Roman

Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED]

Lucille 'Luce' Calder

L U C E C A L D E R
L U C E C A L D E R

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^{_{"Whatever doesn't kill you..."}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ Lucille 'Luce' Amanda Calder _________________________________________________________ January 27th, 2005 | 18 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Asexual _________________________________________________________ Houston | British Columbia | Canada ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Lean ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || White-Blonde ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Dark Brown ◼ H E I G H T || 5'-5" ◼ W E I G H T || 103 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Caucasian - ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Haunted by PTSD and survivor's guilt, Lucille has retreated inwardly, putting up frosty walls to prevent anyone from getting too close and revealing - or forcing her to confront - her trauma. She understands that P.R.C.U. is a great opportunity, far outweighing any prospects she had in Houston, but she needs to overcome her emotional damage before she can begin to truly heal. G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Lucille has agreed to attend P.R.C.U. for the opportunities it offers, for both her short-term and long-term prospects. She is aware that she needs professional help to deal with her trauma, and P.R.C.U. is well-equipped to support her with this; she also knows the university is the best place in the world to begin understanding her capabilities, push her personal development, and secure a successful and lucrative future. - ▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Theme - _________________________________________________________

▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ A Canada Native, Lucille hails from Houston BC, a small mining and forestry town which sees an influx of ecotourism throughout the year. Growing up the youngest child to a single mother of 3, she had few prospects afforded to her; she didn't fare well in school, her brothers were ambivalent to her social failings, and her mother, though meaning well, was simply too overworked and exhausted to properly parent her only daughter. It looked like, unless fate graced her with some great serendipitous incident, she would grow, live, and die in Houston BC. It would seem, then, that fate is in possession of a cruel sense of humour. Fate did indeed visit upon Lucille, but it brought with it calamity, not providence. On a family camping trip - the cheapest way their mother could provide a 'vacation' for the kids - a particularly stormy night brought disaster upon them. Weakened trees from small wildfires finally gave way beneath the force of the storm, and came crashing down directly on their tents. Lucille's brothers were both killed immediately, crushed and speared. Her mother was trapped, both legs broken and pinned beneath a tree. Only Luce was free, but she by no means emerged unscathed; she had escaped being utterly pulverized by the tree-trunk, but errant branches had gored her through, puncturing a lung, her stomach, and unknown to Lucille, her heart; yet she felt no pain, her movement was barely hindered, and she continued to breath and pump blood and walk without severe issue all the way back into town and to the fire station. Her journey allowed emergency workers to mobilize and save her mother - but in the aftermath, it also revealed to Luce and the town that she was far from the normal, unassuming girl she had resigned herself to being. She was a hype, and such a designation came with its own connotations and assumptions. Lucile struggled with survivor's guilt and agoraphobia following her incident, and her mother struggled with losing her sons and receiving only a controversial discovery about her daughter in return. Eventually, it was agreed that the resources she needed were not available to her in Houston; the only place for her was P.R.C.U., and she found herself quickly enrolled and awaiting the ferry in St. Rupert. ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || H Y P E R - A D A P T I V E S U R V I V A B I L I T Y __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || DYNAMIC Lucille's hype-gene has mutated specifically alongside her immune system and fight-or-flight response. When presented with physical trauma or sudden terror, before adrenaline floods her blood supply, a unique secondary hormone produced by her hype-gene is secreted from her adrenal glands. This hormone first blocks the receptors at her nerve endings, completely shutting down the nervous system pain response and instead replacing any incoming trauma signals with a direct signal to the endocrine system to produce further and further adrenaline. Then, mutated hype-adrenaline bonds with her muscles and completely replaces the aerobic/anaerobic respiration function, eliminating lactic acid build-up and allowing indefinite function without exhaustion. Finally, the bonded hype-gene hormone and mutated adrenaline flood her skull cavity, pass through the pia mater into the blood vessels of the brain, and signal the activation of an extremely intense, subconscious form of auto-bio-kinesis. This bio-kinesis allows Lucille's lower-level brain functions to take over the immune system response, and enable the rewiring of muscles, organs, blood supply systems, and bones on-the-fly to adapt to endure any and all incoming trauma without ceasing overall bodily function. Once trauma has ceased or the threat has been escaped, the hormone stops signalling, and the mutated adrenaline floods the immune system entirely. The body then expedites the recovery of injury, drawing adrenaline from its various appendages and organs in order to facilitate quickened recovery while allowing maximum up-time of the unconscious bio-kinesis to aid natural physical recovery - and finally, the adrenaline is purged from the brain entirely, shutting off the bio-kinesis and being disseminated as the final healing 'booster'. All these processes combined result in Luce being able to sustain intense physical trauma well above and beyond what would be typically fatal for a human, without feeling pain, losing motor or organ function, or slowing or shutting down - and then being able to recover from the trauma to full-functioning capacity at an increased rate after-the-fact. L I M I T A T I O N S || AMPUTATION, INCINERATION, IMMOBILIZATION While Lucille's ability makes her incredibly difficult to permanently put down, there are limits to the damage she is able to repair. Amputation of any limb will require surgical intervention to reattach; Luce is not able to re-grow missing limbs or hold it in place and heal the separation. Complete incineration of flesh also stymies the healing process. Finally, while Lucille is able to survive catastrophic amounts of physical trauma, she is afforded very little additional strength, and methods to incarcerate or immobilize most people will work just as well on her. In short, while Luce can survive with extreme aptitude, amputation, cremation, or incarceration are effective ways to eliminate her from any active situation, or kill her completely. W E A K N E S S E S || YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR THE HEAD (OR MY EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE) Lucille's ability to adapt and survive hinges on the mutated hype-gene hormone and adrenaline combination reaching her brain and activating her latent bio-kinetic powers. This bio-kinesis is then run subconsciously without active control by Lucille. Without the brain, there is no bio-kinesis - so a sure-fire way to kill Luce is to remove the head, or destroy the brain. Additionally, while Lucille is almost purpose-built to weather injury, her power does little against mental trauma, as evidenced by the lasting emotional scars from her fateful camping trip. She possesses a heavy fear of forests and woodland, especially densely-treed areas, and suffers from agoraphobia, worsening as she leaves urban and city developments. She's also shouldering an unhealthy amount of remorse and self-blame alongside the grief for her brothers, born from survivor's guilt and her mother's difficulties with her after the incident. ________________________________________________________________________________________

▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S}
▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?}

Luce shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossed arms seeming to constrict tighter across her chest and her fists gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She looked straight down, avoiding the gaze of her therapist, Dr Gila Mercia.
"Nightmare." She finally offered, after several seconds of silence indicated that she wasn't going to escape without answering.
"Of course; nightmares have a way of surfacing those things we're often using sleep to avoid." Dr. Mercia replied, marking something down on the notepad in front of her. "And what is this nightmare about?"
Luce looked even more uncomfortable, and her eyes started darting around the room, looking for anything to distract or divert, anywhere but the patient, staring eyes of her doctor.
"Lucille, if you don't talk to me, none of this is going to work."
"Forest." She answered, very quickly. "Always the forest."
Gila nodded, and made some more notes.

_{A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?}

Lucille shook her head, her hair juddering side-to-side as she shook in short, sharp motions. Dr. Mercia watched her carefully, no hint of judgement or unkindness in her eyes. Luce eventually stopped, and then there was a tangible moment of consideration and dawning realization.
"Help. Have to help." Luce answered, with a grounded assurance that was rare to hear from her.
"Have to help?" Gila prodded, making a quick note on the paper. "Why have to, Lucille? Why do you feel obligated?"
Luce nodded slowly, clearing her throat and taking even, measured breaths.
"I was a disheveled stranger. I needed help. Can't turn someone else away."
Dr. Mercia put her pen down momentarily, smiling at Luce over the rim of her glasses. Luce managed eye contact.
"Very good, Lucille. That's a very noble perspective."

_{A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?}

"I guess...follow the instructions?" Luce offered, uncertain tones marking the edges of her voice. She was struggling to handle the concept emotionally, even the mere idea of an incident on-campus troubling her. P.R.C.U. was meant to be a sanctuary, a safe haven where she could learn and heal - the thought of that safety being shattered loomed over her and cast deep shadows across her mind.
"I can sense you're finding the idea distressing, Lucille. What specifically about the situation upsets you?"
"This school is supposed to be safe." Luce answered, with a good amount of venom behind it. Remorse flashed across her face immediately. Gila gave a small smile of forgiveness.
"We all have a part to play in preserving that safety, Lucille." She said, gently. "And you're better equipped than most to weather danger when it arises."
Luce took a deep breath, steadying herself and forcing her turbulent mind to be quiet.
"You're right." She said, with convincing finality. "I'd help. I'd do whatever I can to help."

▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T}
▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Accepting you need help is the first step to healing." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Lucille's therapist, Dr. Gila Mercia holds a doctorate in Psychology from the University of Toronto, and now works at P.R.C.U. in a combination research and therapeutic role. She acts as a weekly psychiatrist with many of the college's troubled students, and also leads research into the psychology of hyper-humans and how the manifestation of abilities in adolescence impacts psychological development. A patient, compassionate woman, she is committed to the health of her patients, and Luce is no exception.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

Roman's Scrapbin

L U C E C A L D E R
L U C E C A L D E R

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^{_{"Whatever doesn't kill you..."}}

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▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ ▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅ Lucille 'Luce' Amanda Calder _________________________________________________________ January 27th, 2005 | 18 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ Single | Female | Asexual _________________________________________________________ Houston | British Columbia | Canada ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅ P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ B U I L D || Lean ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || White-Blonde ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Dark Brown ◼ H E I G H T || 5'-5" ◼ W E I G H T || 103 lbs ◼ S K I N T O N E || Caucasian - ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅ M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M O T I V A T I O N S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Haunted by PTSD and survivor's guilt, Lucille has retreated inwardly, putting up frosty walls to prevent anyone from getting too close and revealing - or forcing her to confront - her trauma. She understands that P.R.C.U. is a great opportunity, far outweighing any prospects she had in Houston, but she needs to overcome her emotional damage before she can begin to truly heal. G O A L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Lucille has agreed to attend P.R.C.U. for the opportunities it offers, for both her short-term and long-term prospects. She is aware that she needs professional help to deal with her trauma, and P.R.C.U. is well-equipped to support her with this; she also knows the university is the best place in the world to begin understanding her capabilities, push her personal development, and secure a successful and lucrative future. - ▅ N O T E S ▅ N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► TBD - _________________________________________________________

▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅ S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ A Canada Native, Lucille hails from Houston BC, a small mining and forestry town which sees an influx of ecotourism throughout the year. Growing up the youngest child to a single mother of 3, she had few prospects afforded to her; she didn't fare well in school, her brothers were ambivalent to her social failings, and her mother, though meaning well, was simply too overworked and exhausted to properly parent her only daughter. It looked like, unless fate graced her with some great serendipitous incident, she would grow, live, and die in Houston BC. It would seem, then, that fate is in possession of a cruel sense of humour. Fate did indeed visit upon Lucille, but it brought with it calamity, not providence. On a family camping trip - the cheapest way their mother could provide a 'vacation' for the kids - a particularly stormy night brought disaster upon them. Weakened trees from small wildfires finally gave way beneath the force of the storm, and came crashing down directly on their tents. Lucille's brothers were both killed immediately, crushed and speared. Her mother was trapped, both legs broken and pinned beneath a tree. Only Luce was free, but she by no means emerged unscathed; she had escaped being utterly pulverized by the tree-trunk, but errant branches had gored her through, puncturing a lung, her stomach, and unknown to Lucille, her heart; yet she felt no pain, her movement was barely hindered, and she continued to breath and pump blood and walk without severe issue all the way back into town and to the fire station. Her journey allowed emergency workers to mobilize and save her mother - but in the aftermath, it also revealed to Luce and the town that she was far from the normal, unassuming girl she had resigned herself to being. She was a hype, and such a designation came with its own connotations and assumptions. Lucile struggled with survivor's guilt and agoraphobia following her incident, and her mother struggled with losing her sons and receiving only a controversial discovery about her daughter in return. Eventually, it was agreed that the resources she needed were not available to her in Houston; the only place for her was P.R.C.U., and she found herself quickly enrolled and awaiting the ferry in St. Rupert. ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅ A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || H Y P E R - A D A P T I V E S U R V I V A B I L I T Y __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || DYNAMIC Lucille's hype-gene has mutated specifically alongside her immune system and fight-or-flight response. When presented with physical trauma or sudden terror, before adrenaline floods her blood supply, a unique secondary hormone produced by her hype-gene is secreted from her adrenal glands. This hormone first blocks the receptors at her nerve endings, completely shutting down the nervous system pain response and instead replacing any incoming trauma signals with a direct signal to the endocrine system to produce further and further adrenaline. Then, mutated hype-adrenaline bonds with her muscles and completely replaces the aerobic/anaerobic respiration function, eliminating lactic acid build-up and allowing indefinite function without exhaustion. Finally, the bonded hype-gene hormone and mutated adrenaline flood her skull cavity, pass through the pia mater into the blood vessels of the brain, and signal the activation of an extremely intense, subconscious form of auto-bio-kinesis. This bio-kinesis allows Lucille's lower-level brain functions to take over the immune system response, and enable the rewiring of muscles, organs, blood supply systems, and bones on-the-fly to adapt to endure any and all incoming trauma without ceasing overall bodily function. Once trauma has ceased or the threat has been escaped, the hormone stops signalling, and the mutated adrenaline floods the immune system entirely. The body then expedites the recovery of injury, drawing adrenaline from its various appendages and organs in order to facilitate quickened recovery while allowing maximum up-time of the unconscious bio-kinesis to aid natural physical recovery - and finally, the adrenaline is purged from the brain entirely, shutting off the bio-kinesis and being disseminated as the final healing 'booster'. All these processes combined result in Luce being able to sustain intense physical trauma well above and beyond what would be typically fatal for a human, without feeling pain, losing motor or organ function, or slowing or shutting down - and then being able to recover from the trauma to full-functioning capacity at an increased rate after-the-fact. L I M I T A T I O N S || AMPUTATION, INCINERATION, IMMOBILIZATION While Lucille's ability makes her incredibly difficult to permanently put down, there are limits to the damage she is able to repair. Amputation of any limb will require surgical intervention to reattach; Luce is not able to re-grow missing limbs or hold it in place and heal the separation. Complete incineration of flesh also stymies the healing process. Finally, while Lucille is able to survive catastrophic amounts of physical trauma, she is afforded very little additional strength, and methods to incarcerate or immobilize most people will work just as well on her. In short, while Luce can survive with extreme aptitude, amputation, cremation, or incarceration are effective ways to eliminate her from any active situation, or kill her completely. W E A K N E S S E S || YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR THE HEAD (OR MY EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE) Lucille's ability to adapt and survive hinges on the mutated hype-gene hormone and adrenaline combination reaching her brain and activating her latent bio-kinetic powers. This bio-kinesis is then run subconsciously without active control by Lucille. Without the brain, there is no bio-kinesis - so a sure-fire way to kill Luce is to remove the head, or destroy the brain. Additionally, while Lucille is almost purpose-built to weather injury, her power does little against mental trauma, as evidenced by the lasting emotional scars from her fateful camping trip. She possesses a heavy fear of forests and woodland, especially densely-treed areas, and suffers from agoraphobia, worsening as she leaves urban and city developments. She's also shouldering an unhealthy amount of remorse and self-blame alongside the grief for her brothers, born from survivor's guilt and her mother's difficulties with her after the incident. ________________________________________________________________________________________

▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S}
▅ _{P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

_{Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?}

Luce shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossed arms seeming to constrict tighter across her chest and her fists gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She looked straight down, avoiding the gaze of her therapist, Dr Gila Mercia.
"Nightmare." She finally offered, after several seconds of silence indicated that she wasn't going to escape without answering.
"Of course; nightmares have a way of surfacing those things we're often using sleep to avoid." Dr. Mercia replied, marking something down on the notepad in front of her. "And what is this nightmare about?"
Luce looked even more uncomfortable, and her eyes started darting around the room, looking for anything to distract or divert, anywhere but the patient, staring eyes of her doctor.
"Lucille, if you don't talk to me, none of this is going to work."
"Forest." She answered, very quickly. "Always the forest."
Gila nodded, and made some more notes.

_{A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?}

Lucille shook her head, her hair juddering side-to-side as she shook in short, sharp motions. Dr. Mercia watched her carefully, no hint of judgement or unkindness in her eyes. Luce eventually stopped, and then there was a tangible moment of consideration and dawning realization.
"Help. Have to help." Luce answered, with a grounded assurance that was rare to hear from her.
"Have to help?" Gila prodded, making a quick note on the paper. "Why have to, Lucille? Why do you feel obligated?"
Luce nodded slowly, clearing her throat and taking even, measured breaths.
"I was a disheveled stranger. I needed help. Can't turn someone else away."
Dr. Mercia put her pen down momentarily, smiling at Luce over the rim of her glasses. Luce managed eye contact.
"Very good, Lucille. That's a very noble perspective."

_{A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?}

"I guess...follow the instructions?" Luce offered, uncertain tones marking the edges of her voice. She was struggling to handle the concept emotionally, even the mere idea of an incident on-campus troubling her. P.R.C.U. was meant to be a sanctuary, a safe haven where she could learn and heal - the thought of that safety being shattered loomed over her and cast deep shadows across her mind.
"I can sense you're finding the idea distressing, Lucille. What specifically about the situation upsets you?"
"This school is supposed to be safe." Luce answered, with a good amount of venom behind it. Remorse flashed across her face immediately. Gila gave a small smile of forgiveness.
"We all have a part to play in preserving that safety, Lucille." She said, gently. "And you're better equipped than most to weather danger when it arises."
Luce took a deep breath, steadying herself and forcing her turbulent mind to be quiet.
"You're right." She said, with convincing finality. "I'd help. I'd do whatever I can to help."

▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T}
▅ _{S U P P O R T I N G C A S T} ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "Accepting you need help is the first step to healing." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Lucille's therapist, Dr. Gila Mercia holds a doctorate in Psychology from the University of Toronto, and now works at P.R.C.U. in a combination research and therapeutic role. She acts as a weekly psychiatrist with many of the college's troubled students, and also leads research into the psychology of hyper-humans and how the manifestation of abilities in adolescence impacts psychological development. A patient, compassionate woman, she is committed to the health of her patients, and Luce is no exception.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - A Hyperhuman Roleplay

uwu

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

Live-feed of this OOC when people realise I actually made a post and got in the game.

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

_{#1.01: Any Minute Meow...}

Previously: None

---

Look now upon what remains of the once-powerful Falcone Empire: a shitty, back-alley drug dealer, fucked up on his own product, snoring on the floor of his one-bed apartment in the Narrows, too wasted to collect rent money. Kitrina nudged him with her foot and he groaned slightly. She sighed. Mario Falcone, her uncle, was at one time a powerful and feared man in Gotham, well-known as The Roman's chief enforcer, 6'5" and 4' wide, all muscle underneath an expensive suit, brutality wrapped in fancy silks and cashmere. Now he was a loser, terrorizing tenants for inflated rent payments in a backwater apartment block in the bad end of the Narrows, which was one big bad end already. It was all that remained of Carmine's legacy after the year of the Long Halloween, a year that saw the end of the mob era in Gotham, and the birth of a new, crazier, somehow even-more-violent era. Carmine had been killed. Her father, Alberto, had been locked up to rot in Arkham. And her aunt, Sofia, fled to Bludhaven, dropping off the face of the Earth in the process. This building was all Mario had been able to secure of the Falcone assets as the mafia disintegrated beneath the cops and the Bat.

Kitrina nudged Mario again, this time harder, and with the pointy end of her shoe. He woke with a start, growling and cradling his ribs. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth.
"Not dead then, dear uncle." She spat at him, walking toward the door of the apartment.
"Shut the fuck up, brat." He spat back, picking himself up off the floor. "Do that again and you're gonna lose that leg."
"If you break my leg, who are you gonna send knocking on doors?"
"I pass 50 dropheads going to grab the fuckin' mail who could do what I ask better than you - and without that shitty sense of entitlement you're clingin' on to."
"You ain't stepped out this door in two weeks - fuck you know about grabbin' the mail?" Kitrina replied, pulling on shoes and taking her coat from off the back of the door.
"Fuck you, bitch. You're an ungrateful lil' stray." He lumbered to the kitchen, clumsily seizing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap before draining it dry and filling it again, sipping slowly. "Where d'ya think you're goin?"

To his credit, Mario was on the money with the stray comment. Born the illegitimate daughter to the un-favourite son, Alberto Falcone didn't pass for much of a father, even before his turn to maniacal homicide as the so-called 'Holiday Killer'. Her mother, a woman who Kitrina knew was named 'Anna de Luca' but knew very little else, had been...'disappeared', at some point before getting the opportunity to offer Kitrina a passable upbringing. Passed around various nannies and au pairs, and neglected by everyone except Carmine, who doted on her the way only a devoted Italian grandfather could, she grew up unwanted and very aware of it. When Carmine was shot, and Alberto incarcerated, any goodwill remaining for her was summarily severed, and now she remained homed only by virtue of child benefit payments and a lie about her age. And because Mario could send her out on drug drops and rent collections while he dozed on the sofa (or the floor), drunk and doped up.

"To my job, Uncle Mario, if you even know what a job is."
"What fuckin' job you got? Pushin' favours?" He jabbed, sneering at her nastily. Kitrina just flipped the bird.
"Wayne Enterprises, if you must know. That outreach shit Wayne preaches on the billboards. Entry-level jobs guaranteed! If you keep a clean record..."
Mario launched forward from the kitchen, outrage streaked across his face.
"Wayne?! They're going to figure out we're frauding the fucking benefits you stupid cow!" He shouted, incensed. Kitrina recoiled just from the wave of body odour and the stink of his breath.
"No they're not," she said, forcefully enough to stop Mario in his tracks and make him retreat back to the sofa, "because I gave them faked papers. To Waynetech I'm 'Holly Robinson', and Holly hasn't got the fucking name 'Falcone' that might raise a few fuckin' eyebrows."
"Whatever." Mario said, in a tone that Kitrina had come to recognise was the closest thing he would ever get to praise.
She didn't say anything else; the conversation had already gone on long enough before Mario had even opened his mouth in the first place, and she didn't care to spend any extra effort - mentally or physically - entertaining his abuse. She left, crossing her fingers as she trotted down the stairs, hoping that he'd die before she got back.

---

Kitrina's job at Wayne Enterprises was stable, (proportionally) well-paid, offered numerous benefits, came with flexible working patterns, and provided welcoming, no-questions, judgement-free access to life coaching, healthcare support tools, and educational materials.

It was also mind-numbingly boring. For most of her shift, Kitrina moved numbers from one spreadsheet into another spreadsheet; occasionally, she got to look at the numbers and assess if there were any kind of significant pattern or grouping; and on her most exciting days, she might even be allowed to theorize - a word that here meant 'guess at, but in a way that used appropriate corporate buzzwords' - what the numbers meant.
Money going in all kinds of directions except into my pocket, is what they meant, she thought to herself bitterly. But she wasn't here for entertainment, nor was she here for the generous benefits package. She wasn't even here to gawk at big Bruce himself, when he sauntered in smelling of expensive cologne and cheap breakfast on his weekly PR puff, with bags under his eyes and a stare-through-you gaze no multi-billionaire city prince should rightfully sport. She was here for a score, something to put her back on the up-and-up - something to finally earn that piece of the empire she'd been denied by her idiot family (rest in piece, nonno) and the freaks on the street.

To that end she had initially tried to get around firewalls and passwords and other techy cybersec blockades she didn't really understand, digging for dirt to blackmail with; ideally a board member, someone who could bolster her paycheck and reduce her hours and, eventually, be buried (figuratively or literally, she didn't really mind) in pursuit of grander plans. Hell, maybe even Wayne himself - she wouldn't mind taking one of his 50-something rooms at the manor - and she was sure that butler could fix some mean cocktails. She knew it had been an ambitious goal - Wayne Enterprises were notoriously cagey about their data and it was well-known that they were, perhaps, one of the most serious corporations in America on the fronts of cyber-security - but brash arrogance had convinced her that surely it wasn't as hard as all that, and a suitable amount of clicking around would eventually yield some manner of result.

Well, far-in-excess of a suitable amount of clicking around had yielded flat nothing, except for a quizzical eyebrow from her pod lead when she'd asked a distinctly non-relevant question. Some lipstick and an extra-tight blouse had been needed the next day to smooth that particular bump over - and that, in turn, had opened the avenue to a different direction of assault, one Kitrina had heard be labelled 'social engineering' in her compliance courses during initiation, but that she preferred to think of as 'harmless flirting'.

Well, harmless to her, at least. Perhaps not-so-harmless to her pod lead's marriage.

"Hollywood!" He said, sidling up to her desk wearing a shirt with one-too-many buttons undone and cologne with one-too-many dabs done up. An irritating pet-name he'd developed for her, born from a witless remark about how '[she's] so gorgeous [she] should be in movies', but a necessary evil. She smiled, all teeth, nothing in the eyes.

"Hiya Tom!" She replied, schmoozing a bit, subtly leaning toward him in a way that wasn't outwardly noticeable, but gave the unconscious impression of gravitation. He sneaked a look down her blouse that he thought she didn't notice. She did. She pretended not to. It was all part of the game - and who did he think purposefully left the top button undone? "Board keepin' you busy, sweetheart?"

Tom nodded thoughtfully, in a way that he thought made him look noble. Of course he didn't answer to the board; he didn't answer to anyone who answered to the board; he didn't even answer to anybody who answered to those that answered to the board. But it made him feel good that 'Holly' thought he did, that she thought he could be that important. His dad never thought he'd be important. His wife never called him 'sweetheart'.

"As ever, Hollywood, as ever - you know what it's like." Kitrina's turn to nod. She didn't know what it was like. Neither did Tom. "But a bit of leeway, since we're nearing the end of peak, you know? Through the worst of it, and all that."

"For sure, Tommy. I seen how hard you been working. Keeping the team together single-handedly." She smiled, meeting his gaze. He broke eye contact first, because he was ashamed of his extra-marital fantasies, but not ashamed enough that he didn't steal a second glance at Kitrina's chest.

"Well, thank you for saying so, Holly. It's nice to know someone appreciates my hard work when they see it." Tom stood up, wheeling his chair back to his desk and he talked, and then returning to lean beside Holly's station, looming over her. "Anyway, what I wanted to say was I noticed how hard you've been working-" Kitrina stifled a laugh, masking it as a humbled clearing-of-the-throat, "and I thought I might show you how much I appreciate you - maybe by taking you out to dinner? Tonight? After work? Chez Vouz?"

Holly smiled, this time in a sympathetic manner that immediately deflated Tom. There was a sense of relief between them - they both knew Tom couldn't afford Chez Vouz - but ultimately this rejection had been Holly's endgame from the start. In an act of peace-making, she stood and hugged Tom, carefully swiping his Tech Lead privilege-level ID as she did so.
"Oh Tom, that's very kind of you - and I'd love to spend a bit more time outside of work getting to know you - but tonight's not great. I gotta work late, and then my gran-mama needs me home. Rain-check me - drinks next weekend maybe?"

Tom put on his best brave smile and nodded, but didn't say anything else before slinking away, walking awkwardly to hide his semi-chub.

---

The rest of the working day passed by mercifully quickly; numbers were crunched, figures were punched, and Kitrina shadowed a few meetings, sitting quietly in the corner scanning faces, body language, seeing who was looking back. Eventually, the clock rolled around to 5PM, and screens started switching off and laptops went into bags and Kitrina started her performance, dutifully opening several worksheets and a database and noting down specific figures. A few differently-coloured pens, some circling, a couple lines drawn connecting this number to that - whatever she was working on looked important, and no one wanted to question her lest they get lasso'd by a plea for help. Tom, for his part, did check in, but it was less to see if Kitrina needed help and more to see if that dinner offer had any better success as an invite to the bar. No, it didn't, and oh by the way have you seen my access pass? No, she hadn't, and she was sure it would turn up. Never mind, eh? Monday's problem. Polite chuckle. Tom left.

And then the floor was empty. A soft whir came from around the corner where the Friday janitor was buffing the floors, but he didn't take the Friday janitor job for its social benefits, so he and Kitrina both understood to leave the other alone. She wasn't spending long here anyway; she waved coyly to the janitor as she passed, heading toward the toilets - but then doubled back on herself, ducking toward the elevator, riding it down to the lowest level.

Waynetech Research & Development.

Practically a blacksite.

She better find something down here, or she was royally screwed.

Age of Marvels - A Marvel Comics Roleplay [CLOSED]

_{#1.02: We Kill The Flame}

Previously: #1.01

---

Amelia's shop wasn't hard to find. It stood, dusty and dark, amidst boarded-up units and a couple of run-down bodegas; a few dive bars and a derelict betting shop stood out as the key highlights of an otherwise dead street.

A small brass bell rang dull and muted as Daimon pushed through the door that was more dirt and duct-tape than serviceable wood. He stood amongst a thrall of forgotten knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, feeling claustrophobic between tightly-packed racking shelves and glass cabinets. The low ceiling did little to help the overall oppressive atmosphere of the shop, and Daimon ducked beneath a beaded and obviously-fake mini-chandelier light-fixture - price tag faded and dangling - as he approached the counter.

"Amelia?" Daimon called out to the empty air. There was a dog-eared book laid open on the counter and half a mug of lukewarm coffee next to it; whoever was here couldn't be far. A small call-bell stood on the glass to Daimon's left; he pressed it, but instead of the expected soft 'ding' it only elicited a small and quiet crunch sound that felt distinctly organic. A few cockroaches fled from beneath the bell and disappeared out of sight, undoubtedly into the bosom of thousands of their brethren. Daimon shivered in disgust. He knocked on the countertop instead, three sharp raps echoing through the shop. "Hello?"

There was a rustling from beyond the doorway behind the counter, followed by shuffling footsteps, a few bumps, a significantly louder thump, and then the appearance of an unkempt, grey-haired woman. Her arms were laden with a large stack of books and small boxes that careened this way and that as they towered over her head, threatening to topple completely with every step. Daimon quickly moved around the counter, seizing her first by the shoulders to steady the teetering woman, before taking a sizeable chunk of the stack from her and setting them down on the counter as she did the same. The books for the most part seemed to be leather-bound antiques and collector's editions, while the boxes were non-descript, un-marked, and rattled when he shook them.

"Can I help you, young man?" The woman asked, not even looking at him - she was back to her book, her eyes flicking across the page quickly as she brought the remains of her coffee up to nicotine-stained teeth. Daimon frowned, retrieving the letter he’d received this morning and putting it down over the book she was reading.
“I’m Daimon Helstrom. I think you want my help.”

The woman sported a frown of her own, eyes flicking over the words on the letter as she read and re-read the contents.
“How unusual.” She finally said, with an apathetic tone that indicated it wasn’t unusual whatsoever, and handed the letter back. Daimon sighed.
“Are you Amelia?” He asked, the beginnings of irritation bubbling beneath the surface of an otherwise calm demeanour.
“Sure am.” Amelia replied, nose still in her book.
“And your son is missing?”
“Sure ain’t.”
“So he’s been found already?”
“Mister, I don’t have any kids.”

Daimon grumbled, realising he should have seen this coming. The letter had already spoken of fleeting and mercurial memory; it should have come as no surprise that she remained burdened by some bizarre affliction.
“If you don’t have any relevant business sir, I’ll ask you to leave.”

Daimon grumbled again and seized Amelia’s face in one hand. She spluttered in surprise and protested, but Daimon held her strong. Their eyes finally met, and Daimon saw it undeniably: a fog behind the eyes, a muffling cloud that sat within Amelia, quelling this and that, preventing undesirable thoughts and emotions. It was vile magic - but magic all the same. He began to whisper gently, chanting quiet rituals as his free hand spun fingers about Amelia’s head. Slowly, Amelia calmed, her voice growing soft and her protests ceasing; the more Daimon chanted, the deeper she fell into the trance - and then, shadows appeared in the wake of Daimon's tracing fingers, smoke coalescing behind his movements and being drawn into his palm. Soon, there was a visible wreath of a thick, gray, smoke-like substance about Daimon's hand that glimmered in the light, and seemed to pulse and throb. It was the essence of a hex, and without it she was free to think clearly. As Daimon ended the chanting and spun the cloud about itself, tightening it into a compact, thread-like material, a long-absent lucidity returned to Amelia; at which point, she promptly burst into tears.

"Charlie!" She cried, screaming names through heavy sobs that wracked through her body and shook her shoulders. She looked so much smaller now, like she'd withdrawn into herself. Daimon held her by the shoulders as she wept, unsure what to do. She heaved, fat tears pooling in her eyes and pouring down her cheeks; it was several uncomfortable minutes before she began to settle, and even then tears freely flowed ceaselessly, and her words were intermingled with sniffles and spoken in a weary, cracking voice.

"My Charlie...gone, for weeks now - dead, I know it. A mother knows it! In her bones, in her stomach, in her breast. It sits deep in you, deeper than you thought you were, than you thought you had. It's the worst thing there is. All the love poured into your child, come back as pain, as absence. My Charlie's dead, and I have to keep on living."
She collapsed onto a stool that sat in the corner, and Daimon knelt in front of her.
"And I was numb to it - but you did somethin' didn't you. Took the numbness away. But you let me remember him. Let the grief in."
She paused, taking a deep, ragged breath.
"I can't tell which is worse."

Daimon took her hand, squeezing gently. He was accustomed to grief.
"I'm sorry. I'm too late to help Charlie - too late to help you - but I can help others. Charlie will not be the only one torn from his family. And your clarity - it will pass to your husband. You can grieve together."
Amelia attempted a smile, but all it did was put a new face on her woe.
"And I suppose that's the best I can ask for. I guess you - you can see his room, his things, maybe they'll help. We last- last- last saw him..."

Amelia wept again, tearing her hand from Daimon to bury her face in her palms, saltwater dripping through her fingers. Daimon waited.

"We last saw him on 8th avenue. Walking home from school. From there...it's all hazy again. That fog looms over everything."

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

Thanks! I've edited my original post in the Characters tab to replace my Constantine sheet with my Catwoman sheet :)

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

New Application

C A T W O M A N II
C A T W O M A N II

^{"Life's a bitch and so am I!"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Kitrina Elena Falcone _________________________________________________________ Italian American | Thief _________________________________________________________ Gotham City | New Jersey | United States of America C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - N O T A B L E N P C 'S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ MARIO FALCONE ► Kitrina's uncle. 'Keeping a low profile' in Gotham Narrows. All-around POS. SOFIA FALCONE ► Kitrina's aunt. In the wake of the fall of the Falcone Empire, she has fled to Bludhaven to recoup and strategise. ALBERTO FALCONE ► Kitrina's father. During the events of the 'The Long Halloween', he was outed as the Holiday Killer, and has since been incarcerated at Arkham. ANNA DE LUCA ► Kitrina's mother. Missing since a year after her birth. Presumed dead. SELINA KYLE ► Proprietor of the Iceberg Lounge, and retired cat-burglar. Takes a vested interest in Kitrina after the events of the Waynetech heist. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Kitrina is the illegitimate daughter of Alberto Falcone and his illicit lover, Anna de Luca. With her father already the un-favourite of the Falcone children, Alberto being discovered as the Holiday Killer in the year of the Long Halloween did Kitrina no favours, and Carmine's murder - the severing of the last piece of goodwill toward her - sealed her fate. From then on, with her father incarcerated and her grandfather dead, Kitrina was left in the 'care' of Mario Falcone, her uncle, who partially blamed Alberto for Carmine's death, and was more than happy to unload this blame onto Kitrina by proxy. When, in the aftermath, the efforts of Batman and Jim Gordan finally dealt a mortal blow to the Falcone Crime Empire, Mario and Kitrina were reduced to living in the Narrows; trying desperately to claw back Falcone assets that were being steadily liquidated, the situation only got worse. Eventually, Kitrina became embittered, numb, and angry enough to try something stupid in a last-ditch effort to earn back some respect, some much-needed cash, and maybe, just maybe, something daring enough to start bringing the Falcone name back into notoriety in Gotham. That "something stupid and/or daring" is a heist on Wayne Industries. Bruce Wayne, magnanimous philanthropist playboy as he is, was well-known for Wayne Industry's outreach programme, that guaranteed stable employment and life coaching for less-fortunate Gotham residents. Kitrina is by no means unintelligent, and applied under the pseudonym 'Holly Robinson', getting a position rather quickly and using her time within the company plotting and scoping. Hoping to find something within the belly of Wayne Industries that she can use as blackmail for the board, Kitrina/'Holly' has everything planned out to propel her out of Mario's vengeful clutches, and secure the Falcone name once again as a force of nature within Gotham, reclaiming her birthright and landing her back in the lap of luxury as she deserves. Hopefully. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ With Kitrina I want to meld the characters of Kitrina Falcone, the spurned mafia heiress, and Holly Robinson, the street-urchin morality-chain to Selina Kyle, as well as explore the idea of the legacy character and the inheriting of titles. With an older Bruce, a retired Selina, and all kinds of Bat-babies running around Gotham, I'm looking forward to establishing a new Catwoman, taking influence from Selina's character as Kitrina/Holly's mentor, but also spinning a well-known anti-villain in a new direction. Kitty Gets Her Claws The research has been done, the plan has been made, and the time has come for Kitrina's heist on Waynetech to finally happen. What she seeks and what she finds are completely different things, but Kitrina will find her hard-won quarry will push her in a career direction she never could have imagined, and rubbing shoulders with persons she otherwise would have never met. ...But Satisfaction Brought Her Back Under the tutelage of ex-Catwoman Selina Kyle, Kitrina Falcone has become quite the successful thief; however, when Sofia Falcone, surviving daughter of The Roman, catches wind of Kitrina's new money, she sees it as an opportunity to start rebuilding the Falcone Empire. Which Kitrina would have no issue with, provided her dear auntie knows how to show respect to the new generation of mafia in Gotham. A Nice Big Ball of Yarn Kick-starting a mafia empire is no easy task, especially in Gotham, where fierce competition hounds you at every corner. One specific player in the Gotham underworld has welcomed a return to a more traditional mob format, but he's set his beady eyes on Kitrina's budding empire, working backstage for the perfect moment to steal the limelight from the new Falcone boss. In time however, it will be revealed who's really pulling who's strings...

---

Roman's Scrapbin

C A T W O M A N
C A T W O M A N

^{"Life's a bitch and so am I!"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Kitrina Elena Falcone _________________________________________________________ Italian American | Thief _________________________________________________________ Gotham City | New Jersey | United States of America C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - N O T A B L E N P C 'S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ MARIO FALCONE ► Kitrina's uncle. 'Keeping a low profile' in Gotham Narrows. All-around POS. SOFIA FALCONE ► Kitrina's aunt. In the wake of the fall of the Falcone Empire, she has fled to Bludhaven to recoup and strategise. ALBERTO FALCONE ► Kitrina's father. During the events of the 'The Long Halloween', he was outed as the Holiday Killer, and has since been incarcerated at Arkham. ANNA DE LUCA ► Kitrina's mother. Missing since a year after her birth. Presumed dead. SELINA KYLE ► Proprietor of the Iceberg Lounge, and retired cat-burglar. Takes a vested interest in Kitrina after the events of the Waynetech heist. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Kitrina is the illegitimate daughter of Alberto Falcone and his illicit lover, Anna de Luca. With her father already the un-favourite of the Falcone children, Alberto being discovered as the Holiday Killer in the year of the Long Halloween did Kitrina no favours, and Carmine's murder - the severing of the last piece of goodwill toward her - sealed her fate. From then on, with her father incarcerated and her grandfather dead, Kitrina was left in the 'care' of Mario Falcone, her uncle, who partially blamed Alberto for Carmine's death, and was more than happy to unload this blame onto Kitrina by proxy. When, in the aftermath, the efforts of Batman and Jim Gordan finally dealt a mortal blow to the Falcone Crime Empire, and Mario and Kitrina were reduced to living in the Narrows - trying desperately to claw back Falcone assets that were being steadily liquidated - the situation only got worse; until eventually, Kitrina has become embittered, numb, and angry enough to try something stupid in a last-ditch effort to earn back some respect and some much-needed cash and maybe, just maybe, something daring enough to start bringing the Falcone name back into notoriety in Gotham. That "something stupid and/or daring" is a heist on Wayne Industries. Bruce Wayne, magnanimous philanthropist playboy as he was, was well-known for Wayne Industry's outreach programme, that guaranteed stable employment and life coaching for less-fortunate Gotham residents. Kitrina is by no means unintelligent, and applied under the pseudonym 'Holly Robinson', getting a position rather quickly and using her time within the company plotting and scoping. Hoping to find something within the belly of Wayne Industries that she can use as blackmail for the board, Kitrina/Holly has everything planned out to propel her out of Mario's vengeful clutches, and secure the Falcone name once again as a force of nature within Gotham, reclaiming her birth-right and landing her back in the luxurious life she deserves. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ With Kitrina I want to meld the characters of Kitrina Falcone, the spurned mafia heiress, and Holly Robinson, the street-urchin morality-chain to Selina Kyle, as well as explore the idea of the legacy character and the inheriting of titles. With an older Bruce, a retired Selina, and all kinds of Bat-babies running around Gotham, I'm looking forward to establishing a new Catwoman, taking influence from Selina's character as Kitrina/Holly's mentor, but also spinning a well-known anti-villain in a new direction. Kitty Gets Her Claws The research has been done, the plan has been made, and the time has come for Kitrina's heist on Waynetech to finally happen. What she seeks and what she finds are completely different things, but Kitrina will find her hard-won quarry will push her in a career direction she never could have imagined, and rubbing shoulders with persons she otherwise would have never met. ...But Satisfaction Brought Her Back Under the tutelage of ex-Catwoman Selina Kyle, Kitrina Falcone has become quite the successful thief; however, when Sofia Falcone, surviving daughter of The Roman, catches wind of Kitrina's new money, she sees it as an opportunity to start rebuilding the Falcone Empire. Which Kitrina would have no issue with, provided her dear auntie knows how to show respect to the new generation of mafia in Gotham. A Nice Big Ball of Yarn Kick-starting a mafia empire is no easy task, especially in Gotham, where fierce competition hounds you at every corner. One specific player in the Gotham underworld has welcomed a return to a more traditional mob format, but he's set his beady eyes on Kitrina's budding empire, working backstage for the perfect moment to steal the limelight from the new Falcone boss. In time however, it will be revealed who's really pulling who's strings...

---

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

Hiya fellas, quick update. I am SICK rn - not terrible but just lethargic, and unable to rest bc 9 years of retail before I got out instilled within me an instinct to not allow myself recovery time when ill.

Also, I have been having a blast reading everyone's IC posts - and have realised that as much as I love Constantine, and this origin-story retelling is my personal fanfic baby, writing a character in another country, on the opposite side of the Atlantic, engaging in personal origin story business with no real room for crossovers, doesn't really lend itself to getting involved with other players, which is really what I want to do.

With that said, I'd like to take a temporary leave of absence to withdraw John and work on a new character sheet (yaaaay) of someone I've never played before (ooooo) who's based in Gotham (booooo), and work on my Constantine retelling privately, perhaps for Variety Hour a little down the line.

I hope to return shortly with a brand new sheet, and look forward to interacting with you lovely lot.