quite the voice and a look that would easily slide her into any punk rock garage band. She formed a group with a few of her classmates called Shiva's Four-Armed Shredders. While she never wrote a single lyric, she belted out the songs of oppression and rage with the best of them. Unfortunately, this promising blip in her life would only be that... a blip.

On the eve of her high school graduation, Hana turned eighteen, which meant it was time to be reckless. A tongue and nose piercing later, she and the band had found a comfy half-disposed-of car in her childhood junkyard. They'd pilfered some malt liquor from a corner store and were getting drunk. Hub City, unfortunately, decided to rear its ugly head that night. They had accidentally ended right in the middle of an intergalactic weapons deal. The shitstorm started with an explosion that sent Hana careening down a pile of junk and landing squarely on her back—her vision going white before swimming. The screams came next. Adrenaline forced Hana up despite her head injury, but she didn't run for her life. She ran right into danger. She had nothing to fear. She'd fought her brothers. She'd fought kids older than her. She'd lived on the streets of Hub City all her life. If she was going to die, this would be a cool fucking way to go. The teenager barely saw the alien she plowed into as it loomed over her bassist. All she knew was that she connected, they went tumbling, and were a tangle of arms and fists. She barely remembered yelling "RUN!", but apparently she did because her friends scattered. That led to a stand-off with aliens who were prepared to crush her under their thumb while she gave them the bird. Unfortunately for the aliens, one of their "illegal weapons" happened to be a restrained power ring that didn't stay restrained long in Hana's presence. I would go on, but you know how this story goes... kid gets powers, kid tries to kick ass, kid gets nose broken a few times, and then kid needs help—a lot of help. It shouldn't have been a surprise that a senior Sector 2814 Lantern was there to intervene. They were space cops, after all.

After Hana's scrape with the aliens and earning a power ring, she contributed to the Corps for maybe a weekend. Who would have thought that a scrappy punk rocker would hate a rigid system based on procedural space hierarchy? Everyone? Everyone. She decided to go rogue, tired of the continued attempts to place training wheels (metaphorical or manifested) on her. But she learned quickly, very quickly, she couldn't take on the many villains Earth shat out like the aftermath of taco night by herself. This was doubly compounded by the lingering head injury breaking her focus. So, she decided to join the Renegades. They could always use a Green Lantern, and she could always use an excuse not to return to the Corps.

A B I L I T I E S:

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^{"I'm only fifty-seven percent sure you're breaking some Space Law. But you're one-hundred percent pissing me off."}

ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ʟᴀɴᴛᴇʀɴ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ʀɪɴɢ

Energy Projection: Probably Hana's go-to move, as it's simply a blast of energy from her ring. It's based on her force of will, and as such is intense but unfocused. It is far from deadly, obviously, but it can knock her opponent (and anyone else caught in it) on their ass.
Force Field: "Unstoppable force meet immovable object," is more or less the motto for this application of her ring. It is capable of creating a damage blocking, environment controlled, and life support enabled shield around her. Hana's need for self-preservation kicks this on when she's faced with something that can't be taken down with punching alone. Which, let's be honest, are most things.
Flight: She can fly, in space or otherwise. It's as simple as that, and she abuses it any time she gets a chance too. Why walk on the cold floor in winter when you can hover?
Energy Constructs: Here's where it's obvious Hana needs more time in the Corps. The ring can create weapons and other handy objects for a Lantern to use, right? Well, she's never been one to think concisely on the fly. Projectile? She tries to manifest a gun, but always remembers how intimidating it was to watch Mister Peterson, the neighborhood homeless man, drunkenly fling an alley cat. Next thing she knows, she's wielding a green, life-like cat that she can only hurl. Weapon? She visualizes a chainsaw, but what springs to mind right after is how nice it is to hold a microphone pole. At least it's somewhat useful. Armor? Brick Stevenson, her ex-boyfriend, wouldn't go anywhere near her in that taffeta nightmare of a prom dress. And so on...

ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs

Athletic & Acrobatic: Hana spent most of her childhood in a junkyard digging through piles of garbage to locate things of worth. She has scratches and scars to show off that part of her life along with the muscle tone and hand-eye coordination to match.
Scrappy: I'm not going to say that Hana is the best in a fight, but she can hold her own. This is mostly achieved through dirty tricks like throwing sand or punching someone in the crotch. Years of quarreling with her brothers has made her adept at head butting and right hooks.
Vocalist: Hana can sing, and she can sing quite well. Does it matter in a fight? Not really. Unless her opponent is a fan of punk-rock or show-tunes.

ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs

Lack of Training: Hana's time under the guiding wing of the Corps was short, and it shows. She's not able to wield her ring with the efficacy of other Lanterns. She's trying, but her bull-headedness keeps her from accepting help.
Too Much Bravado: Yes, her willpower and fearlessness may come in handy as a Green Lantern, but it also means that she doesn't know how to back down. She'll fight until it's stupid to continue. She'll rush into a situation that needs more assessment. And she'll snap back when she's told to do something that she doesn't want to do. Hana's a firecracker in the worst way.
Inefficient Battery Life: While this definitely falls under the first point, it's a bitch to deal with. Hana's reason she fails to charge the battery on her ring as often is a mystery. It can take her out of a fight with a snap of a finger.
Hello Concussion, My Old...: That head injury she sustained on that fateful night was never looked after. And as such, she can lose focus easily to the detriment of her teammates. It may manifest simply as losing connection to her ring. It may also manifest in creating constructs that bear no correlation to the situation at hand. Her most go-to one is the spokesperson for men's deodorant smiling and holding a duck in only a bath towel. Yes, both of them are in a bath towel.
Normal Girl: Strip her of her ring, and she'll try her best. But she has no powers outside of it.

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:

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^{"How many liters of blood is too many liters to vomit up? Asking for a friend."}

Personally, I love the Green Lantern mythos and when it focuses on characters that aren't the perfect hero. Every hero has flaws, but I enjoy the ones that aren't a paradigm while fundamentally worthy of their abilities. That's what Hana is for me. By the "rules as written," she qualifies as a Green Lantern, but she's such a far cry from what it means to be in the Corps. This is the sort of arc that I imagine would be interesting to create. One where she has to be broken down to be built up into something suitable for her power and station. Hana's personal goals are far more simplistic. She basically wants to prove that she's worthy of the ring without anyone's help. She wants to rise above her previous, real shitty, station and be the beacon she never had in life. Basically, she's here to pull herself up by her own green bootstraps and make a career out of this.

Hana is definitely a bruiser that lacks the useful utility-based nature of the Lanterns. This is something both the character and I want to develop, the ability to be more diverse in situations. For now, though, she's a "punch now and ask questions never" kind of girl.

Oh, and to definitely bump her scores up on the ACTs. They're bad. Real bad.

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

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^{"Of course this is a real Green Lantern Ring. Wait. Do you know something I don't know?"}

Hana Hazzard stands at 5'2" bearing the musculature of someone you shouldn't fuck with. She's a mean green bean. Her nose, tongue, and ears are pierced, and her hair is usually a flavor-of-the-week color. There's a nasty scar across her eyebrow and into her hairline from her head injury. How does Hana pick clothes to wear? She performs the sniff check. Usually, she's in a tank-top, ripped jeans, boots, and a variation of whatever jewelry and makeup she felt like wearing. Anyone with any sort of aesthetic nature should run from her... far away.

Hana's only gear is her power ring. That being said, her suit bucks the usual trend without going too far out of the way. For one, she's manifested a jacket over the suit. It breaks up the glare-inducing snug nature of the outfit. There's also a lot more white and black to the usual pattern. Most notably her mask is entirely white and covers most of her face.

Does Hana know anyone of importance in the superhero world? She definitely knows the Lantern of Sector 2814 that saved her and tried to train her. I leave this up to the GM to decide who exactly she'd have interacted with as I don't want to buck against any previously established lore. I'll edit this when/if things are finalized.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S:

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^{"There's only hot people on this list. And by that, I mean everyone. We're all hot in our own way."}

Short summary of your character's thoughts, feelings, and regards for the rest of the cast. Optional and can be added whenever.

”What’s up, nerds?” Hana Dialogue

Sloane McCabe - Red Ranger

_{Sloane McCabe / N/A / 21 / Red Dino Ranger / DC143C / Renan Corbani}

A P P E A R A N C E

Where to even begin on this Adonis of a man? Kidding. While there's some truth in the gloating, Sloane's attractiveness is far overstated and overrated. Yet, you wouldn't be able to tell from the way he presents himself. Standing a little under six-foot, he isn't abundantly tall, but he does make sure to straighten his spine and pull his shoulders back. His physique is that of someone in sports. What sport, specifically? Well. Vague athleticism has gotten him this far, and it can only propel him forward. Sloane has blond hair. Not from the bottle he assures you, standing next to his family of natural brunettes. He has gray eyes because he can't be entirely perfect, a square jaw, and brows that are always asking "wait, did I miss something?"

Despite all this pomp regarding his appearance, there's something resolutely saccharine about the man. He doesn't have a tendency to be standoffish, but oddly enough he's fine with pulling everyone in—and yes, it probably is for a selfie. Prone to smiling wide, laughing hard, and probably shooting one-too-many finger guns, Sloane appears a welcoming person. There only seems to be one chink in his Prince Charming facade, and that's a literal chink. There's an odd hitch to Sloane's step that throws him off from time to time. He says nothing about it. The picture he paints has to be perfect, but not for himself—for everyone else.

S T Y L E

The man was born with a silver spoon in his mouth—nay a golden one—so should anyone be surprised his wardrobe reflects that? Sharp cut, sharp-dressed, and smelling like a million bucks,—jury's out if he rolled in it Scrooge style or not—there's not anything about Sloane that could be classed as "lazy," "tacky," or maybe even "comfortable." Prone to floral prints, light colors, and interesting accessories, he looks ready to hop aboard a yacht, play cricket, or pose listlessly for a fashion magazine. The only things that seem to be constant in his dress are his ear piercings and a ring on his right thumb that he twirls when he thinks. Beyond that, no one has managed to ever catch him in shorts. Not that he doesn't make up for it with a wide variety of colors and prints.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

• SILVER TONGUED - Sloane tries to be likable, even if there are so many factors working against him in that theater. It doesn't help that he knows how to talk his way up, down, and around situations. And despite the almost political nature of this talent, it doesn't seem preprogrammed into him like a robot made of false promises. There's something magnetizing in the way that Sloane can make someone feel important and wanted. Much like a single ray of sunshine. It won't be there forever, but it sure is nice when it comes by.
• SELF-ABSORBED - If Sloane was a sponge, the Atlantic Ocean would fail to exist. Definitely a product of his upbringing, he's never known what it's felt like to not have eyes on him. He loves it. He adores it. He gets jealous if a shadow interrupts his perfect lighting. This is not to say that he can't see the world beyond his own reflection, but more so that he's staring at a mirror framed in his own expectations. And those expectations may include other people—hell, they usually do—bt Sloane won't forget Sloane.
• GOAL ORIENTED - One might start to describe him as a team player before remembering the above personality trait. What one could say is that he always wants to get the job done with the optimal results. Sloane will press pause on the "me, me, me" if a little "we, we, we" can garner him a solution to a problem. Surprisingly, he can be pragmatic and a bit of a strategist when he puts his mind to it. After that, it's back to the vapidness of his existence. But that spark does burn sometimes.

F A C T S

• What does everyone know about Sloane McCabe besides his family name? Well, the fact that he used to be captain of the Angel Grove baseball team and an Allstar Batter that was destined for greatness. Not only does he have one of the highest batting averages in the region, but he's also known for leading his team to an unprecedented and unchallenged victory in their circuit. There are a lot of trophies, murals, and medals in the glass cases lining the halls of Angel Grove Highschool. There are rumors abound as to why Sloane never pursued his scholarship to Vanderbilt and a possible baseball career after that. To ask him, he just says he got tired of the sport.
• The McCabe's have a weird past with GENESIS. Ten years ago, it was released that the wealthy family had been one of the financial backers in the project that led to... well... the war. The patriarch of the McCabe family, Julius Isaacs, denied that he knew the goings-on of GENESIS, and the following investigations backed that claim. While the family took a bit of a hit, they were able to build back good PR from donations, community give-back, charitable gatherings, and a lot of smiling and waving. People haven't forgotten, though—especially people Sloane's age.
• Sloane currently attends Angel Grove University with all the posh and panache of someone that should be attending Yale. He didn't need his parents' status to get in, not that it proves much considering he barely stays above passing. He's joined a frat since then, attended numerous parties, hosted several social media events, headed a few car washes, and even meets at a bimonthly DnD group where he plays Augdarsh the Half-Orc Barbarian. Sloane has quite the social life even if he's slow to call any of those people his friends.

R A N G E R

Why is Sloane a good fit with the Rangers? How on the world's spinning surface could Sloane even be a good fit? Oddly enough, it has more to do with what Sloane doesn't have rather than what he does. He lacks the ability to see failure as an option. The man has only ever failed once in his life, and it sits on his shoulders with the weight and magnitude of a tombstone. Sloane will see anything and everything through. He says he doesn't have anything to prove, but maybe there's something in the back of his mind that wants to atone for that he's not vocal about. And maybe he wants to reclaim his glory days and being a ranger seems to be the best way to do so. He'll make sure that they don't fail, or so help him.

| 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : ANGEL GROVE COMMUNITY CENTER | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : VALLORY & ROSS | 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢 : FANCY |

"Sloane Dialogue."
"NPC Dialogue."

| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : INSERT |

CS

[ 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙸𝙻𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁 ]

𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖲

𝙰𝙶𝙴 & 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 34, August 2252
𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 Feminine
𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚂 Human
𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 Gun for Hire

𝖯𝖲𝖸𝖢𝖧𝖮𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖨𝖢𝖠𝖫 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖸

𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 & 𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺 Lacquer coats her tongue like an old game table in New Vegas. The lights shine off it just right, but it wasn't its original sheen. Jack likes it that way. The more people watching the spinning top of the roulette counter, the less they can see that they're getting swindled. The thrill of holding a win over her adversaries is what Jack lives for. A lucrative tryst with a few more bottlecaps in her pocket and a new hat. A wager set on a bottle of moonshine and a shooting contest where she forgets to shut just one eye as she blasts an old Nuka Cola bottle off someone's head. Lifting some old tech under the prospect that she's from the Brotherhood is a little close to home, her original one, but she knows all the jargon to make it work. Jack doesn't want to get by in the world with hard work. She wants to gamble and lie her way up. It's more interesting that way.

Maybe there's a flicker of altruism there, though. While she's slow to trust, if someone has paid her to care--she'll care. She can lie her way in and out of trouble, dragging her compatriots with her. But when it's time to put someone's hide on the line, she offers her's knowing she can get out. She's as slippery as a radroach. And even deeper, past all the lies and the sleight of hand, is someone that'll not care what your outside looks like. Jack's more interested in the intentions in your heart.
𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈

Hider

Ever heard of the town of New Boone? No. Well, there's a reason for that. Jacelyn Mercy was born there under a different name entirely. Like every other kid in the wastes of the Mojave, she had to learn to be quick and cunning not to get gobbled up by the nearest sentient whatever. The town was established by an old prewar structure that managed to have some technology within it. None of it was worth anything or functional. The town wished to keep their findings a secret, and it would have probably stayed that way had it not been for various travelers. Yet, before that time came, Jack had the rare honor to play with whatever she found. Her thirst for knowledge was incapable of being parched. So, when the Brotherhood showed up, as they do, to relieve the idiots of their fool's gold, Jack wanted to go with the technology. As it stood, building a fledgling settlement around defunct machinery wasn't very lucrative. Her parents were more than happy to give her up. So, began her time as an initiate in the Brotherhood.

You don't want to know much of the next part. It's what you could imagine from a child being raised in a pseudo-religious-militant organization that would make out with their power armor if it didn't look so strange. Yet, despite Jack's begging to have joined the BoS, she began to resent that decision. She found that her interest in technology was more the interest in deciphering puzzles and "winning" the contest of who could explain what the hell the prewar contraptions did the fastest. She only ascended the ranks because she hated doing the grunt work and listening to the jeering that came with being low on the totem pole. She became a scribe of the Order of the Sword, interested in guns and why they shot (also why so many paladins practically married their armor.) It was during that time that she met a knight, Isiah Hillside. He'd grown up within the BoS, and he found Jack's stories about everything else and her rebuffing of the constant stick-up-the-ass demeanor to be hilarious. He even found her having to constantly mop the floors of the labs for disciplinary reasons humorous. Of course, he went out of his way to maybe tip a few liquids onto the floor. This was how their flirting went. To an outside observer, it seemed that Jack was going to knife him in his sleep.

They married in their early twenties. It was probably too young, but their thoughts ran the course of "how long are we going to live, seriously?" But again, you're not here to learn how much they actually loved each other. More so, listing out every mission that they went on would be redundant. Instead, let's skip to the inciting incident. In the year 2276, when Jack was 24, the NCR dealt a crippling blow to the BoS. Yet, that wasn't what would change Jack's course of life as much as what happened when their brothers were decimated. They had been sent to root out a small supermutant band that had been moving closer and closer to their base. It was a small contingent, and Jack went along to test a new modification to their laser guns. If it failed, she needed to be there to remedy the fact quick enough. Unfortunately, their intel was bad, and the band of supermutants was far larger than expected. The paladins went down, followed by the knights, and Jack only survived because Isiah drew their attention away from her hiding spot. When the commotion died down and the biting tang of blood was all that Jack could taste, she dragged herself out. She walked among the bodies, not wanting to really look them in the face. Inevitably, she steeled her nerves enough to start collecting dog tags and what valuable technology she could. What she noticed quickly, was that Isiah wasn't among the dead. She found where he'd been disarmed and armored and dragged away.

Jack followed the tracks the best she could, but it became apparent that she'd never catch up in enough time to find him alive or human. So, she headed back to the Brotherhood of Steel base. Remember what I said about the destruction? Assured that it had been decimated by the NCR, Jack found herself without cause or home. In one last attempt for normalcy, she headed back to New Boone. Well, I already telegraphed the sad ending to that. Jack was entirely alone. At that time, she was not called Jacelyn Mercy, but at that moment in the middle of the abandoned town--she became her.

More time passed, as it likes to do, and Jack found herself moving through the Mojave Wastes like a tumbleweed. There was no love for the Brotherhood, especially as she became more and more acquainted with the NCR. So, she had to rely on her knowledge, charisma, and fighting skills to get by. Jack's survival instinct served her well. She was able to work herself in and out of low society, and her teachings and manners allowed her to find purchase in high society. In the town of New Vegas she was looked at as the "Woman from the Wastes with Wit and Weapons." It was comfortable living. Yet, the feel of comfort itched something awful. She'd do jobs for whoever paid her. They all had varying levels of stakes and danger, but it was the only way to stay alive and entertained. It was easy to make her way around with what was afforded to her in New Vegas. She'd take care of the dirty deeds without nary a valiant hiccup in her way. She'd tried to play by the rules, and she'd been left with nothing.

Yet, as the years passed, maybe her consciousness started to weigh on her. Most of her dreams were nightmares. That battle ringing in her ears. The screaming. The dying. The last look at Isiah's face before nothing. Yet, her mind wouldn't leave the nagging fear alone. He'd always pop back up in her dreams, but his face was imposed with that of a supermutants'. Jack didn't know how, but she was sure he was still out there. Not that she could do much about it. But she didn't have to stay here.

So, Jack took what bottlecaps she could and left in the middle of the night. She needed to get out of there. Jack made some enemies with her flight, so letting her trail cool a while could help. And what better way to do that than to head to Oregan with a doctor that wants to track down one woman in all of the wasteland? A woman that was immune to radiation. Jack would have laughed, but her dreams enjoyed playing again and again her mind. So, she figured they needed someone that could get in and out of places without the need to turn everything into a lukewarm steak. That was her specialty, being cunning, charismatic, and caustic.

𝙵𝙻𝙰𝚆𝚂

• Booze & Cigars
• She Likes them Tall, Strong, & Dumb
• Pathological Liar
• Sticky Fingers
• Is Not Built for Feats of Physicality

𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝚂 & 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝚄𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

• Brotherhood of Steel: She is technically still a scribe, though currently marked as MIA. Her relationship with them is good, occasionally using private channels to check-in, but she won't flip on a dime for them.
• NCR: If she could spit into the mouth of a governmental organization, she would. While she has much disdain for them, it's not like she's planning for an all-out war. Jack is smart enough to know that she'd die.
• New Vegas: Decent relationship with the city, and she has a name there. Of course, she may have dirtied it a bit with her latest antics. But they love her, right?
• James & Virginia REDACTED: Jack's birth parents. With the dissolution of New Boone, she doesn't know if they're alive or dead. She had a rather fraught relationship while they were together, but they were family.
• Ben REDACTED: Jack's baby brother that had been born shortly before she left. Honestly, she couldn't tell you anything about him. Other than the fact that he's blood... and... was born a boy?
• Isiah Hillside [DECEASED OR WORSE]: A paladin in the Brotherhood of Steel and Jack's husband. Might still be out there...

𝙾𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙼 TBD

𝖲𝖪𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖲 & 𝖤𝖰𝖴𝖨𝖯𝖬𝖤𝖭𝖳

𝚂𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚂

• Small Guns & Energy Guns: She has the knowledge of how to use them and maintain them. She isn't a crack shot, but she's not bad either.
• Speech: Jack knows her way around a word two. She'll work them just as well as a ghoul stripper works a pole.
• Bartering: A mixture from her days within the Brotherhood and New Vegas. She knows the real worth of something and can talk someone up or down. Now, she can't sell piss as Nukacola, but she'll damn well try.
• Gambling Sleight of Hand: That makes it sound important, right? Being deft with one's fingers and not having a crippling debt addiction.
• Lockpicking: She can't flavor this one any better, but give her some bobby pins and a minute... and she's in. The food lockers at the Brotherhood's base didn't break into themselves.
• Repair: Only on weapons and other offensive technology that the Brotherhood of Steel would use.

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽𝚂

• Primary AEP7 Laser Pistol
• Secondary Modified 10mm Pistol (Reinforced with better mechanical parts, grip, and a fun little charm she found in a prewar gas station)
• Melee Switchblade

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙾𝚁 & 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂

• Modified Male Gambler's Outfit: Has a dyed leather chest piece to keep from immediately dying, and stylish bracers on both arms.
• Gambler's Hat: Fancy and only good keeping the sun out of one's eyes.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂

• a Set of Caravan Cards that are entirely legal
• Bobbypins
• Three Cigars in a Steel Cigarcase
• a Metal Flask of Whiskey
• Brotherhood of Steel Dogtags (x2)
• a Wedding Ring
• Handful of Caps

𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰 She wears her wedding ring looped around the same chain that has her dog tags. They're all tucked under her clothes. She's never without them.

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓱
𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙾𝙽, 𝙸-𝟻, 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚁
𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟷𝟼𝚃𝙷 𝟸𝟸𝟾𝟺
𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙵-𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿; 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻-𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳

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Relics of the First Age

| 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : North Gate - Greytry - Etrid | 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 : Some Fine Men | 𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑟'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑 : Hungry |

A young Fyg held her arm upwards, her palm flat towards the night sky. The stars glittered between her tanned digits, which aligned with the massive stone hands above her. She pressed them shut, effectively blocking out the night, before opening them again. Her mother stirred behind her. Fyg opened her mouth to ask a question as Bautild drew her daughter in close. Her mother kissed her hair a few times before resting her chin on her daughter’s head. “Do you know where those stars came from?”
“Magic?” Fyg answered, squirming in her mother’s grasp.
“Sure.” She chuckled.
“You’re lying.”
“Why assume I knew the answer?” her mother asked, squeezing Fyg closer. “Truth is only spouted by the unimaginative settlers. Lies are for the creative adventurers.”
Fyg wriggled down, allowing her to look up at her mother. Her amber eyes were met with her mother’s equally golden ones. “And which one are you, mum?”
“First of all, I’m not your mother…”
Fyg giggled. “So, you’re a liar?”
Bautild grew silent and looked at the stars.

Greytry was the shining star of Etrid and its illustrious capital. It was where the fair folk of the land had gathered in droves to watch a human man get a shiny token of his power slapped on his head. At least it would remove the Order of the Third Moon from its seat of power. Or at least that’s what Fygawren Aescau had heard, and her ears were quite keen. Still, they would have been keener if everyone outside the North Gate would shut their mouths and let her think. Instead, they jostled her about like she was a sentient sack of potatoes as they trudged forward. It was rude. Fyg inhaled in exasperation. It also smelled horrible outside their fair city. Not that the Great Plains could really speak so highly of their fragrances—horses were aplenty along those flatlands. Still, the odor of so many bodies, pungent from travel, packed together as they squeezed through the front gate was enough for Fyg’s nose to draw upwards on her face. Two senses down, but her eyes still worked. She scanned the crowd as everyone pushed forward.

Men on horses, men on foot, men sitting in carriages, and exceptionally tall men. There was quite a variety about today. A flutter and a heavy mass landed on her shoulder with a bored flumph. It was Piotr, Fyg’s companion bird with the physical makeup of an overcooked dumpling. He practically oozed off her shoulder. She only had herself to blame. Fyg was far too sweet on him.

“So, Piotr, it seems as if we enter the city of Greytry with not a coin on our person,” Fyg said to the bird that definitely couldn’t understand her. She’d actually do better to talk to a plant. “Unless…” she trailed off as she pushed a hand into her coin purse. Unfortunately, all she pulled out was a bit of unmarked currency from the Great Plains, a button, and dried fruit of some kind. She blew the lint off the fruit. Piotr cooed and fluffed on her shoulder. “This is not for you. Candied fruits make you… well, you know.” She bit into it. “You know what I think? I think the number of people help and hinder us today.” Fyg didn’t finish that sentence but instead let the cogs in her mind crunch through the dangers of that.

There were enough people to get a bit of coin off of. There were also guards. Then again, there were a lot of people. Fyg would be taking a chance—a chance in the city where the Order of the Third Moon reigned. She could get away with her dalliances in the Great Plains. Could she here? Fyg sighed. She needed the coin. And better here than inside the gates where there were more walls to get stuck behind. It was then that Fyg spotted her prey. There were three of them atop horses in a sea of people. If she knew anything about giving chase mounted, it was that it only worked on flat and unobscured land.

She moved quickly, knocking at people’s ankles with her staff. More than a few curses were thrown in her direction, but she kept her head down and the scarlet cowl of her cloak pulled close. Yes, looking back, it hadn’t been the best color choice—but it had been her mother’s.

Fyg kept pace with the three men as she hurriedly prepared. She tucked her staff underneath her arm and spat the seed from the fruit into her right hand. Her other hand came to her belt and satchels. There she pulled a couple of potions from their secure latching. The liquid within the bottles, one a bleached green and the other a murky cobalt, viscously ran along the sides as she hoisted them up. She gave the glass a tap with her finger, the ring clinking against it to draw eyes and attention.

“Fine fellows,” she said, pulling from her diaphragm. Fyg tilted her head forward, casting a shadow over her face. “May I offer you some of the most sought after concoctions from the Great Plains. Brewed from the finest ingredients from within the Forests of Paeris and steeped in aged barrels from the oldest ruins in the plains themselves. They cure whatever ails you. Whether it be fatigue from the body or fatigue from the mind. They’re invigorating to the spirit… if you catch my meaning.” She lifted her head a bit and winked with her one uncovered eye.

All the while, a few small vines peeled out from the seed within her hand. All she needed to see was where their hands went when considering coin, and she’d move just as quick with the aid of her little saplings. Fyg knew not to make her magic visible. Quick and silent was the game.

| 𝑡𝑎𝑔(𝑠) : @josephb |