I just went through a lot of personal/family stuff and I'm stressed the fuck out. So that post I was planning for today will be postponed until the weekend, probably. But still intending to 'catch up' on my posting schedule.
Retired Member
"Hayao Miyazaki"
-
Last Seen:
0-24 hrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 1629 (0.52 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Retired 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Captain Uni,
Eddie Brock,
Cyberlad,
Neziul,
Supermaxx,
Scrawl Banditta,
Sistros,
AndyC,
King Kindred,
flat lovenote
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Alright, so. I think the easiest way to solve lower activity rates is to inspire more interaction opportunities. And the most effective way to do that, without arbitrarily forcing people to start writing collaborative posts together, is to incorporate linear story elements into the RP.
My suggestion, as I've laid out in the Discord, is to utilize mini-events or "sidequests." As has been the status quo over the last several years, these games now tend to have end-of-season GM events that are wide-spanning crossovers able to pull in every player and character at once. As was witnessed in the previous two games, these are very successful and positively viewed. And they tend to bring together players who may not have ever written together in that particular RP. I say we take that concept and miniaturize it down.
A sidequest would be relatively simple: one of the GMs puts up an IC post detailing some sort of natural crisis or criminal act in a section of the world some of our characters would be close by to. For instance, half-a-dozen high-skilled individuals breaking into a California facility where weapons-grade plutonium is held. That GM would then post in the OOC announcing that this is a mini-event and that any player who can reasonably get their character there to react to this crime-in-progress may choose to do so, and would list a small checklist of what would likely need to be achieved in order to resolve this sidequest. For example: prevent the theft of plutonium, with a bonus objective of apprehending those responsible. The players that choose to respond can then resolve this sidequest as they see fit without further GM action. If multiple players respond, they now have an easy opportunity for their characters to interact. If only one player responds, that's fine, too, as the sidequest still serves to make the world we're writing in feel more lived-in.
If no one responds, though, after say a week or two, then the GM will then write a second, closing post in the IC detailing the success of the criminal's plans. No one resolving the mini-event would mean "consequences" in that civilian life could be lost, or the criminals could now be even more dangerous the next time. In the same example as above, the criminals now have weapons-grade plutonium and could return in several weeks now holding the city of Los Angeles hostage by the threat of a dirty bomb - thus upping the stakes for a future sidequest. These are the sorts of "consequences" that make the world feel lived-in and real - it's not just what our characters do that build the world, but also what they don't do - while at the same time not feeling like a punishment for choosing to ignore a particular sidequest.
This method, I think, should spur a lot of interaction with minimal effort - GMs would only need to write a single, relatively brief IC post for each sidequest, or two if it is not resolved. It would also help expand upon the world we write in, filling out the backdrop events and giving more opportunity to include these sorts of stories that often don't make sense in our solo arcs. And, further down the road when it makes sense for a year one story, these sidequests can be used to introduce minor comic book villains that may not be utilized otherwise. And, they can even be used to tie-in to the overall season-ending event, whether directly or indirectly, so we can truly feel like said major event has been built up to. There's a lot that can be done with this method that doesn't require any drastic change.
As someone who went into this RP with the intent to fully interact with others this time, but can't always rationalize teaming up with certain characters under normal circumstances, these sidequests could be very beneficial.
Introducing a new sidequest every two weeks or so could be a great way to improve activity, inspire inter-player interaction, and create new, interesting story beats that feel even more like the comic books we all love and enjoy.
My suggestion, as I've laid out in the Discord, is to utilize mini-events or "sidequests." As has been the status quo over the last several years, these games now tend to have end-of-season GM events that are wide-spanning crossovers able to pull in every player and character at once. As was witnessed in the previous two games, these are very successful and positively viewed. And they tend to bring together players who may not have ever written together in that particular RP. I say we take that concept and miniaturize it down.
A sidequest would be relatively simple: one of the GMs puts up an IC post detailing some sort of natural crisis or criminal act in a section of the world some of our characters would be close by to. For instance, half-a-dozen high-skilled individuals breaking into a California facility where weapons-grade plutonium is held. That GM would then post in the OOC announcing that this is a mini-event and that any player who can reasonably get their character there to react to this crime-in-progress may choose to do so, and would list a small checklist of what would likely need to be achieved in order to resolve this sidequest. For example: prevent the theft of plutonium, with a bonus objective of apprehending those responsible. The players that choose to respond can then resolve this sidequest as they see fit without further GM action. If multiple players respond, they now have an easy opportunity for their characters to interact. If only one player responds, that's fine, too, as the sidequest still serves to make the world we're writing in feel more lived-in.
If no one responds, though, after say a week or two, then the GM will then write a second, closing post in the IC detailing the success of the criminal's plans. No one resolving the mini-event would mean "consequences" in that civilian life could be lost, or the criminals could now be even more dangerous the next time. In the same example as above, the criminals now have weapons-grade plutonium and could return in several weeks now holding the city of Los Angeles hostage by the threat of a dirty bomb - thus upping the stakes for a future sidequest. These are the sorts of "consequences" that make the world feel lived-in and real - it's not just what our characters do that build the world, but also what they don't do - while at the same time not feeling like a punishment for choosing to ignore a particular sidequest.
This method, I think, should spur a lot of interaction with minimal effort - GMs would only need to write a single, relatively brief IC post for each sidequest, or two if it is not resolved. It would also help expand upon the world we write in, filling out the backdrop events and giving more opportunity to include these sorts of stories that often don't make sense in our solo arcs. And, further down the road when it makes sense for a year one story, these sidequests can be used to introduce minor comic book villains that may not be utilized otherwise. And, they can even be used to tie-in to the overall season-ending event, whether directly or indirectly, so we can truly feel like said major event has been built up to. There's a lot that can be done with this method that doesn't require any drastic change.
As someone who went into this RP with the intent to fully interact with others this time, but can't always rationalize teaming up with certain characters under normal circumstances, these sidequests could be very beneficial.
Introducing a new sidequest every two weeks or so could be a great way to improve activity, inspire inter-player interaction, and create new, interesting story beats that feel even more like the comic books we all love and enjoy.
Z A T A N N A
Getting into Club Bewitched proved to be a simple task. Zatanna's new wardrobe saw to that.
She had arrived in Los Angeles with only the barest of necessities and only a week's worth of clothing. Most of which were basic, meant for comfort, and far from fashionable. A couple of hours of shopping and a new balance on her credit card gave her a more suitable outfit for tonight's surveillance. The black, midriff-baring, off-the-shoulder top and short shorts with fishnet stockings were about as different from Zatanna's usual style as one could get. The thickly laid on makeup was over the top for her tastes, as well. But, she knew it would serve its purpose. Tonight, she would look just like any other young, twenty-something girl flashing just enough skin to meet the club's quota and be granted entrance by the bouncers.
Locating her target, much to her surprise, proved to be even simpler. Zatanna hadn't expected to get eyes on Eldon Peck on her first foray out. She had been dreading the thought of having to go clubbing night after night, just hoping to get lucky in finding him sooner than later. But, less than an hour after entering Club Bewitched, there he was.
Zatanna sipped on her cocktail as she watched Peck from a distance. Her seat in the club's lounge area afforded her direct line of sight on the man who was currently showering several barely-legal looking girls with attention and alcohol. For a man pushing fifty, the club owner easily could pass for being in his mid-thirties. He was handsome, she supposed, and looked a little like Christian Bale's doppelganger. Which was fitting considering he gave off a very "American Psycho" vibe.
It was his smile. After nearly an hour of watching Peck interact with those around him, she couldn't help but notice how off the man looked when he smiled. Like a piece of plastic being stretched across his face in a well-rehearsed facsimile of a one without any of the emotion behind it.
She continued watching him for the next several hours, making sure to move over to the dance floor every so often to keep up appearances. Aside from a brief restroom visit, Peck kept to his VIP area where he could receive constant adoration from young women desperate to impress the wealthy club owner. By the time it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, Zatanna decided to call it a night. She figured he wasn't likely to do anything unusual or noteworthy at this point and, if she were being honest with herself, she couldn't tolerate another minute of watching the man grope another young girl's backside.
The rear parking lot for the club was empty at that time of night. New party-goers weren't likely to arrive this late and those were had stayed for this long were probably in it for the long haul. Zatanna shifted uncomfortably as she waited for her Uber, the cold Los Angeles night caused her skin to break out in goosebumps. Pacing back and forth, Zatanna cursed her ridiculous outfit for the hundredth time since leaving her hotel room. The fishnet stockings did absolutely nothing to protect her from the elements.
"Ugh," she groaned in frustration as she checked the time on her phone once again. Another ten minutes until her ride was to arrive.
"This is stupid, Zee," she reasoned with herself. "Just do it. No one's watching."
Tucking her dark hair back behind an ear and casting a nervous glance around the empty lot, Zatanna confirmed her own words.
She continued murmuring out loud, "okay, okay. I'm doing it..."
Clapping her hands together, Zatanna began rubbing her palms back and forth. The slight heat from the movement's friction slowly began to expand and envelop both hands entirely before radiating up her arms. She exhaled, focusing her breathing, and concentrated on that heat wiling it to increase. She visualized the budding warmth being pulled away from her clasped hands and collecting into a tiny sphere before her. Within seconds it did just that. A mixture of red and orange energy danced down her fingers and began to gather at the tips. It grew from a tiny bead to a golfball-sized roiling flame that flickered in the air.
Just as she was about to will the fire to move down towards her legs and provide some much-desired relief from the biting chill, a soft voice called out to her from behind.
"Excuse me..."
The flame vanished in a brief spark of light as Zatanna startled.
Whirling around in a mixture of surprise and guilt, Zatanna threw her hands behind her back as if she were a schoolgirl caught sneaking a cigarette between classes.
She had half-expected the voice to belong to a guy from the club, liquid courage perhaps inspiring him to try his luck with her. But, instead, she saw a little old lady bundled up in a worn-down grey shawl. Her hands gripping tightly to the edges of the cloth and pulling it closer to her tiny body. It was difficult to tell with her face obscured in the darkness of the night, but Zatanna imagined the woman to be at least in her seventies.
"Uh, yes? Can I help you?" Zatanna wondered if the lady might be lost or confused. Or even homeless, she realized, as a closer look revealed the ratty shawl's grey coloring was probably from being unwashed.
The elderly woman, barely five feet tall and hunched over, slowly spun from side to side as if just now realizing her surroundings.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, dearie." Her voice was high and cracked, giving Zatanna the impression she was nursing a parched throat or had been a long-time smoker.
When the woman didn't add anything further, only looking forward expectantly, Zatanna encouraged her to say more. "Are you okay, ma'am? It's awfully cold out tonight. And late. Are you lost? Do you need me to call someone for you?"
"... So warm." The words were mumbled and whatever she had said beforehand were lost to the wind.
"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't quite make out—"
The lady stumbled forward, throwing out her arms to clutch onto Zatanna for support. Her fingers curled into the cloth of the younger woman's shirt who gasped and reached out to catch this poor stranger.
"You're so warm..." She repeated, this time loud enough for Zatanna to hear.
Zatanna frowned slightly and considered her minimalist outfit. It wasn't exactly what she would consider warm attire, she was still shivering from the chilly night herself. But if this woman was indeed homeless and had been out in this weather all night, Zatanna could at least sympathize.
"Oh, God," Zatanna said. "Let me call you some help."
She tried reaching back for her phone but the old woman suddenly clutched at Zatanna's arms.
"I can feel it. Inside of you. So warm."
This time the lady's voice sounded harsher but more energetic. Her hands against Zatanna's bare skin felt rough and clasped tightly onto the latter's arms with surprising strength. The shawl, no longer being held against her body, fell back, and at the same time, the woman tossed her head upwards.
Dull yellow eyes stared at and almost through Zatanna. Thin, pale lips stretched apart to reveal a jagged row of razored teeth.
It rasped out, "I want it. Give it to me, now!"
She had arrived in Los Angeles with only the barest of necessities and only a week's worth of clothing. Most of which were basic, meant for comfort, and far from fashionable. A couple of hours of shopping and a new balance on her credit card gave her a more suitable outfit for tonight's surveillance. The black, midriff-baring, off-the-shoulder top and short shorts with fishnet stockings were about as different from Zatanna's usual style as one could get. The thickly laid on makeup was over the top for her tastes, as well. But, she knew it would serve its purpose. Tonight, she would look just like any other young, twenty-something girl flashing just enough skin to meet the club's quota and be granted entrance by the bouncers.
Locating her target, much to her surprise, proved to be even simpler. Zatanna hadn't expected to get eyes on Eldon Peck on her first foray out. She had been dreading the thought of having to go clubbing night after night, just hoping to get lucky in finding him sooner than later. But, less than an hour after entering Club Bewitched, there he was.
Zatanna sipped on her cocktail as she watched Peck from a distance. Her seat in the club's lounge area afforded her direct line of sight on the man who was currently showering several barely-legal looking girls with attention and alcohol. For a man pushing fifty, the club owner easily could pass for being in his mid-thirties. He was handsome, she supposed, and looked a little like Christian Bale's doppelganger. Which was fitting considering he gave off a very "American Psycho" vibe.
It was his smile. After nearly an hour of watching Peck interact with those around him, she couldn't help but notice how off the man looked when he smiled. Like a piece of plastic being stretched across his face in a well-rehearsed facsimile of a one without any of the emotion behind it.
She continued watching him for the next several hours, making sure to move over to the dance floor every so often to keep up appearances. Aside from a brief restroom visit, Peck kept to his VIP area where he could receive constant adoration from young women desperate to impress the wealthy club owner. By the time it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, Zatanna decided to call it a night. She figured he wasn't likely to do anything unusual or noteworthy at this point and, if she were being honest with herself, she couldn't tolerate another minute of watching the man grope another young girl's backside.
The rear parking lot for the club was empty at that time of night. New party-goers weren't likely to arrive this late and those were had stayed for this long were probably in it for the long haul. Zatanna shifted uncomfortably as she waited for her Uber, the cold Los Angeles night caused her skin to break out in goosebumps. Pacing back and forth, Zatanna cursed her ridiculous outfit for the hundredth time since leaving her hotel room. The fishnet stockings did absolutely nothing to protect her from the elements.
"Ugh," she groaned in frustration as she checked the time on her phone once again. Another ten minutes until her ride was to arrive.
"This is stupid, Zee," she reasoned with herself. "Just do it. No one's watching."
Tucking her dark hair back behind an ear and casting a nervous glance around the empty lot, Zatanna confirmed her own words.
She continued murmuring out loud, "okay, okay. I'm doing it..."
Clapping her hands together, Zatanna began rubbing her palms back and forth. The slight heat from the movement's friction slowly began to expand and envelop both hands entirely before radiating up her arms. She exhaled, focusing her breathing, and concentrated on that heat wiling it to increase. She visualized the budding warmth being pulled away from her clasped hands and collecting into a tiny sphere before her. Within seconds it did just that. A mixture of red and orange energy danced down her fingers and began to gather at the tips. It grew from a tiny bead to a golfball-sized roiling flame that flickered in the air.
Just as she was about to will the fire to move down towards her legs and provide some much-desired relief from the biting chill, a soft voice called out to her from behind.
"Excuse me..."
The flame vanished in a brief spark of light as Zatanna startled.
Whirling around in a mixture of surprise and guilt, Zatanna threw her hands behind her back as if she were a schoolgirl caught sneaking a cigarette between classes.
She had half-expected the voice to belong to a guy from the club, liquid courage perhaps inspiring him to try his luck with her. But, instead, she saw a little old lady bundled up in a worn-down grey shawl. Her hands gripping tightly to the edges of the cloth and pulling it closer to her tiny body. It was difficult to tell with her face obscured in the darkness of the night, but Zatanna imagined the woman to be at least in her seventies.
"Uh, yes? Can I help you?" Zatanna wondered if the lady might be lost or confused. Or even homeless, she realized, as a closer look revealed the ratty shawl's grey coloring was probably from being unwashed.
The elderly woman, barely five feet tall and hunched over, slowly spun from side to side as if just now realizing her surroundings.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, dearie." Her voice was high and cracked, giving Zatanna the impression she was nursing a parched throat or had been a long-time smoker.
When the woman didn't add anything further, only looking forward expectantly, Zatanna encouraged her to say more. "Are you okay, ma'am? It's awfully cold out tonight. And late. Are you lost? Do you need me to call someone for you?"
"... So warm." The words were mumbled and whatever she had said beforehand were lost to the wind.
"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't quite make out—"
The lady stumbled forward, throwing out her arms to clutch onto Zatanna for support. Her fingers curled into the cloth of the younger woman's shirt who gasped and reached out to catch this poor stranger.
"You're so warm..." She repeated, this time loud enough for Zatanna to hear.
Zatanna frowned slightly and considered her minimalist outfit. It wasn't exactly what she would consider warm attire, she was still shivering from the chilly night herself. But if this woman was indeed homeless and had been out in this weather all night, Zatanna could at least sympathize.
"Oh, God," Zatanna said. "Let me call you some help."
She tried reaching back for her phone but the old woman suddenly clutched at Zatanna's arms.
"I can feel it. Inside of you. So warm."
This time the lady's voice sounded harsher but more energetic. Her hands against Zatanna's bare skin felt rough and clasped tightly onto the latter's arms with surprising strength. The shawl, no longer being held against her body, fell back, and at the same time, the woman tossed her head upwards.
Dull yellow eyes stared at and almost through Zatanna. Thin, pale lips stretched apart to reveal a jagged row of razored teeth.
It rasped out, "I want it. Give it to me, now!"
It wouldn't be a DC game without a reboot.
<Snipped quote by Retired>
I fail to see how constantly rooting for a player to miss their posting deadline is conducive to a healthy roleplay.
Well, aside from not being serious since I already have a character of my own, the last time I made the joke you posted within two days. Instead of me rooting against you, I'm rooting for you to prove me wrong again.
I think second characters are probably a no-go considering how many players are on the "expired" list every week with only one.
Three more days, Andy. Three more days.
Sneaking in a post hours before the deadline. Just the way I like it.
Z A T A N N A
"... The brief conference between the two world leaders marked the first official, in-person meeting at the White House since the pandemic swept across the nation..."
"... Hundreds gathered today in Jump City to celebrate the unveiling of popular development team Control Freaks' newest..."
"... Tensions between Bialya and Corto Maltese have been reported as having escalated..."
"... Musk's tweet sent stocks spiraling as..."
"... Hundreds gathered today in Jump City to celebrate the unveiling of popular development team Control Freaks' newest..."
"... Tensions between Bialya and Corto Maltese have been reported as having escalated..."
"... Musk's tweet sent stocks spiraling as..."
The television set, an analog relic from the days of dial-up internet, displayed a multitude of low-resolution images as the screen switched from station to station at a rapid pace. Not staying on any single channel long enough to matter, the dying remote control with its worn-out buttons that barely depressed was put to the test as Zatanna used the 'channel up' button as quickly as she could manage. Her eyes dead ahead, not even glimpsing at the device before her, seemingly swapping from program to program without care or meaning. Finally, after cycling through the limited selection of channels repeatedly for several minutes, the young woman selected the off button, allowing the fuzzy tv screen to wink out.
Letting out a slow, drawn-out breath, she returned the remote to its perch, watching as it freely floated across the four-foot gap from bed to tv stand, where it settled down with a soft clunk. Her hands, having been neatly folded in her lap the entire time, separated as she leaned back in the hotel bed, satisfied with her improvement.
This was the fourth night since Zatanna had arrived in Los Angeles and she had only left her hotel room once to revise her length of stay with the manager. Making use of food delivery apps and copious amounts of caffeine to maximize her hours awake, she had spent every possible moment from morning to night training and learning.
Teaching herself how to once again access her natural, magical abilities that had been forsaken for the better part of a decade had been surprisingly simple, she found. Or, at least, less exhaustive than she had initially feared. Once she had fully dived back into her childhood lessons, reliving the instructions her father had ingrained in her at a young age, Zatanna found the skills and techniques returning to her as if they had never truly vanished. Reembracing her mystical prowess proved to be more akin to riding a bike than she ever would have guessed. Muscle memory, she supposed, translated just as well to the arcane.
Levitating the remote control and using her telekinetic power to activate the buttons on the device was a trivial task to her now. After several days of practice, Zatanna was confident she could do as much with barely a thought. Just yesterday, after all, she had tried and succeeded in mentally lifting the bulky television set itself, raising it a foot above the table it sat on until its power cord began to strain in protest. And, demonstrating a significant improvement from that first night, the budding sorceress could now sufficiently manipulate the mostly intact cheap ashtray that had nearly bludgeoned her previously. Whipping it around the area with great speed and finesse, and causing it to perform aerial feats in the process.
Zatanna had moved on from practicing her telekinesis after the first day, next beginning to redevelop her control over the elemental forces. Controlling the water in her drinking glass and then the shower had been the easiest to grasp. Redirecting the stream from the faucet and pulling the water into various, simplistic shapes had felt natural to her. After only several hours of practice, she had felt comfortable with that element and had resolved to move on to the next. Growing up, she had constantly used her gifts to conjure slight gusts of wind, and so, while it took her slightly longer to reach the same level of affinity, manipulating the air had also proved to be relatively uncomplicated.
Fire had been next and it had taken well over a day for Zatanna to become adept at. While the previous two elements she had been able to wield already-existing sources of, with fire she had to generate her own. And, as she had quickly learned, conjuring flame was difficult. And dangerous. The singed fringes of the sheet she had tucked underneath the mattress were testament to that. But, even still, by the previous night, Zatanna had also conquered that element.
Even now, as she sat atop the hotel bed, three small puffs of orange and yellow floated in the center of the room, held aloft with only her mind. The flickering orbs warmed the already poorly circulated space and caused tiny shadows to dance across each of the walls. Occasionally, the three would become one before separating again in a display that reminded Zatanna of old slides shown during middle school of cells dividing.
Once she had readjusted to the basics of her powers and regained moderate control over them, Zatanna had decided to dedicate the rest of her week-long stay at the hotel to learning how to handle multiple abilities at once. The use of telekinesis to change the tv stations while simultaneously maintaining steady control over the summoned flames was only the first step in her newly planned regimen. Tomorrow, she aimed to add water to the mix.
But familiarizing herself with her powers hadn't been the only thing Zatanna had set out to learn. She spent hours every day scouring the documents, journals, and notes she had photographed in her father's private study. Piece by piece she had been methodically and patiently reading and studying everything she had stored in her phone, occasionally resorting to Google to translate certain texts or provide missing context to obscure occult terms she hadn't been familiar with. Having only originally scanned through them in a panicked hurry, she paid close attention to the notes her father had taken regarding his investigation here in Los Angeles. Now, with time and a more focused mindset, Zatanna had been able to uncover several key bits of information left behind by her father.
The City of Angels had been beset in recent months by a string of suicides. Something that ordinarily might not have been looked at too closely by local law enforcement, especially as it was during the height of the virus pandemic in the States. Giovanni Zatara, on the other hand, had found them quite unordinary. Enough so that he had made several trips to the city since the start of May to investigate the circumstances surrounding each suicide that he had deemed unusual. According to his final notes on the subject, the elder Zatara had narrowed down the cause to what he had described as "coerced soul forfeiture," which apparently would result in severe, unavoidable depression culminating in the victims taking their own lives in brutally painful ways.
The singular suspect Giovanni had settled on for this magical crime was one Eldon Peck. Zatanna had done some digging on the man online and discovered he was originally a businessman based out of the San Francisco Bay area before just two years ago opening a popular nightclub in Los Angeles - Club Bewitched, which Zatanna felt was a little too on the nose. Several unsubstantiated reports had tried to link Peck to various criminal endeavors and the De Cecco crime family, but details on those rumors were scant, to say the least.
Regardless of Peck's past and the rumors surrounding it, Zatanna knew the man would be her only lead into her father's disappearance. Giovanni's notes and his journal indicated that this had been the last investigation he had been working on, and Los Angeles had been his final destination. This meant that as soon as she finished her week-long self-training, Zatanna now had a solid, albeit limited, plan.
Partake in the L.A. nightlife and get into Club Bewitched.
My distractions haven't gone away yet. They've gotten worse, if anything. I spent several hours writing today but ended up writing in circles towards the middle of the post. I'm going to take a break, use my day of relaxation tomorrow to refocus, and then come back to the post on Sunday.
Because I'm slacking, I'll do an extra post this week to make up for it.
Because I'm slacking, I'll do an extra post this week to make up for it.
© 2007-2026