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Both. Either. Everything. All.

I have some posts I've done such comprehensive notes on that it's absurd, and others that I just wing it on. When I apply for a character I'll always have at least a dozen roughly sketched out arcs for them that I can use and know I can write towards. But things change as the IC and game progresses.

Many times I'll just write out posts, entire scenes and dialogue, in my head as I try to sleep at night. That's how the last Doom Patrol post was made, and how the next one is being drafted, as well. Written in my mind as I turned off the lights and closed my eyes for four nights in a row. Then just typed it out first chance I had and smoothed out the rough edges.
Meanwhile, I'm over here just still not using colors at all.
Throw all the hawks in. Get Lady Blackhawk in there, too.
Not a GM, but I think your best bet is to PM the Superman player. In this case @Master Bruce, and see if your concept gels with his. There are definitely ways to make Power Girl without making her a Kryptonian or tying her into Superman. But given she's a Superman legacy character he'd have say on what would work.
<Snipped quote by Retired>



This most recent post brought to you by the committee of Reed Richards haters. Worst spouse/partner in Marvel comics.
D O O M P A T R O L



Susan Storm could hear the telltale notes of a violin accompanied by flutes from down the hallway. As she walked down the wide, immaculate corridor and neared the source she brushed her golden locks behind her right ear, tilting her head towards the sounds. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3 in G major as performed by Joseph Joachim, the young scientist identified. Sue had heard the composition more times than she could recall in the last handful of years and she knew it's meaning all too well.

Good, Sue thought. He's in an excellent mood today.

In all the time she had known Victor Von Doom, he had always been a lover of classical music. And, almost a decade-and-a-half since their first meeting and nearly five years since their first date, Susan could tell how the man was feeling based entirely on his choice of composition. This particular piece, she knew, indicated he was in high spirits. The first time she had heard this particular violinist's performance had been the day following the first kiss she and Victor had shared. The latest was during their exploratory voyage into the Microverse the previous year.

Given Victor's recent frustrations over his current project and its elusive solution, the lightly dancing concerto was a pleasant and welcome surprise.

She stepped through the open doorway of Victor's personal laboratory. His "castle" as he called it. The Future Foundation boasted many spaces dedicated to scientific research and development, including the central room that took up the majority of the fourth floor that had been assigned as the testing facility for the Doom Patrol upon the group's formation. Victor, though, had always preferred tinkering in his smaller - though still substantive - lab tucked away amongst a corner of the fifth floor.

Unlike the main facility, Victor's laboratory was largely devoid of technological marvels that the former room displayed. Instead, here the walls were proudly adorned with art. Large canvas paintings, charcoal sketches, and sculptures alike covered nearly every visible space from the hallway to the central area where Victor sat. Sue recognized numerous famous works and pieces from the Birth of Venus and The Persistence of Memory by painters Sandro Botticelli and Salvador DalĂ­ respectively, to some of Georgia O'Keeffe's charcoal drawings, to the classic image of The Nefertiti Bust sculpted of limestone settled into a recessed shelf in the wall.

Every one of them was a replica. The most expertly done replicas she could imagine existing, with every single piece of art displayed in the room entirely indistinguishable from the original. Susan doubted even Botticelli himself could be pressed to find a discernable difference. And each of them had been painted, drawn, or sculpted by Victor Von Doom.

Sue mused that, in another lifetime, had Victor taken a different path in life, he would have made an impressive criminal and perhaps the greatest forger in history.

As she neared closer to Victor's desk, where she could see the dark-haired man hunched over and hard at work, Sue's eyes drifted up to stare briefly at the massive portrait mounted directly above the desk. It covered nearly the entire expanse of the wall and was visibly dominant amongst all of the other art pieces present. The painting depicted a woman in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length, sun-touched hair. Striking sapphire eyes that slightly peered down as if watching over Victor as he worked, and a subtle, soft smile that Victor had often described as "a heart melter" completed the beautiful piece.

Susan's lips uplifted to match the painted smile. Her hair was longer now, but Victor had done such an amazing job capturing the image of his model that it was impossible not to recognize the visage of Sue Storm. There had been a time where she had genuinely been embarrassed by the portrait, or at least by its dramatic prominence. She had more than a few times over the last four years when it had first been erected onto the wall urged Victor to paint a smaller, subtler version if not remove it entirely. But now, Susan couldn't deny she appreciated the display, though she would never admit that out loud. After all, of all the replicated famous pieces of world-wide renown Victor had done over the years, her portrait was still to this day the only original painting he had ever completed.

At the same moment that she rested a gentle hand atop Victor's shoulder the melody of the concerto immediately died down. Sue wasn't surprised. No matter how engrossed in his work he became, Victor had never failed to notice her presence. Early on in their relationship, Susan had attempted numerous times to teasingly sneak up on the man by using her abilities to bend light around her body, rendering herself invisible, but Victor had still known she was there. Once or twice he had even played along with her ruse, feigning surprise, but Sue could tell he had known.

It was one of the many things she adored about him; how well Victor knew her.

"Hey, handsome." She leaned down and kissed his left temple. "Hope I'm not distracting you."

Victor's fingers were a blur as he continued typing away. Susan glanced at the multiple screens before him and noticed the rapid scroll of mathematical equations. For several seconds there was no response to her words.

Then, the clacking of his fingers against keys ceased and the numbers and symbols on the screens slowed to a halt. Victor pressed a single button to his right side and the computer monitors went dark.

Spinning around with a wide grin across his face and excitement in his eyes, he spoke. "You are many things, Susan, but you are never a distraction."

Sue didn't bother to conceal the smile his words gave her. Even after years of being together, Victor's compliments and affirmations made her heart soar. He never once made her feel unloved or like she came secondary to anything else. She was his world, his soul, his desire. Those were the words he had spoken to her on that incredible day just eight months ago.

"Joseph Joachim, huh?" She said, her eyes searching his.

Victor chuckled lightly. "You know me too well."

"Should I break out the champagne, or?"

"Susan," he said rising out of his chair. "You should definitely break out the champagne."

"You've done it?" She asked with wonder.

"I'm very confident."

Susan's smile deepened at that. Victor was almost always very confident.

"I bet," she said teasingly.

"It's now only a matter of adapting my newest calculations to the drive. Shouldn't take more than a day or two at the most. Then we can begin our proper test run," he elaborated.

"The boys will be excited to hear the news, I'm sure," Sue added as she slowly rocked forward onto her tiptoes.

Victor took a half-step toward her so that their torsos brushed together. Lowering his head to match her slighter stature, he spoke in a softer tone and peered deeply into her blue eyes. "I suppose we should celebrate the occasion, then."

"Yes," Susan agreed as she moved forward to press her lips against his. "We should definitely celebrate."

Sue Storm felt her fiance's hands encircle her waist and heard the soft swell of music fill the chamber again. Victor Von Doom was certainly in an excellent mood that day, and so too was she.
I did a thing.
D O O M P A T R O L



The cafeteria was a cacophony of silverware clinking against plates. The din of chatter rose above it as both students and faculty of the Future Foundation enjoyed their lunch. The smell of burgundy beef stew filled the air. From his table in the corner, far removed from the others, Clifford Steele watched and listened.

At one side of the large room, Cliff noted Malcolm Duncan. The students of the Foundation were mostly split into two departments; science and the arts, with a light sprinkling of other academic fields for good measure. Mal, barely twenty years old, had been admitted to the program under the latter criteria. An aspiring film director, the young mister Duncan sported a creative mind that the staff would cultivate and nurture and allow to blossom. And with the equipment and funding provided here, he would flourish greatly.

Still, the arts weren't Malcolm's only passion. Tall with a large, muscular frame, Mal reminded Cliff of his younger days as an adrenaline junky. The youth always sought out physical activities and thrived on competition. A member of both the Baxter Building's track and wrestling teams - as the institute prided itself on having both healthy bodies in addition to keen minds - Mal had the spirit of a true athlete. Clifford could remember when, just four years ago, Mal had joined the Future Foundation and immediately made a name for himself both by winning that year's wrestling tournament as well as producing an award-winning short docu-film based on the rise of the modern 'superhero' and their place in the world.

Cliff had given the star student a standing ovation on both occasions.

Next to Mal, and currently sporting the former's arm draped around her shoulder, sat Karen Beecher, the other half of the Foundation's young power couple. She was about a foot shorter than her beau and very slim, with her dark hair cut into a bob. Unlike her boyfriend, Karen had gotten into the Foundation based on her sharp intellect. Cliff didn't understand what, exactly, it was she was working on, but he knew that her latest project had become the talk of the faculty.

On the complete opposite side of the cafeteria sat Wyatt Wingfoot. At thirty-one, he was about a decade younger than Clifford. Wyatt was six-foot with long black hair, classically handsome features, and a well-toned physique that clearly wasn't just for show.

He also happened to be Cliff's replacement.

Six years ago, prior to the incident, Cliff Steele had operated as the Future Foundation's head of security. He had been in his mid-thirties then and a well-known adventurer who had traversed the world from the Amazon Rainforest to the Himalayas and everywhere in between. He had swum, unprotected, with sharks and free-climbed mountains just for the sheer thrill of it. A born daredevil, Clifford had only accepted the position at the Baxter Building at the promise of being able to participate and lead the greatest, most dangerous expedition possible. He had been on the job for less than eight months before the mishap that left him in his current state.

Then, Wyatt came in, hired while Cliff was still in a coma as his body slowly deteriorated. The younger man had taken his old position and had even joined in on Cliff's new role. Several of the adventures the so-called Doom Patrol had gone on in recent years had had Wyatt Wingfoot as a willing and able participant. And, just two years ago, the new head of security had been instrumental in fending off an attack on the Baxter Building.

Clifford scanned Wyatt. Healthy, strong, dependable. And his replacement.

He knew it wasn't Wyatt's fault. He understood that the man had done nothing to wrong him, had only ever been friendly and supportive. But, still. Cliff had been replaced in more ways than one.

He noticed Wyatt taste a spoonful of stew before finally turning away. Cliff's optical sensors looked down to the empty table before him. No steaming, delicious broth. Not now. Not ever.

Cliff leaned forward and carefully rested his metallic elbows on the thin tabletop, making sure to hold most of his considerable weight off of the surface, and set his head between open palms. Truth be told, it was a vestigial gesture more than anything else. With his new body, there was no need to rest as there was no chance of fatigue.

New, he thought. It had been nearly a full six years since the accident that had left his former body mangled and beyond repair. Nearly a full six years since Victor Von Doom had made the decision to replace Cliff's biological form with that of one entirely composed of nanomachines - save his brain which had miraculously been intact. Nearly a full six years since Cliff Steele had become the Robotman.

He didn't blame Victor. He held no ill-will or resentment towards his teammate and friend. In fact, Cliff was grateful to Victor for saving his life. And yet...

Cliff sighed deeply. Or, rather, his synthetic voice box approximated the sound of a heavy exhalation. Another vestigial habit of his and one he would likely never overcome.

Yes, Clifford Steele had been replaced. In more ways than one.
First Doom Patrol will be postponed until tomorrow. I started it too late, which is entirely my bad. But it will be up tomorrow.
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