Roman

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{All The Rest Of Us}

Issue Two: Companions

---

^{_{A DREAM}}
~~~~~

<sup>I am curled into a fetal ball, spinning and kicking aimlessly in a void of bright nothingness. I can’t see - my eyelids refuse to open and I have not been granted eyes for sight regardless - but all around me, on all sides pressing against my skin, colours and light flows through this shared liminal space and onwards through seams in reality. Claustrophobia settles in and only gains ground against my mind as I feel the space shrink and trap me, my muscles screaming against themselves as I push outwards against invisible walls, trying to postpone my fate but failing unquestionably. The void freezes my chest in place and I cannot draw breath into my lungs, and I am on the verge of asphyxiation when the nothingness opens up beneath me and spits me out like primordial ooze, a stain upon the carpet. I can stand, with difficulty. I am knee-high in thick black mud, and the cold mire clings to my skin. There is nothing here, just myself and the mud, a bog that spans as far as the horizon and far over.

I stand in the mud for years. As the sunless days pass me by and I gaze up at starless night skies, I strain every sense I have for any sign of life. It takes several lifetimes, but eventually I hear it: a blunt, rhythmic thudding, somewhere in the distance beyond the mud. There was no source that I could see; but the thudding was all there was, and so I moved towards it. Slowly, at first, every step demanding all my body has to give to wrench my foot from the grip of the mire and place it forwards, plunging down again into the muck and again the momentous effort to bring the other foot with me...but at the same time I glide effortlessly forwards without movement, the mud motionless around me as I sail on. I see both. I do both. The thudding gets louder as I persist.

I am at the centre of the swamp. There is a small grove of scorched trees here, little more than blackened trunks and a few branches between them. They form a circle around a singular mound of dirt, upon which rests a wooden block, stained with blood, muck, ooze and foul scum. The thudding is at its loudest, and as I listen to it I can begin to discern figures surrounding the block. They look roughly human in a crude manner - but their outlines are frayed and warping, their faces are blank and featureless but radiate hatred, and I can see each of them holds a cleaver, chopping incessantly at something upon that filthy block. They hurt to look at, but I peer closer, desperate to see the meat they are butchering. I vomit when I finally make out what lays upon their table.

It’s me. I lie on the table, every blow of the cleaver carving away at my body. They start at my feet and I cannot move as every landing of the blade bloodlessly hacks away a sliver of flesh, only for the cleavers to rise and fall again. Another figure at the end of the of the block tears away each strip and tosses it behind itself into a dark hole in the ground. I thrash and struggle and attempt to break free but I am unable to move as the cleavers move up my body and the chopping grows louder until it is all there is; I can only watch as I am portioned up into neat sections and discarded into the hole.

As the last cleaver lands across my eyes the hole behind the last figure opens up and envelopes the world. The figures, the trees, the block - it all melts away as I fall, now little more than remnants of a spirit forgotten. My fall is long and gentle, a slow sink into an inky darkness, but eventually it ceases and my ethereal feet touch solid black. In front of me is a woman, back faced to me while she quietly weeps into her hands. In front of her is a bloodied pile of viscera, the scraps of my body cut, quartered and discarded. I reach out to touch her, to console her of my death, to comfort her that I am not all gone - but my hands fall through her. She turns. She has my face. I see through her eyes as her arms raise and take a tight grasp around my neck. I can only watch as she slowly strangles what it left of me.</sup>

~~~~~

John wakes sharply with a shout and startles Francis, who swerves the car as he involuntarily pulls the steering wheel a bit. The car on the inside lane blares their horn and Francis swears out the window, before he settles himself and gets comfortable again. John quietly breathes deep and slow, and holds a hand to his chest as he calms his pulse and anchors himself on his surroundings. He is in the passenger seat of Francis’ car, and they are just outside London, travelling on the M1 towards the city proper. Maybe an hour left to go. John’s been asleep since Milton Keynes.

“Bad dream there?” Francis asks, and John frowns to himself trying to recall the details. Dread fills him as he searches his mind and he quickly tucks the emotion away in a dark corner.
“Horrendous. Can’t remember it now.” John replies. Francis nods in that wise-looking way. John shifts in his seat and fishes for the photo of Cheryl out of his pocket - his memories of his sister are fresh as ever, and he looks over the picture trying to shake the despair he feels at seeing her face. The dream eludes him, but scraps of Cheryl, of dread, and of an immutable oncoming disaster linger with him. Francis looks over John’s shoulder, curiosity trumping privacy.
“Who’ve you got there then? Old friend? Paramour?” He puts an extended, exaggerated tone on ‘paramour’ that irritates John. “That who you’re off to see?”
John pauses, wondering how best to respond. He has not shared any aspect of his personal life with anyone since Cheryl’s disappearance, and it almost feels like he has forgotten how.
“She’s my sister. Cheryl Constantine. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
Francis nods again. “Moved away? Or fallen out of touch? Can’t say I like to spend much time with my family.”

John hesitates , and then decides to be done with it. “She disappeared. Nearly two years ago now. Coppers couldn’t find anything. Thought my father had done it for a while but...probably the only thing he’s genuinely clean on. Missing presumed dead.”
Francis swallows the confession quietly and surveys the road ahead as he digests. When he replies, he asks only one question. “Do you think she’s dead?”
John takes a long moment to search his core. He hasn’t dwelled this long on Cheryl since he got out of Ravenscar. It hurts in a way that feels cold inside. He had never considered that she may be dead after all, that closure would never come and his life would be forever defined by the hole she had left in it. But something stirs inside him and it is with a resolute and absolute confidence that he says: “No. She’s alive.”
Francis draws a deep breath. “Alright then.”

They drive for a bit longer; then Francis changes the subject, hoping to lighten the atmosphere in the car. “Who you off to see then? This old chum of yours.”
“Gary Lester.” John pauses, but Francis doesn’t respond, so John elaborates just to fill the silence. “We used to go to school together, all three of us. Weirdos, we were. Those kids who drew spells on each other in biro during class and made oujia boards on our school books. Never knew anyone else other than Gary who liked the macabre like I did, and I think Cheryl just humoured me so I didn’t feel like so much of a freak. And we were all into our punk. Used to dream that we could cast some magic to turn us into rockstars. ‘Mucous Membrane’, we would’ve called ourselves. Soon grew up, though. And then when Cheryl went missing...we were all out of our minds. Said some things I regret. Made some cruel accusations and poked at open secrets. His mum moved him to London and we haven’t spoken since. Wrote him some letters while I was…” John pauses. He’s not sure how much he should open up yet. “...away, but never got anything back. If he’s still around, I need to repair what’s left. Make my apologies. Find some closure. Un-burn the bridges.”
Francis gives John a look of respect. “That’s some very noble honesty there, Johnno. Takes a lot to allow that humility in yourself. When do you plan to go see him?”
John shrugs. “Dunno. Day’s getting on now. Guess it’ll be tomorrow.”
“You got anywhere to stay when we get to the city?”
John shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything or look at Francis.
“Got a free sofa. And I’m still off work tomorrow so I can give you a lift to the address. And to the hospital after, if needs be.”
John feels the same warm swell of gratitude again, and envisions a tether between himself and Francis. He feels an innate sense of trust in the London cabbie, and hopes that Francis feels the same in him. John nods.
“Yes, please. Thank you. You’re being...very kind.”
“It’s no bother. You seem a decent bloke.”
“All the same. Thank you, Francis.”
“You’re welcome, John. And call me Chas. All my friends do.”
“Chas.” John repeats, nodding. He smiles, for perhaps the first time since he went into Ravenscar. The smile quickly turns into a scream of fear as John is forced to brace himself against the door as Chas brakes and swerves across all three lanes of the motorway to gun down a slip road to services. He cuts off a lorry as he does so and the horn from the front cab pierces through John, although Chas only responds with more swears and gestures out the window as they accelerate away and into the carpark. John’s face is a picture of stunned fear as Chas parks up, and Chas chuckles as he pulls the handbrake up and takes a look at John as he steps out of the car.
“Sorry pal. Got distracted and nearly missed this turn off. Last whoppers before the city. Can’t be helped.”
John just blinks, and then laughs a deep, long laugh while Chas watches, puzzled but amused.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

_{All The Rest Of Us}

Issue One: Departure

---

John Constantine’s room is a shithole.

Wall-to-wall, the floor is visible only in scraps, littered with garbage that feels like aggressive white noise in its hostile repetitiveness. Beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, discarded food packet, dirty laundry, beer can, scrap of carpet. Foil sheet, emptied of pills. Beer can. Empty plastic bottle of six bob voddy. Beer can. Laundry. Beer can. Beer can. Beer ca-

John wakes up. His neck hurts, and he knows this is because he has no pillow, but he is inwardly angry anyway, resenting his body for being damaged by his own poor care taking. He rolls over onto his stomach, and the physical exertion makes him feel nauseous, and he reaches for a plastic carrier bag to vomit into. Nothing comes up, but John tastes bile in the back of his throat and spits thick saliva into the bag. He throws the bag away, another movement he immediately regrets, and while it lands atop one of the scarce few bits of carpet left, John tears rapidly through the closest pile of rubbish and fag-butts to find at least one smoke-able cigarette. He comes up empty, and now his hangover, a fetid miasma of migraine, nausea and muscle ache, begins to crash in waves against him, and his scorched throat begs for further lashings.

Ignoring both, or at least ignoring the ever-increasing urge to vomit, John sits up on his mattress. His duvet, thin with no sheets, falls off his torso quietly, the change in temperature barely noticeable. He splays his legs out in front of him, kicking aside empty cans and paper wrappers with his heels as he waits for the dizziness to subside. John rubs his eyes. He stands, legs cold and shaking, and then makes a quick trip to the bathroom across the hall, where the nausea overcomes him and he empties his stomach and his bladder in quick succession.

It is while John washes his hands, mouth, and face under the cold tap in the sink that he thinks of his stash. He finishes off, patting himself dry on a stained, ragged old towel that he scoops from the floor and then returns there, and crosses the hall again back to his room. His stash is hidden behind his chest of drawers, and he has to move a pile of dirty clothes before he can shift it, but when he does he can see the cracks in the wall almost instantly. He can't remember the last time he used his stash, but to his nicotine starved mind, behind that small section of pull-away wall hides John's earthly salvation: a small white box, adorned with a simple purple square.

John feverishly works his finger into the small hole carved into the wall and pulls at the section. It's stiff, but comes loose without much effort, and John quickly pushes his free hand into the compartment. His fingers find no box, but instead touch glossy paper. John seizes the object and pulls it out for inspection.

He barely glances at the old photograph before he drops it reflexively and casts his gaze away, his whole body flinching before going rigid. He is dumbfounded, all thought function seizing up and clattering to a halt. His vision swims and his heart-rate and breathing speed up involuntarily, as his surroundings seem to swell against him and push upon his skin. He places a hand on the chest of drawers to steady himself, and screws his eyes shut tight enough to hurt. His blood pounds in his ears, drowning out all other sound, and though John breathes he is asphyxiating, his chest feeling like a clockwork spring with its key being wound; tighter and tighter, twisting his innards into a tense ball that grows smaller with every turn, every gasp for air a new threat that it would burst and punch a hole clean through John's torso, killing him and letting loose every demon and insecurity, every bad thought he'd ever had, for everyone to see and point and judge and laugh and ostracize and -

And then it's over. The coil unwinds, quick but gentle, and John's breath and vision come back to him. He lets go of the drawers, his knuckles brilliant white and his hand aching, and carefully, slowly, picks up the two pill boxes that stand alone atop the unit, pulling a foil rack from each and pop-pop releasing the pills from their containers. John reads the words 'citalopram' and 'clozapine' with glazed-over eyes as he swallows the tablets dry, and then takes some deep, steady breaths as he bends down to retrieve the photograph, holding it with both hands as he stands back up.

The photo is of a young girl, center frame, water behind her and the light of the sun reflected off of it to illuminate the girl from behind, giving her an ethereal golden outline. John is almost moved to tears just looking at the picture.

Instead, he tears his eyes away from the smiling face of the girl and sets the photo down next to his pills. He looks around his room, allowing the true scope and meaning of the filth to sink in after so many days ignoring it, and then dresses himself in the least-smelly pair of jeans and top with the fewest stains. He pockets his pills, and then carefully folds and pockets the photo as well.

Downstairs, John pads quietly from the hallway to the kitchen in search of water and food. He drinks from the tap and takes a half-empty packet of digestives from the cupboard, and then makes his way to the front door. Behind him, through the hallway into the living room, he can see Thomas Constantine - a father to the letter of the law and no further - sound asleep on his worn and rotted old armchair. A can of lager has fallen from his hand and spilled across his lap and the floor. From here John can smell stale piss as well. He nervously eyes the small mound of empty cans beside Thomas, and can't help but bring to mind the cans on his bedroom floor upstairs.

John turns around. Thomas' jacket is hung beside the door and John does not hesitate to pilfer the wallet from the inside pocket and empty it of the cash within. He turns, putting a hand on the handle of the door, and hesitates only long enough for his other hand to touch a finger to the photograph of his sister in his pocket - and then he leaves.

---

John was ten, Cheryl fourteen. Summer in Liverpool, as much as Liverpool could allow, and the sky was covered by a pallid shroud of grey clouds. They were collecting change - running through the streets, spotting shrapnel on the floor, on abandoned tables, in phone-boxes, and ticket machines. John's pockets rattled melodically with coins as he joked, jostled, teased and cracked wise. Cheryl downplayed her amusement but could not stifle a chuckle here and there.

At a dockside cafe, Cheryl distracted the owner with meandering, protracted questions about the menu, while John took the opportunity to dip his hand into the tip jar and came up with a few more silvers than he had gone in with. Cheryl had ordered cola and sandwiches and the pair ate outside; when the owner turned to serve another customer, the pair had ran, laughing at themselves and each other as the frustrated shouts grew quieter and quieter behind them.

Back on the high street they ducked into a Boots and found a disposable camera; John emptying his pockets into Cheryl's outstretched hands so that she could count out their collection. They had only scrap left after their purchase, but they left the coins and the plastic wrapping of the camera on the counter behind them as they left with their prize. They filled the camera roll in only a few short hours, and then returned to Boots to develop the film. The lady behind the counter huffed and puffed as they turned out their pockets to pay the fee, and eventually, just waived it entirely as their performance grew too tedious to deal with any longer.

John and Cheryl sat on a street bench in the fading sunlight, thumbing eagerly through their envelope of photographs. Many were unfortunately marred by poor lighting, lens glare, or even intrusions from John's clumsy fingers as he had played with the camera. But one picture stood out: Cheryl, standing center frame with the Royal Albert Docks behind her, smiling and laughing at the John behind the camera. The clouds had opened up in a moment of serendipity to stream sunlight down onto the water, and it bounced off the surface of the docks to light up the photo from behind. To John, the photo was remarkable, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of his young life so far; it held a paradoxically fleeting and infinite moment of serenity, and seemed to capture an angelic quality about Cheryl. The photo was a gleaming representation of John's sister through John's eyes; he loved it, and her, and they spent the rest of the evening delaying their return home any way they knew how.

---

John sits on his arse on the kerb outside of Leicester central station, staring at the creased photo of Cheryl he holds out in front of him. The cash in his father's wallet got him from Liverpool to Nottingham, and dodging the ticket man had gotten him from Nottingham to Leicester, and here he had been caught and summarily ejected when he was found unable to pay the fine, the police simply too busy to bother with a destitute fare dodger.

The sun he sits in is suddenly blocked by an approaching figure, who casts a large shadow across John as he stands watching. John looks up, squinting against the sun that shines behind the man.
"What do you want." John demands, his back bristling on habit alone. Liverpool didn't teach him to be friendly.
"You look lost."
"What's it to you, geez? Shove off."
The man chuckles, and this both irritates and disarms John.
"Thought you might need a hand."

John pauses, hesitant. This stranger's forward nature unsettles him. He is not used to kindness.
"I'm fine. Shove off." The man does not move. This annoys John. "You bored?"
"What's that photo?"
John stands up, and pockets the photo. The man is taller than John, and wider, and John is cold and hungry, but John has anger and a wild, nervous energy building inside him. John thinks he could take the man if he had to.
"None of your business." He responds, looking the stranger directly in the eyes and locking his jaw. He waits.

The man steps back, and without the sun behind his head John can see him clearly. He has a friendly face, and in his eyes is a look of genuine concern and empathy. The man holds both his hands up before putting them back in his jacket.
"Fair enough. Bad start.” He steps forward, only slightly, and extends a hand to shake. John does not take it. “Francis Chandler.”
John does not offer his name. Instead, he sits back down. Francis stays standing. After a long pause, John explains.
“I’ve come from Liverpool. Trying to get to London to visit an old friend. Cash ran out at Nottingham. Narcs caught me here. Now I’m stuck.”

Francis rubs the messy stubble of his chin and sits down next to John, taking off his flat cap.
“Well, that’s a fair bit of luck to get from Nottingham to here.” He days after a moment of deliberation. John murmurs an unenthusiastic agreement. “And I reckon you got chucked just in time too.”
John frowns and looks at Francis. He smiles, a wry little smirk that forces John to like him a little. “I’m leaving back to London today. Just escaped from a visit to my ogre of a ma. Car’s parked at the station. Saw you first, though. Lucky bugger, don’t you think?”

John stares at Francis, his face conveying all manner of emotion: incredulity; confusion; distrust; disbelief; hope. He doesn’t know how to respond, or whether he should. Most of him thinks Francis is playing a cruel joke.
“If you get your jollies being a cunt I reckon you’re done for the day with this one.” He finally says, and Francis laughs. John waits for a response, but Francis doesn’t reply. “Why?”

Francis shrugs.
“You look like you could use some help.”
“I could be about to take you for all you’re worth.”
Francis laughs again. “You’re welcome to, got fuck all anyway. I’d let you drive away with me in the boot if it got me away from my mother.”
“Why do you want to help me so bad?”

Francis stands up, John does the same. Francis stands across from John, regarding his skinny frame in the sunlight.
“I’ve got a nose for good hearts. Good people. You got an aura about you. I can tell. You just need a break.”
John could cry. Francis has compassion he hasn’t felt since...that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He clears his throat.
“I think you’re full of shit.” He pauses as Francis chuckles. “But I could do with a break.”
John extends his hand to shake. Francis takes it firmly.
“John Constantine. Nice to meet ya, Francis.”

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

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

H E L L B L A Z E R

---

^{_{J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E ♦ U N E M P L O Y E D ♦ E N G L A N D ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

---

^{"S'just the way of it. We all sell our souls sooner or later."}

Every time I've tried playing Constantine in the past, I've started slap-bang in the middle of his career as an occultist, exorcist, detective, magician, etc etc, and often include nearly every major event of his canon in the biography. And I usually end up directionless after 2/3 posts with no real plan or solid character development to pursue. No more!

This Constantine is young. He's just been released from Ravenscar after an eighteen-month incarceration, with no home, family, friends or life to return to. His sister is still disappeared; his mother is still dead; his father still may as well be. He's a blank slate to carve scars and stories into, and there's a clear vision to begin setting him up as the equally legendary and infamous mage we know from DC today.

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:

---

I've had a lot of ideas for John over the years, varying from continuing the canon to retelling an old story to redirecting existing character goals. This is none of them; this is a new origin story, this is taking the themes and story notes of the character that I love and running them through my personal lens, and developing a brand new Constantine that can be definitively mine while avoiding a complete departure from the source material.

John is young; 20-something, still several years before 30. His sister disappeared over a year ago, and he suffered a nervous breakdown that got him sectioned; he has only just been released from mental care at Ravenscar. He's done a lot of introspection and reflection during his incarceration and has come out of it seeking to repair the damage he's done to his minimal existing relationships and at least come to terms with, if not solve, his sister's disappearance. Unfortunately, he is yet unaware of the supernatural brush his life is about to be stained by, and the events shortly about to unfold that will change John’s life forever, and force him down terrible, grievous paths for a greater good he will never live to see.

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

---

Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital

A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his fragile psyche will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.

Cheryl Constantine

John's elder sister, who cared for John during their childhood and did her best to protect the both of them from their father. John and Cheryl enjoy a deep bond with each other via their shared childhood trauma, but also find it difficult to spend time together due to the memories that tend to resurface. Two years ago, Cheryl disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and shortly afterward John started experiencing horrific nightmares and strange visions. Coupled with his grief and the inability of all invovled to find her, he suffered a nervous break, and was committed to Ravenscar. Cheryl remains missing, and John refuses to believe she is dead.

Thomas Constantine

John and Cheryl's alcoholic, abusive, general degenerate father. still in Liverpool. With several misdemeanor crimes on his record, he works basic labour at the docks, and uses the money to drink himself to death. John reckons he's well over halfway there; with a bit of luck, he'll do himself in by the end of the year.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Leeds. June. 2006. John was ten, Cheryl fourteen. Summer in Liverpool, as much as Liverpool could allow, and the sky was covered by a pallid shroud of grey clouds. They were collecting change - running through the streets, spotting shrapnel on the floor, on abandoned tables, in phoneboxes and ticket machines. John's pockets rattled melodically with coins as he joked, jostled, teased and cracked wise. Cheryl downplayed her amusement but could not stifle a chuckle here and there.

At a dockside cafe, Cheryl distracted the owner with meandering, protracted questions about the menu, while John took the opportunity to dip his hand into the tip jar and came up with a few more silvers than he had gone in with. Cheryl had ordered cola and sandwiches and the pair ate outside; when the owner turned to serve another customer, the pair had ran, laughing at themselves and each other as the frustrated shouts grew quieter and quieter behind them.

Back on the high street they ducked into a Boots and found a disposable camera; John emptying his pockets into Cheryl's outstretched hands so that she could count out their collection. They had only scrap left after their purchase, but they left the coins and the plastic wrapping of the camera on the counter behind them as they left with their prize. They filled the camera roll in only a few short hours, and then returned to Boots to develop the film. The lady behind the counter huffed and puffed as they turned out their pockets to pay the fee, and eventually, just waived it entirely as their performance grew too tedious to deal with any longer.

John and Cheryl sat on a street bench in the fading sunlight, thumbing eagerly through their envelope of photographs. Many were unfortunately marred by poor lighting, lens glare, or even intrusions from John's clumsy fingers as he had played with the camera. But one picture stood out: Cheryl, standing center frame with the Royal Albert Docks behind her, smiling and laughing at the John behind the camera. The clouds had opened up in a moment of serendipity to stream sunlight down onto the water, and it bounced off the surface of the docks to light up the photo from behind. To John, the photo was remarkable, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of his young life so far; it held a paradoxically fleeting and infinite moment of serenity, and seemed to capture an angelic quality about Cheryl. The photo was a gleaming representation of John's sister through John's eyes; he loved it, and her, and they spent the rest of the evening delaying their return home any way they knew how.

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

---

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Hi gang. As most of you are aware I've been keeping up with the IC as it's posted and also collating my thoughts on each post in a mix between reaction and review. I'll carry on with it and post a new one every so often when I get a reasonably sized batch.

@HenryJonesJr

Nomad, Post 1

Lovely early characterisation of Steve and Rogue, and the blossoming Father Figure to Outlaw Teen relationship is one that’s worked for me before and will undoubtedly work for me again. Some of it feels a little rushed, like there are pieces of context and historical references I’m not getting, but since this is a soft reboot maybe I shouldn’t begrudge you for my own bad habits. The end also feels cut short, like maybe the post should have ended with the characters referring to Xavier’s before fading out, or carried on past their initial arrival. As it is it feels a little guillotined. Still, Steve is great, Rogue is great, and it gives the story a clear direction with the mutant angle.

Nomad, Post 2

Really getting a crystal clear picture of Rogue and the path she’s walked in this one; she’s guarded, bitter, and thick with abandonment issues. Sadly it’s also fairly clear she’s allowing these scars to get the better of her and there are outstanding self-esteem issues that push her around a self-fulfilling cycle. It’s some great characterisation, but I am also hoping we’ll get this same level of introspection on Steve, especially as the Nomad angle is a massive shift for him as a character and he must be feeling some regret or remorse. Pacing feels a little off again as well, but that may be a side effect of Rogue’s character in that she won’t allow herself the adjustment period, and perhaps doesn’t believe she deserves a haven like Xavier’s school. Either way, the discussion is very short and overall the school feels like a cameo bit rather than a vital story stopping point.

@webboysurf

Iron Man, Post 1

Tony is a decent Tony. You’re hitting a lot of classic character traits but there isn’t massive amounts of depth of character here, although it’s literally the first post and I’m probably being overly critical. I like the backdoor plot point and the avenue of this subtle digital subterfuge but I also struggle to sit well with the single email as the lynchpin that got Midas caught. Would you send an email for what is apparently such a dire threat? If Midas could erase the email before it ever arrived, how did SHIELD intercept it? And if SHIELD intercepting it was a possibility, did Midas think they WOULDN’T inform Tony, the designer and engineer of the suits and their software? It’s the debut and clearly a vehicle to get the plot ball rolling and push the characters where they need to go but it feels a bit inelegant. I do want to know more about Midas and his plans and the potential for the suits to be hijacked though, so from a storytelling perspective you’ve done exactly what you need to do.

@Byrd Man

Green Lantern, Post 1

I like Jessica, and a classic ‘this is hardly fair! For you!’ one liner always goes down well. It’s nice to see a GL ‘on the beat’ so to speak as well. "Synchronicity" made me glance sideways, I will admit. Is Boodikka Boudica? Or is that synchronicity in action? The follow up about Jessica is a nice little ghost story, although I think you meant separated FROM the ring, not BY the ring? Otherwise that’s one violent piece of jewelry. Some classic MIA-presumed-dead foreshadowing as well. Is Cromica Iran/Iraq/Pakistan/Afghanistan/InsertNextCountryTheUSInvadesHere? Do I need to start saying AGLAB instead of ACAB? Joking aside I like the parallels to real life politics, writing is always a vehicle for opinion and we’d do well to embrace it more often. In any case, SPACE WESTERN GO! Good briefing scene, nice exposition, sets the tone of things to come with a nod and a wink and a pulling my pants down and slapping me on the bum. And I want to see Thaal go yellow. Who ever thought he’d be a good guy? He has a mustache. And his name is Sinestro. And more Jessica in a true desert stranding situation. Lovely all around. Congrats, you made this nihilistic anticap anar-socialist care about space cops.

Green Lantern, Post 2

Jessica lives ! Excellent. I love the idea of ‘water’ being such a foreign concept they mistake it for a name. Or they’re just speaking 2 different languages and the soldiers just don’t understand her. The space western themes carry on and carry on well, being a peculiar but workable mix of parody and played straight. Back to Sinestro, nice Guy reference. Doing a good job of building the Lanterns as a truly galaxy-wide operation with thousands of agents all out on patrol or assignment. I’m enjoying the political minefield that an organisation like the Green Lanterns has to wade through to remain a respectable authority. Sinestro has some good reasons to be angry and maybe some poor choices of outlets and actions - it’s clear to see the potential of why he would turn. And the foreshadowing from the reaction of the Rannian Premier starts a good foundation.

@Inkarnate

Supergirl, Post 1

Nice set up. I genuinely don’t know who this guy is but he’s confident, menacing, powerful, and means business, so all around this is a lovely short’n’sweet intro post for (presumably) this arc’s main adversary. I look forward to seeing more of him and learning who he is and what he’s about. The cynic in me thinks back to the last time we were Absolute-ing together and I found your villains entertaining but Kara herself rather dry, however. But I shouldn’t/won’t/can’t pass judgement until I actually see Kara, so I’m looking forward to that.

Supergirl, Post 2

Okay so now I’ve seen Kara and she’s clearly more confident and on-her-feet now with a few seasons under the belt and the characterisation is more concrete. It’s nice seeing her a bit more mature and in a more traditional ‘superhero’ position. Interesting plotpoint with the mutant experiments, especially if it ties into Superboy’s story. I am looking forward to a bit more depth explored to Kara, though.

@ComradeMaxx

Superboy, Post 1

A rough start for me on this one with a lot of different characters very quickly introduced and chattering amongst each other, and I’m reading at 3am and I am tired, but I found it tricky to follow and wasn’t actually entirely sure what was going on until the fight started. And then the fight was amazing and there was some great storytelling involved and it enthralled me and now we have like a Pinocchio kinda thing with Superboy and this clone angle and like are these guys a villain protag if they’re developing a weapon to defeat supergirl because that’s intriguing and mr harper is clearly getting attached to things he shouldn’t be and there’s the psychologically implanted command which is very neat and I’m sure is going to play a big part in future events and has been introduced nicely here without being in your face about it. All in all slow start but man that was decent.

@IceHeart

Mantra, Post 1

I’m really not digging this very 1950’s feeling of what a woman’s life entails and I hope it’s an intentional character flaw that will get ironed out as part of the ongoing development in the story, but that doesn’t make it any easier to read right now. Especially since it’s not a “woman’s world”, but a man’s world that demands a woman behave this way or be shunned, and probably treated second-class-at-best anyway. Anyway: I like the inhabiting-a-body concept and there are some hints to major past events that we may or may not learn more about (cross my fingers for the former) and there’s a hint of the duality of the two psyches with the mother instinct overriding Lukasz’ desire to train. It could go a lot of ways and I’m optimistic about the amount of italicized “woman” being used coming down.

Mantra, Post 2

I’m gonna come out and say outright that I am not comfortable with the way you write a female protag. She’s hyper-sexualised for a start; then you made her a secretary??? “Apparently” adept like it’s a surprise? The outrage of workplace sexual harassment not coming from the act's existence but from the fact that Lukasz isn’t the one committing the act? I had hoped there would be some sense of this being a character flaw but if it is you’re certainly not filtering it through the right lens, as nothing in your writing appears to condemn any of what troubles me. If this continues then I’m really going to struggle with your whole character. The second half of your post is a much better read even if still marred by poor sentence structure and the odd typo. Proofreading your work would probably go a long way, and really think about your use of grammar to mix up your rhythm and create a natural ebb and flow to your prose.

@HenryJonesJr

TMNT, Post 1

It’s incredible seeing someone even play the turtles in a game like this for a start, so you have that going for you right from the get go. Then the 4 of them have a delightful back-and-forth and some clear dynamics, positive and negative, which hooks me into how these guys are going to get along with each other in the face of greater foes. Also Raph is giving me Knuckles vibes and I can’t wait for the potential betrayal-redemption arc. I’m a disgusting amount of slut for Jameson so love that cameo. Terror Turtles? Fucking gold. A lot of plots being introduced, and I don’t know much about TMNT other than the turtles themselves, Splinter, Shredder, and the love of pizza, so it’ll be fun to see the wider scope of the characters and their allies. Some villain introduction and foreshadowing. A shame about the lack of cowabunga. I feel like TMNT could have played a lot sillier than this, for better and for worse, and you’ve done really well to make giant radioactive ninja turtles not seem completely tonally dissonant among some of the more grizzled and gritty entries in the roster.

@Simple Unicycle

Vic Sage, Post 1

It’s my favourite. Of all the posts I’ve read so far, this is my favourite. The first person perspective is somehow natural despite being nestled amongst the more traditional 3rd of the other characters, the action is fast and impactful, Vic’s character is immediately apparent without being exaggerated or ham-fisted. It’s a pleasure to read, and the song you picked was an incredible companion to the piece. Christ, I can’t wait to read more of this.

Vic Sage, Post 2

Another strong entry with more strong characterisation and some great character interaction between Vic and Roscoe, and more great music, and overall this whole RP is going to be me flipping back and forth between Vic and the Night Shift. Look, this is great, okay? It’s a little episodic right now without much greater scope direction to go on, and I’m looking forward to seeing some grander plans and a more overarching, cohesive plot, but so far it’s cool seeing pre-Question Vic getting tips off hobo’s and beating up bodega burglars.

@Master Bruce

Bruce Wayne, Post 1

Alfred’s journal entry is a delightfully mournful introduction to the story, and shows the impact of the Wayne Killings from an angle we don’t often get to see, without overly-flogging an extremely tired horse. The follow-up bait and switch into Batman conspiracy theory is incredible as well. I like the board setting, showing a Wayne Enterprises that’s still balanced between helping the city and helping their own profits, and I love old-man-Bruce being a miserable old bastard. The confrontation between Isley and Wayne is brilliantly executed, and Bruce’s cutting final words clearly demonstrate that the Bat is alive and well at least in spirit, even if his body can’t keep up anymore. The new Batman is great as well, enough there to show us he’s serious about his mission but very little of his game given away - just his creed and his objective, and a little tease of his capabilities. An extremely strong start and I’m very keen on seeing more of Bruce and more of his rogue successor.

@Byrd Man

The Night Shift, Post 1

I love the immediacy of the supernatural element used to set the tone for the ongoing story. The Architect is clearly powerful and alien and sinister, but not necessarily a man of bad morals or an outright villain. It’s a clear jumping-off-point and a nice cold open to the main plot thread. Okay, this might be my new favourite? Sorry Vic, but a rag-tag bunch of misfit ‘detectives’ solving supernatural crimes? Sure, just tickle my pickle while you’re checking every single one of my boxes why don’t you and we’ll split the bill at the end of the evening. Meeting the team was just the right balance of introduction vs exposition, learning a little about each new member as we circle around the gang and then slap bang into the plot hook. I am charmed and everything else can wait while you write more of these guys.

The Night Shift, Post 2

Sister Justine is great, with a welcomed bit of spotlight to delve a little deeper into her character, but still managing to give away tiny little nuggets about some of the others at the same time - and there’s a lot of low, subtle humour in her interactions with Tork. Who is, by the way, a wonderful vehicle for the audience to understand and get to know the Night Shift squad without dumping exposition walls on us. A lovely little execution of the surrogate. The whole post is a fantastic demonstration of the characters in action and everyone is clearly all business right now, and we’re really getting into the supernatural of it as well. I adore it, through and through. Witches have have a bit of a resurgence in recent media and I hope we get to see some of the true horror an actual Witch is capable of and indeed willing to commit. Every important cast member has been introduced now and we’ve seen everyone’s hat, so I’m now eager to get deeper introspection on each member of the squad. And some more lovely low-key humour with the coffee. Night Shift are heading for my MVPs of the season already. Vic’s going to have to work hard to keep up !

@Bounce

Wildfire, Post 1

An action-packed intro to the character and entertaining and fast paced, but unfortunately as this is just set up for setting and location we don’t get a lot of Wildfire’s character just yet. There’s a lot to be inferred from circumstance though, with the sense of an outlaw on the run and stranded in unknown space far from home...the fish-out-of-water vibes are strong and it’s clear there will be power level experimentation with the new energy he’s absorbed and a big adjustment period to come. I’m looking forward to seeing what lead to the current situation he’s found himself in.

@Retired

Captain America, Post 1

I immediately like Frank. You’ve done very well at making him human but still a military man through and through. It’ll be interesting to watch him as Cap and see how his path diverges from the Castle we already know. Will he experience tragedy? Will he react the same? It’s a bold concept in play here and I’m really eager to see the character put in that role and I hope it doesn’t end up being inconsequential, or a pallete-swap for Steve. The flashback sequence is a nice preamble intro and we get some nice introspection from Castle himself about his new rank and role. Not much is given away here about future events or overarching plot though, but that’s not strictly necessary in debut posts. It’s nice enough to just get a sense of the character first. Looking forward to more.

@Sep

Thor, Post 1

Historical cold opens are very popular this go around. Still it’s cool to see the progenitor of Asgard and sheds a little light on Odin, an otherwise fairly flat character. The rest is pretty good. Foreshadowing, some exposition, some nice insight on Thor - I like the internal struggle between his duties to Asgard and his nature as a warrior - and we get to see how he behaves with both his friends and his subjects. And there’s a clear set up for future threat with plenty of mystery to keep us hooked. The writing feels a bit stilted sometimes and I found some of the syntax difficult to read, but nothing actively bad, just maybe some tidying up to be done to make the flow feel a bit neater, tighten it up a bit. Otherwise, solid start.

If anyone doesn't want their reviews public in future, or in present, let me know ASAP and I will make a note in my tracker and/or edit this post.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

<Snipped quote by Roman>

I just wanted you to know I appreciated the fuck out of that sheet.

@Byrd Man

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

You ok my dude?

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Constantine

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

H E L L B L A Z E R

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^{_{J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E ♦ U N E M P L O Y E D ♦ E N G L A N D ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

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

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^{"S'just the way of it. We all sell our souls sooner or later."}

Every time I've tried playing Constantine in the past, I've started slap-bang in the middle of his career as an occultist, exorcist, detective, magician, etc etc, and often include nearly every major event of his canon in the biography. And I usually end up directionless after 2/3 posts with no real plan or solid character development to pursue. No more!

This Constantine is young. He's just been released from Ravenscar after an eighteen-month incarceration, with no home, family, friends or life to return to. His sister is still disappeared; his mother is still dead; his father still may as well be. He's a blank slate to carve scars and stories into, and there's a clear vision to begin setting him up as the equally legendary and infamous mage we know from DC today.

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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I've had a lot of ideas for John over the years, varying from continuing the canon to retelling an old story to redirecting existing character goals. This is none of them; this is a new origin story, this is taking the themes and story notes of the character that I love and running them through my personal lens, and developing a brand new Constantine that can be definitively mine while avoiding a complete departure from the source material.

John is young; 20-something, still several years before 30. His sister disappeared over a year ago, and he suffered a nervous breakdown that got him sectioned; he has only just been released from mental care at Ravenscar. He's done a lot of introspection and reflection during his incarceration and has come out of it seeking to repair the damage he's done to his minimal existing relationships and at least come to terms with, if not solve, his sister's disappearance. Unfortunately, he is yet unaware of the supernatural brush his life is about to be stained by, and the events shortly about to unfold that will change John’s life forever, and force him down terrible, grievous paths for a greater good he will never live to see.

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

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Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital

A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his fragile psyche will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.

Cheryl Constantine

John's elder sister, who cared for John during their childhood and did her best to protect the both of them from their father. John and Cheryl enjoy a deep bond with each other via their shared childhood trauma, but also find it difficult to spend time together due to the memories that tend to resurface. Two years ago, Cheryl disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and shortly afterward John started experiencing horrific nightmares and strange visions. Coupled with his grief and the inability of all invovled to find her, he suffered a nervous break, and was committed to Ravenscar. Cheryl remains missing, and John refuses to believe she is dead.

Thomas Constantine

John and Cheryl's alcoholic, abusive, general degenerate father. still in Liverpool. With several misdemeanor crimes on his record, he works basic labour at the docks, and uses the money to drink himself to death. John reckons he's well over halfway there; with a bit of luck, he'll do himself in by the end of the year.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Leeds. June. 2006. John was ten, Cheryl fourteen. Summer in Liverpool, as much as Liverpool could allow, and the sky was covered by a pallid shroud of grey clouds. They were collecting change - running through the streets, spotting shrapnel on the floor, on abandoned tables, in phoneboxes and ticket machines. John's pockets rattled melodically with coins as he joked, jostled, teased and cracked wise. Cheryl downplayed her amusement but could not stifle a chuckle here and there.

At a dockside cafe, Cheryl distracted the owner with meandering, protracted questions about the menu, while John took the opportunity to dip his hand into the tip jar and came up with a few more silvers than he had gone in with. Cheryl had ordered cola and sandwiches and the pair ate outside; when the owner turned to serve another customer, the pair had ran, laughing at themselves and each other as the frustrated shouts grew quieter and quieter behind them.

Back on the high street they ducked into a Boots and found a disposable camera; John emptying his pockets into Cheryl's outstretched hands so that she could count out their collection. They had only scrap left after their purchase, but they left the coins and the plastic wrapping of the camera on the counter behind them as they left with their prize. They filled the camera roll in only a few short hours, and then returned to Boots to develop the film. The lady behind the counter huffed and puffed as they turned out their pockets to pay the fee, and eventually, just waived it entirely as their performance grew too tedious to deal with any longer.

John and Cheryl sat on a street bench in the fading sunlight, thumbing eagerly through their envelope of photographs. Many were unfortunately marred by poor lighting, lens glare, or even intrusions from John's clumsy fingers as he had played with the camera. But one picture stood out: Cheryl, standing center frame with the Royal Albert Docks behind her, smiling and laughing at the John behind the camera. The clouds had opened up in a moment of serendipity to stream sunlight down onto the water, and it bounced off the surface of the docks to light up the photo from behind. To John, the photo was remarkable, perhaps the greatest accomplishment of his young life so far; it held a paradoxically fleeting and infinite moment of serenity, and seemed to capture an angelic quality about Cheryl. The photo was a gleaming representation of John's sister through John's eyes; he loved it, and her, and they spent the rest of the evening delaying their return home any way they knew how.

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

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You're all officially allowed to make IC posts again, I'm done procrastinating.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

I think this is the peak of my BBCode and/or insanity.

@Lord Wraith

LOOK AT THE RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

Can we call it a Wraith sheet if it isn't dripping in sweat and bbcode?

Roman's Scrapbin

Punisher as group of anon citizens in crime ridden town taking back control. Potentially human purists in wake of stryfe. Opposed by local mob and a reactionary group.

Opposing group’s motive?
Ringleaders of each?
Should there even be a definitive leader?
Shifting POV or follow one member?

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

A L I A S

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^{_{B I R T H N A M E ♦ O C C U P A T I O N ♦ L O C A T I O N ♦ A F F I L I A T I O N}}

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

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^{"Witty Quote"}

This is where you outline your vision for the character including any notable changes or differences from the regularly accepted canon. This should be a short summary that provides insight into where the character is in terms of their overall progress and development.

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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Why do you want to play this character, what is the driving motivation behind both this desire and the character themselves. What do you hope to accomplish and where do you want the character's story/stories to go?

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

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Any additional notes you want to put either for yourself, the GM's or other players to help clarify your vision or continuity.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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A sample post that can be used in the IC if you so desire upon acceptance. This post should provide an example of your vision for the desired character. This sample post should meet all standards outline in the rules and additionally include dialogue, mannerisms and other actions representative of your intended portrayal.

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

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.