Roman

Teen Titans: Secret Origins - A Re-Imagined DC Canon RP

Expand the team. Accept both my sheets. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. My pain is constant and sharp. Always be closing.

Teen Titans: Secret Origins - A Re-Imagined DC Canon RP

O R P H A N
O R P H A N

^{*Points at you, gives thumb down.*
*Points at self, gives thumb up.*}

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 _________________________________________________________ Cassandra Cain _________________________________________________________ 18 | Single _________________________________________________________ Gotham/Blüdhaven & The League of Shadows | Chinese N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Body Reading Cassandra's mother tongue is not Mandarin, nor English, nor any other spoken word on the planet; it is movement. Physicality. Body language. Cassandra can read what people are thinking through the most subtle muscle twitch, predict their next action through body language to a level of near pre-cognitive accuracy. It is so instinctual, so fast, she does it before even consciously registering it's happened. While it's not perfect, and it lends Cassandra to an over-reliance on it, it makes her difficult to fool, incredibly perceptive, and one of the most formidable opponents on the face of the Earth. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Grappling Hook Her most useful tool, stolen from the League, and the only thing she couldn't leave behind when she came to the Titans: thick-yet-flexible tensile wire attached to a strong and stable hook. Capable of entry, escape, climbing, combat, apprehension, snares - the things Cassandra can do with a length of rope and a bit of metal on the end would make many of her peers go green. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Physical Conditioning Cassandra's intensive training throughout her lifetime has turned her into one of the finest fighting machines ever to walk the Earth, a near-perfect weapon in human form, possessing levels of strength, stamina, speed and agility that put her in the top percentiles of humanity. ◼ Acrobatics Combat and physicality were not the only training regimens Cassandra was instructed through; she also developed her agility and gymnastics, making her incredibly nimble and dextrous as well as powerful. ◼ Lockpicking Self-taught during her short stint as a vigilante, to aid her investigations and getting into places certain people - morally upstanding or otherwise - would rather she didn't. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Stealth A combination of Cassandra's 'first language' and the training from her father created an incredible awareness of her own body and its movements, and this awareness was only honed further - until it became an almost preternatural aptitude for stealth, silence, and secrecy. ◼ Martial Arts Lifelong training has lead to mastery of physical combat and the fighting arts. Inheriting knowledge and ability from her mother and father, observing the operations of the League of Shadows, witnessing Batman and others in her travels; there is no form of battle she is not familiar with, nor cannot apply herself - to incredibly painful results. ◼ Assassin Cassandra's darkest gift, and alongside the blade lodged in her body, the surest touch of David Cain: Cassandra analyses and knows, innately, unconsciously, unwillingly, how to most effectively and efficiently kill any given individual around her at any time. It is hard to ignore. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Born to David Cain and Lady Shiva, Cassandra Cain was cursed before even conceived. She never knew her mother; left in David's care, she knew only one truth: combat. Deprived of a home, a family, even speech itself, Cassandra's one and only language was movement, physicality, the body itself. David was obssessive in adminstering her training, slowly crafting her into the perfect warrior, the One Who Is All, an assassin to surpass all others prophecised by the League of Shadows. At only eight years old, David Cain sought to test his experiment, and Cassandra was given her first target. The hit was...easy. Ruthless. A mere game to the child Cassandra, unaware what she was doing, unaware there was any other way whatsoever; but as she watched the man die, as she read the muscle spasms, the limp limbs, the life leaving his skin, she saw death as he saw it, came as close to it as she could without dying herself - and she was horrified. The game was over, the illusion shattered. Death was wrong. Every fiber and nerve ending in her body felt the sin of what she'd done, and by extension the evil of her father and everything he was training her for. What was an eight year old to do, trained for a purpose now abhorrent to her very essence, unable to return to a father she now despised? She did the only thing she could do; she ran away. For nine years, Cassandra was homeless and on the run from her father and the forces of the League of Shadows. She ended up - as so many of the world's strays do - in Gotham, bringing assassins down upon her; luckily, the Batman was no stranger to Ra's forces, and his timely intervention saved Cassandra twice over. Seeing in him how her skills could be used in defence of the defenceless, in the pursuit of what was good and righteous, she was inspired, and began operating as a solo vigilante herself: Orphan. With Batman looming over Gotham and Blüdhaven, David Cain turned to less direct methods to destroy his errant daughter; following her activities across the twin cities, he ensured wherever she went, corpses were left in her wake, sometimes of those she saved, but more often of those she apprehended. David knew implicating Cassandra would bring Batman down upon her head, and he was right; the two were drawn into a fight with each other across Gotham, David watching from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike to eliminate two obstacles to the League in one fell swoop. When he made his move, he could not have predicted the outcome; Cassandra abandoning her fight entirely to throw herself upon her father's sword, sacrificing her life to save Batman's. David, despite himself, was surprised at Cassandra's capacity to outmatch him, and equally surprised at how deeply grieved he was for the mortal blow he had struck upon his own daughter. Batman easily subdued David, and realized they had been played by the assassin. Shocked and impressed by Cassandra's ability and her willingness to sacrifice herself for the life of another, he took her into his intensive care, narrowly managing to save her life and then nursing her back to health - though ultimately unable to remove the span of her father's blade that remained within her chest. Once Cassandra had been stabilised and back on her feet, Batman realised she needed more guidance than he was able to provide, as well as friends, mentors - a proper support structure. A family. The Titans were the obvious choice. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ I've written a lot of Batman in the past, but even in those stints, never approached the Bat-family. While I have my own Robin Ranking like any Bat-fan would (and we can argue about that later), Cassandra herself has intrigued me for a while because of her potential for separation from the Batfamily, someone desperately trying to redeem herself from terrible origins that she had no say in, but feels guilty for anyway. One of the best examples of how Batman can inspire others, I want to explore her mutism, her conflicting natures, her aspirations, the ties to David Cain, Lady Shiva, Ra's Al Ghul, and the League of Shadows (especially how it puts her cross-counter to Damian), and also position her as an outcast and almost taboo figure within the Titans, where rumours about the corpses left behind her during her stint as Orphan follow and haunt her just as doggedly as the mystique and awe around being entered and entrusted by Batman himself.

---

- - -

S T I T C H
S T I T C H

^{"I'm gonna be the world's most machine-washable hero."}

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 _________________________________________________________ Stitch Nassour _________________________________________________________ 1 | Single _________________________________________________________ The Lords of Order | Egyptian-American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Enchanted Physiology Stitch isn't Human; they are a magically-animated ragdoll effigy, imbued with a soul. They are immortal and entirely self-sustaining, having no need for sleep, food, drink, or even air. ◼ Magic Although animated by magic, Stitch's possession of a soul allows them the ability to perform mystical feats, and under tutelage from their adoptive father and creator, Doctor Fate, they have learnt to wield it well and cast a myriad of spells and enchantments - although with varying degrees of success and reliability. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Sending Stone A parting gift from her father, given as both a token of faith and a comforting gesture; the stone allows Stitch to tap into it with magic and send direct messages to Doctor Fate, or in dire times of trouble, a distress signal to summon him for help. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Occultism Following Doctor Fate's teachings has granted Stitch knowledge on the supernatural and occult of the waking world, making them a first stop when something paranormal needs delicate handling. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Espionage Stitch's magical abilities affords them great knowledge of others, ascertained either by divination, telepathy, scrying, or simply letting herself into places they shouldn't be. ◼ Acrobatics Being an animated ragdoll, Stitch's limbs and body aren't necessarily subject to the same limits your typical human biology would be, and they're effectively gymnastic as a result. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Who else would be more concerned about the myriad potential ruinous futures of the world than the overseer of destiny himself? Khalid Nassour, Doctor Fate; the foremost agent of the Lords of Order, empowered by the gods and primordial magic itself to safeguard the cosmos against chaos and evil. But even he, in all his power and foresight, recognized that he is but one man; powerful, wise, long-lived - but mortal, and alone. He could not rely on himself to be there indefinitely; could not rely on others taking up his mantle being as vigilant as he. In the absence of an immortal, eternal protector to protect the natural order and the balance of magic and power, what was he to do? The answer, when it came, was as simple as it was prodigious. Create one. And so was birthed Stitch, or more accurately, enchanted. An effigy, imbued with magic and power and, most delicately, a soul, Stitch burst to life under Khalid's careful watch, taken on as simultaneous adoptive child and apprentice, taught how to navigate the mortal plane at the same time as dipping their essence into the raw magic of the universe - manipulating, channeling, directing it. Being it. Immortal; sleepless; no need to eat, or drink, or even breath. In tune with the cosmos, effortlessly weaving magic around their person. The perfect apprentice; an absolutely nightmarish child. Their growing intellect quickly created boredom, and boredom created risk - risk Doctor Fate could not abide. At the same time, he recognized such a life with him - regimented, restricted, directed - was unfulfilled. Immortal enchanted rag effigy or not, Stitch was a child - and needed to develop with others. Among others. The training could wait. The responsibility could wait. Khalid wanted Stitch to experience life, in order to better appreciate their solemn task in protecting it. Stitch arrived to the Titans a few weeks later, and has since been exploring this bizarre journey that everyone else is calling 'living'. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ An ultimate 'outsider' to the normal human journey, Stitch's experience oscillates violently between complete naivety and deep, unnatural assuredness. Born of magic and endowed with their very own soul, they are both cosmic arbiter and reclusive child, in tune with the universe and the magics that flow through it and completely cut-off from any kind of social interaction or group dynamic. While they're powerful, an impressive weaver of spells taught by none other than Doctor Fate himself, they're unskilled and volatile, at times clumsy with their magic, and there's still much to learn; however, there's also far more to be taught about simply being alive, an experience they're still getting a grip on and aren't completely comfortable with - and their contradictions against even the most fundamental basics of human behaviour, like sleeping, eating, breathing, only serve to separate them further. With their ties to Fate, magic, the supernatural, Stitch opens a lot of pathways to a lot of unnatural destinations, while their ongoing lessons in what it is to live offer narratives far closer to home and the human experience.

---

Teen Titans: Secret Origins - A Re-Imagined DC Canon RP

Chatty bunch, aren't ya?

Roman's Scrapbin

C H A R A C T E R R E F E R E N C E T A B L E:
C H A R A C T E R R E F E R E N C E T A B L E:

^{______________________________________________________________________}

CHARACTER:	PLAYER:	SPEECH COLOUR:	INTAKE STATUS:	H. CLASS:	ABILITY:	PWR SCALE:	THREAT LVL:
Character	@Player	#Color	Status	Hype-class	Ability	Power	Threat

^{* Denotes a member of the GM Team.}

Teen Titans: Secret Origins - A Reimagined DC Roleplay

Scottish people be like,

Teen Titans: Secret Origins - A Reimagined DC Roleplay

Orphan

O R P H A N
O R P H A N

^{*Points at you, gives thumb down.*
*Points at self, gives thumb up.*}

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 _________________________________________________________ Cassandra Cain _________________________________________________________ 18 | Single _________________________________________________________ Gotham/Blüdhaven & The League of Shadows | Chinese N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Body Reading Cassandra's mother tongue is not Mandarin, nor English, nor any other spoken word on the planet; it is movement. Physicality. Body language. Cassandra can read what people are thinking through the most subtle muscle twitch, predict their next action through body language to a level of near pre-cognitive accuracy. It is so instinctual, so fast, she does it before even consciously registering it's happened. While it's not perfect, and it lends Cassandra to an over-reliance on it, it makes her difficult to fool, incredibly perceptive, and one of the most formidable opponents on the face of the Earth. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Grappling Hook Her most useful tool, stolen from the League, and the only thing she couldn't leave behind when she came to the Titans: thick-yet-flexible tensile wire attached to a strong and stable hook. Capable of entry, escape, climbing, combat, apprehension, snares - the things Cassandra can do with a length of rope and a bit of metal on the end would make many of her peers go green. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Physical Conditioning Cassandra's intensive training throughout her lifetime has turned her into one of the finest fighting machines ever to walk the Earth, a near-perfect weapon in human form, possessing levels of strength, stamina, speed and agility that put her in the top percentiles of humanity. ◼ Acrobatics Combat and physicality were not the only training regimens Cassandra was instructed through; she also developed her agility and gymnastics, making her incredibly nimble and dextrous as well as powerful. ◼ Lockpicking Self-taught during her short stint as a vigilante, to aid her investigations and getting into places certain people - morally upstanding or otherwise - would rather she didn't. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Stealth A combination of Cassandra's 'first language' and the training from her father created an incredible awareness of her own body and its movements, and this awareness was only honed further - until it became an almost preternatural aptitude for stealth, silence, and secrecy. ◼ Martial Arts Lifelong training has lead to mastery of physical combat and the fighting arts. Inheriting knowledge and ability from her mother and father, observing the operations of the League of Shadows, witnessing Batman and others in her travels; there is no form of battle she is not familiar with, nor cannot apply herself - to incredibly painful results. ◼ Assassin Cassandra's darkest gift, and alongside the blade lodged in her body, the surest touch of David Cain: Cassandra analyses and knows, innately, unconsciously, unwillingly, how to most effectively and efficiently kill any given individual around her at any time. It is hard to ignore. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Born to David Cain and Lady Shiva, Cassandra Cain was cursed before even conceived. She never knew her mother; left in David's care, she knew only one truth: combat. Deprived of a home, a family, even speech itself, Cassandra's one and only language was movement, physicality, the body itself. David was obssessive in adminstering her training, slowly crafting her into the perfect warrior, the One Who Is All, an assassin to surpass all others prophecised by the League of Shadows. At only eight years old, David Cain sought to test his experiment, and Cassandra was given her first target. The hit was...easy. Ruthless. A mere game to the child Cassandra, unaware what she was doing, unaware there was any other way whatsoever; but as she watched the man die, as she read the muscle spasms, the limp limbs, the life leaving his skin, she saw death as he saw it, came as close to it as she could without dying herself - and she was horrified. The game was over, the illusion shattered. Death was wrong. Every fiber and nerve ending in her body felt the sin of what she'd done, and by extension the evil of her father and everything he was training her for. What was an eight year old to do, trained for a purpose now abhorrent to her very essence, unable to return to a father she now despised? She did the only thing she could do; she ran away. For nine years, Cassandra was homeless and on the run from her father and the forces of the League of Shadows. She ended up - as so many of the world's strays do - in Gotham, bringing assassins down upon her; luckily, the Batman was no stranger to Ra's forces, and his timely intervention saved Cassandra twice over. Seeing in him how her skills could be used in defence of the defenceless, in the pursuit of what was good and righteous, she was inspired, and began operating as a solo vigilante herself: Orphan. With Batman looming over Gotham and Blüdhaven, David Cain turned to less direct methods to destroy his errant daughter; following her activities across the twin cities, he ensured wherever she went, corpses were left in her wake, sometimes of those she saved, but more often of those she apprehended. David knew implicating Cassandra would bring Batman down upon her head, and he was right; the two were drawn into a fight with each other across Gotham, David watching from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike to eliminate two obstacles to the League in one fell swoop. When he made his move, he could not have predicted the outcome; Cassandra abandoning her fight entirely to throw herself upon her father's sword, sacrificing her life to save Batman's. David, despite himself, was surprised at Cassandra's capacity to outmatch him, and equally surprised at how deeply grieved he was for the mortal blow he had struck upon his own daughter. Batman easily subdued David, and realized they had been played by the assassin. Shocked and impressed by Cassandra's ability and her willingness to sacrifice herself for the life of another, he took her into his intensive care, narrowly managing to save her life and then nursing her back to health - though ultimately unable to remove the span of her father's blade that remained within her chest. Once Cassandra had been stabilised and back on her feet, Batman realised she needed more guidance than he was able to provide, as well as friends, mentors - a proper support structure. A family. The Titans were the obvious choice. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ I've written a lot of Batman in the past, but even in those stints, never approached the Bat-family. While I have my own Robin Ranking like any Bat-fan would (and we can argue about that later), Cassandra herself has intrigued me for a while because of her potential for separation from the Batfamily, someone desperately trying to redeem herself from terrible origins that she had no say in, but feels guilty for anyway. One of the best examples of how Batman can inspire others, I want to explore her mutism, her conflicting natures, her aspirations, the ties to David Cain, Lady Shiva, Ra's Al Ghul, and the League of Shadows (especially how it puts her cross-counter to Damian), and also position her as an outcast and almost taboo figure within the Titans, where rumours about the corpses left behind her during her stint as Orphan follow and haunt her just as doggedly as the mystique and awe around being entered and entrusted by Batman himself.

---

Stitch

S T I T C H
S T I T C H

^{"I'm gonna be the world's most machine-washable hero."}

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 _________________________________________________________ Stitch Nassour _________________________________________________________ 1 | Single _________________________________________________________ The Lords of Order | Egyptian-American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Enchanted Physiology Stitch isn't Human; they are a magically-animated ragdoll effigy, imbued with a soul. They are immortal and entirely self-sustaining, having no need for sleep, food, drink, or even air. ◼ Magic Although animated by magic, Stitch's possession of a soul allows them the ability to perform mystical feats, and under tutelage from their adoptive father and creator, Doctor Fate, they have learnt to wield it well and cast a myriad of spells and enchantments - although with varying degrees of success and reliability. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Sending Stone A parting gift from her father, given as both a token of faith and a comforting gesture; the stone allows Stitch to tap into it with magic and send direct messages to Doctor Fate, or in dire times of trouble, a distress signal to summon him for help. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Occultism Following Doctor Fate's teachings has granted Stitch knowledge on the supernatural and occult of the waking world, making them a first stop when something paranormal needs delicate handling. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Espionage Stitch's magical abilities affords them great knowledge of others, ascertained either by divination, telepathy, scrying, or simply letting herself into places they shouldn't be. ◼ Acrobatics Being an animated ragdoll, Stitch's limbs and body aren't necessarily subject to the same limits your typical human biology would be, and they're effectively gymnastic as a result. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Who else would be more concerned about the myriad potential ruinous futures of the world than the overseer of destiny himself? Khalid Nassour, Doctor Fate; the foremost agent of the Lords of Order, empowered by the gods and primordial magic itself to safeguard the cosmos against chaos and evil. But even he, in all his power and foresight, recognized that he is but one man; powerful, wise, long-lived - but mortal, and alone. He could not rely on himself to be there indefinitely; could not rely on others taking up his mantle being as vigilant as he. In the absence of an immortal, eternal protector to protect the natural order and the balance of magic and power, what was he to do? The answer, when it came, was as simple as it was prodigious. Create one. And so was birthed Stitch, or more accurately, enchanted. An effigy, imbued with magic and power and, most delicately, a soul, Stitch burst to life under Khalid's careful watch, taken on as simultaneous adoptive child and apprentice, taught how to navigate the mortal plane at the same time as dipping their essence into the raw magic of the universe - manipulating, channeling, directing it. Being it. Immortal; sleepless; no need to eat, or drink, or even breath. In tune with the cosmos, effortlessly weaving magic around their person. The perfect apprentice; an absolutely nightmarish child. Their growing intellect quickly created boredom, and boredom created risk - risk Doctor Fate could not abide. At the same time, he recognized such a life with him - regimented, restricted, directed - was unfulfilled. Immortal enchanted rag effigy or not, Stitch was a child - and needed to develop with others. Among others. The training could wait. The responsibility could wait. Khalid wanted Stitch to experience life, in order to better appreciate their solemn task in protecting it. Stitch arrived to the Titans a few weeks later, and has since been exploring this bizarre journey that everyone else is calling 'living'. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ An ultimate 'outsider' to the normal human journey, Stitch's experience oscillates violently between complete naivety and deep, unnatural assuredness. Born of magic and endowed with their very own soul, they are both cosmic arbiter and reclusive child, in tune with the universe and the magics that flow through it and completely cut-off from any kind of social interaction or group dynamic. While they're powerful, an impressive weaver of spells taught by none other than Doctor Fate himself, they're unskilled and volatile, at times clumsy with their magic, and there's still much to learn; however, there's also far more to be taught about simply being alive, an experience they're still getting a grip on and aren't completely comfortable with - and their contradictions against even the most fundamental basics of human behaviour, like sleeping, eating, breathing, only serve to separate them further. With their ties to Fate, magic, the supernatural, Stitch opens a lot of pathways to a lot of unnatural destinations, while their ongoing lessons in what it is to live offer narratives far closer to home and the human experience.

---

Roman's Scrapbin

S T I T C H
S T I T C H

^{"I'm gonna be the world's most machine-washable hero."}

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 _________________________________________________________ Stitch Nassour _________________________________________________________ 1 | Single _________________________________________________________ The Lords of Order | Egyptian-American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Enchanted Physiology Stitch isn't Human; they are a magically-animated ragdoll effigy, imbued with a soul. They are immortal and entirely self-sustaining, having no need for sleep, food, drink, or even air. ◼ Magic Although animated by magic, Stitch's possession of a soul allows them the ability to perform mystical feats, and under tutelage from their adoptive father and creator, Doctor Fate, they have learnt to wield it well and cast a myriad of spells and enchantments - although with varying degrees of success and reliability. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Sending Stone A parting gift from her father, given as both a token of faith and a comforting gesture; the stone allows Stitch to tap into it with magic and send direct messages to Doctor Fate, or in dire times of trouble, a distress signal to summon him for help. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Occultism Following Doctor Fate's teachings has granted Stitch knowledge on the supernatural and occult of the waking world, making them a first stop when something paranormal needs delicate handling. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Espionage Stitch's magical abilities affords them great knowledge of others, ascertained either by divination, telepathy, scrying, or simply letting herself into places they shouldn't be. ◼ Acrobatics Being an animated ragdoll, Stitch's limbs and body aren't necessarily subject to the same limits your typical human biology would be, and they're effectively gymnastic as a result. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Who else would be more concerned about the myriad potential ruinous futures of the world than the overseer of destiny himself? Khalid Nassour, Doctor Fate; the foremost agent of the Lords of Order, empowered by the gods and primordial magic itself to safeguard the cosmos against chaos and evil. But even he, in all his power and foresight, recognized that he is but one man; powerful, wise, long-lived - but mortal, and alone. He could not rely on himself to be there indefinitely; could not rely on others taking up his mantle being as vigilant as he. In the absence of an immortal, eternal protector to protect the natural order and the balance of magic and power, what was he to do? The answer, when it came, was as simple as it was prodigious. Create one. And so was birthed Stitch, or more accurately, enchanted. An effigy, imbued with magic and power and, most delicately, a soul, Stitch burst to life under Khalid's careful watch, taken on as simultaneous adoptive child and apprentice, taught how to navigate the mortal plane at the same time as dipping their essence into the raw magic of the universe - manipulating, channeling, directing it. Being it. Immortal; sleepless; no need to eat, or drink, or even breath. In tune with the cosmos, effortlessly weaving magic around their person. The perfect apprentice; an absolutely nightmarish child. Their growing intellect quickly created boredom, and boredom created risk - risk Doctor Fate could not abide. At the same time, he recognized such a life with him - regimented, restricted, directed - was unfulfilled. Immortal enchanted rag effigy or not, Stitch was a child - and needed to develop with others. Among others. The training could wait. The responsibility could wait. Khalid wanted Stitch to experience life, in order to better appreciate their solemn task in protecting it. Stitch arrived to the Titans a few weeks later, and has since been exploring this bizarre journey that everyone else is calling 'living'. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ An ultimate 'outsider' to the normal human journey, Stitch's experience oscillates violently between complete naivety and deep, unnatural assuredness. Born of magic and endowed with their very own soul, they are both cosmic arbiter and reclusive child, in tune with the universe and the magics that flow through it and completely cut-off from any kind of social interaction or group dynamic. While they're powerful, an impressive weaver of spells taught by none other than Doctor Fate himself, they're unskilled and volatile, at times clumsy with their magic, and there's still much to learn; however, there's also far more to be taught about simply being alive, an experience they're still getting a grip on and aren't completely comfortable with - and their contradictions against even the most fundamental basics of human behaviour, like sleeping, eating, breathing, only serve to separate them further. With their ties to Fate, magic, the supernatural, Stitch opens a lot of pathways to a lot of unnatural destinations, while their ongoing lessons in what it is to live offer narratives far closer to home and the human experience.

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Roman's Scrapbin

O R P H A N
O R P H A N

^{*Points at you, gives thumb down.*
*Points at self, gives thumb up.*}

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 _________________________________________________________ Cassandra Cain _________________________________________________________ 18 | Single _________________________________________________________ Gotham/Blüdhaven & The League of Shadows | Chinese N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Body Reading Cassandra's mother tongue is not Mandarin, nor English, nor any other spoken word on the planet; it is movement. Physicality. Body language. Cassandra can read what people are thinking through the most subtle muscle twitch, predict their next action through body language to a level of near pre-cognitive accuracy. It is so instinctual, so fast, she does it before even consciously registering it's happened. While it's not perfect, and it lends Cassandra to an over-reliance on it, it makes her difficult to fool, incredibly perceptive, and one of the most formidable opponents on the face of the Earth. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Grappling Hook Her most useful tool, stolen from the League, and the only thing she couldn't leave behind when she came to the Titans: thick-yet-flexible tensile wire attached to a strong and stable hook. Capable of entry, escape, climbing, combat, apprehension, snares - the things Cassandra can do with a length of rope and a bit of metal on the end would make many of her peers go green. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Physical Conditioning Cassandra's intensive training throughout her lifetime has turned her into one of the finest fighting machines ever to walk the Earth, a near-perfect weapon in human form, possessing levels of strength, stamina, speed and agility that put her in the top percentiles of humanity. ◼ Acrobatics Combat and physicality were not the only training regimens Cassandra was instructed through; she also developed her agility and gymnastics, making her incredibly nimble and dextrous as well as powerful. ◼ Lockpicking Self-taught during her short stint as a vigilante, to aid her investigations and getting into places certain people - morally upstanding or otherwise - would rather she didn't. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Stealth A combination of Cassandra's 'first language' and the training from her father created an incredible awareness of her own body and its movements, and this awareness was only honed further - until it became an almost preternatural aptitude for stealth, silence, and secrecy. ◼ Martial Arts Lifelong training has lead to mastery of physical combat and the fighting arts. Inheriting knowledge and ability from her mother and father, observing the operations of the League of Shadows, witnessing Batman and others in her travels; there is no form of battle she is not familiar with, nor cannot apply herself - to incredibly painful results. ◼ Assassin Cassandra's darkest gift, and alongside the blade lodged in her body, the surest touch of David Cain: Cassandra analyses and knows, innately, unconsciously, unwillingly, how to most effectively and efficiently kill any given individual around her at any time. It is hard to ignore. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ Born to David Cain and Lady Shiva, Cassandra Cain was cursed before even conceived. She never knew her mother; left in David's care, she knew only one truth: combat. Deprived of a home, a family, even speech itself, Cassandra's one and only language was movement, physicality, the body itself. David was obssessive in adminstering her training, slowly crafting her into the perfect warrior, the One Who Is All, an assassin to surpass all others prophecised by the League of Shadows. At only eight years old, David Cain sought to test his experiment, and Cassandra was given her first target. The hit was...easy. Ruthless. A mere game to the child Cassandra, unaware what she was doing, unaware there was any other way whatsoever; but as she watched the man die, as she read the muscle spasms, the limp limbs, the life leaving his skin, she saw death as he saw it, came as close to it as she could without dying herself - and she was horrified. The game was over, the illusion shattered. Death was wrong. Every fiber and nerve ending in her body felt the sin of what she'd done, and by extension the evil of her father and everything he was training her for. What was an eight year old to do, trained for a purpose now abhorrent to her very essence, unable to return to a father she now despised? She did the only thing she could do; she ran away. For nine years, Cassandra was homeless and on the run from her father and the forces of the League of Shadows. She ended up - as so many of the world's strays do - in Gotham, bringing assassins down upon her; luckily, the Batman was no stranger to Ra's forces, and his timely intervention saved Cassandra twice over. Seeing in him how her skills could be used in defence of the defenceless, in the pursuit of what was good and righteous, she was inspired, and began operating as a solo vigilante herself: Orphan. With Batman looming over Gotham and Blüdhaven, David Cain turned to less direct methods to destroy his errant daughter; following her activities across the twin cities, he ensured wherever she went, corpses were left in her wake, sometimes of those she saved, but more often of those she apprehended. David knew implicating Cassandra would bring Batman down upon her head, and he was right; the two were drawn into a fight with each other across Gotham, David watching from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike to eliminate two obstacles to the League in one fell swoop. When he made his move, he could not have predicted the outcome; Cassandra abandoning her fight entirely to throw herself upon her father's sword, sacrificing her life to save Batman's. David, despite himself, was surprised at Cassandra's capacity to outmatch him, and equally surprised at how deeply grieved he was for the mortal blow he had struck upon his own daughter. Batman easily subdued David, and realized they had been played by the assassin. Shocked and impressed by Cassandra's ability and her willingness to sacrifice herself for the life of another, he took her into his intensive care, narrowly managing to save her life and then nursing her back to health - though ultimately unable to remove the span of her father's blade that remained within her chest. Once Cassandra had been stabilised and back on her feet, Batman realised she needed more guidance than he was able to provide, as well as friends, mentors - a proper support structure. A family. The Titans were the obvious choice. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ I've written a lot of Batman in the past, but even in those stints, never approached the Bat-family. While I have my own Robin Ranking like any Bat-fan would (and we can argue about that later), Cassandra herself has intrigued me for a while because of her potential for separation from the Batfamily, someone desperately trying to redeem herself from terrible origins that she had no say in, but feels guilty for anyway. One of the best examples of how Batman can inspire others, I want to explore her mutism, her conflicting natures, her aspirations, the ties to David Cain, Lady Shiva, Ra's Al Ghul, and the League of Shadows (especially how it puts her cross-counter to Damian), and also position her as an outcast and almost taboo figure within the Titans, where rumours about the corpses left behind her during her stint as Orphan follow and haunt her just as doggedly as the mystique and awe around being entered and entrusted by Batman himself.

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Commencement: A Farewell to P.R.C.U. [COMPLETE]

_{Location: Beneath the Foundation}

Human #5.094 life and death CRUEL CRUEL CRUEL

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_{Interaction(s): Haven, @Skai}

The air hummed with bulbs being flicked on and spotlighting cells that lined the walls. It was a sorry sight; wherever this was it had clearly suffered many years of neglect, and was now just grimy concrete and metal paneling on all planes. Lights buzzed and flickered above separately to the harsh, blinding glare that bathed the cells and blinded the occupants. There was no sunshine down here, nothing natural; only the ugly, artificial fluorescence that bathed everything in a sickly green-tinged white.

Stephen was groggy as he came around, his mouth dry and throat sore and head heavy and pounding. He slowly lifted himself from the concrete floor, muscles stiff and bones achy, and tried to orient himself, blinking hard against the aggressive lighting that assaulted him. It took a few minutes to get his bearings, to feel steady enough to rise to his feet and raise a shielding hand in front of his eyes as he walked toward the light; only when he was close enough to reach out and touch the cool iron bars that gated him in did the icy sliver of fear and paranoia cut through his confusion and sober him to the reality of his situation.

He leaned against the iron, pressing his cheeks to the bars as he craned to see the surroundings. The lights did well at their job, the glare harsh enough that it swallowed his vision, but what little he could make out did not inspire hope. More dirtied walls, more iron bars, more vague figures trapped behind them. His personal jail seemed to connect out to a walkway that rimmed a wider space - some manner of empty hall - with identical cells lining the outer edge, and more still below. Wherever this was - whoever had built it - it had capacity in mind.

The buzzing of bulbs gave way to rustling and low groans from other occupants. The lights had roused them, Stephen realized, and in the same moment realized that the lights must have been switched on purposefully. He doubted there was any intention of a feigned day/night cycle in this dreadful place, and the position and intensity of the lights suggested a petty kind of vindictiveness. They were unpleasant and they were meant to be. The cells were sparse and improper even for the most basic forms of captivity, and they were meant to be. The room was cold, and dingy, and smelt of damp and other unmentionable odors, and it was meant to be.

A sudden burst of anger filled him, intensified by his mind drifting to Scylla, now alone and left behind, however far away he had been taken. He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth; was this just the latest in an unrelenting series of tragedy and misfortune, injustice delivered upon him and others so casually? What was next? What of those left behind - would Scylla ever know what had happened to him? Would anyone? Or were they living on borrowed time, waiting in an invisible, imperceptible queue before they, to, would suffer such a grievance, seemingly for no better reason than being picked as a cosmic plaything? It all boiled and bubbled inside him, and instantaneously his fists were pounding on the bars with all his might, the air around his skin glowing a soft violet as he wrapped his hands in psionic energy, willing them to bend and shatter the iron that entrapped him. It did not break, did not give, and as he slammed and hammered away he could only scream in angry frustration, before the feeling went as quickly as it had arrived and left only despondency and heartache in its stead. Stephen slumped to his knees, exhausted, his hands unwrapping to curl around the bars as he leant his forehead against them. Hot, indignant tears pushed their way through closed lids and rolled down his cheeks.

The display of fury sparked hope in the heart that beat a weary rhythm in the cell beside him.

There was mistaken relief that she wasn’t alone in her misery, that the one she loved was close by. Maybe even an arm’s length away if she reached far enough through the bars of her enclosure. Even if she could only touch him with one finger, her world would no longer spiral into darkness and grief. He hadn’t fallen by the hands of his creations, hadn’t been harvested into a monster she wouldn’t recognize, hadn’t been killed by him, the man whose very voice terrorized her with memories of horrors she hadn’t dreamed of in a week. The utterance of her name, drawn out in a cooing voice like she was a beloved pet, had sent her into a fit of disassociation so strong that she’d simply sat on the dirty concrete floor and stared at the blank wall across from her. Trapped in her mind, her imagination had taken her to a flowering meadow beside a lake. The sun above warming her skin and feathers. She had been close to succumbing to her exhaustion. Lulled into sleep by her fantasy with her head and back against the bars behind her, feathers peeking through them where her wings slumped behind her, until the sound of someone awakening beside her dragged her back to the present. Her heart leapt within her chest at the notion that her lover was right there.

“Rory?” Her hoarse voice carried between the cells like a feather in the wind.

Stephen’s head shot up at the sound of the voice beside him. Hoarse, but firm and feminine; it wasn’t Scylla and for a moment he allowed himself the hope that she had been spared entirely from this harrowing incarceration. He drew a deep and weary breath before answering his neighbour.
“No. I’m sorry, but no; I’m not whoever you’re hoping me to be.”
He craned his neck, trying to bend his vision to see who it was he was addressing. There wasn’t much, but through the bars he thought he saw…feathers? And wasn’t the name ‘Rory’ oddly familiar…?
“Are- are you the girl from the beach? At PRCU…Wings?”

Haven’s heart plummeted, and yet she found naive comfort that the voice did not belong to him. Maybe he’d won against web and fang and escaped before the others returned from running her down? She hated to think he was alone, grieving for her because he likely assumed she’d been caught, but at least he wasn’t destined to become his second favorite toy.

Her breath left her chest in a whoosh at the mention of her old nickname. She closed her eyes to the pang of grief that pricked at her eyes and when she spoke again her voice was tight against the dry lump in her throat.

“Yes… did we know each other before?”

Stephen turned, pushing his own back against the bars to sit as a mirror of his co-inmate.
“No. I mean, not really. We were at PRCU too, and everyone knew the girl with wings. Just like everyone knew Robert, or the lizard-lady. You stuck out. And then we met you on the beach after…after everything closed down. You and your team. But we didn’t know you, or much of…” He trailed off, racking his brain for old team names he’d since discarded to save himself the bittersweet recollection. “Blackjack, wasn’t it?”
He paused, before sidling across the floor to sit against the wall immediately abutting Haven’s cell, to hear her and be heard better, at the same time dropping his voice.
“You didn’t come to the Foundation, though, not like Scylla and me. Thought you’d escaped it all. How long have you been here? How’d you get here at all?”

“He hunted me down.” There was a pause as Haven tensed at the thought of the last time she’d been conscious. “He sent his creations to find me- I think I used to know one of them.”

Mei. She had hardly recognized her old teammate.

“Rory stayed behind so I could run.”

“For all the good that did you…” Stephen muttered, the anger still simmering low and making him unkind. “‘He’, though - who’s ‘He’? You know who put us here? The last thing I remember is a dark corridor and a prick in my neck, then lights out and I wake up here.” He rubbed his neck, soothing the goosebumps that rippled up his spine as he recalled his abduction. “You sound like you’re familiar with whoever these creeps are.”

“I was taken by him before.” There was silence for a moment as Haven drew her arms around herself and took a shuddering breath. She couldn’t bring herself to form his name in her mouth. A chill began to crawl up her spine, as if she knew Daedalus was listening to them and would appear the moment she spoke it aloud. Her voice returned in a whisper, a subtle tremor highlighting the fear he invoked within her. Any anger she might have carried in her chest was overwhelmed by her misery, and made her next words heavy and small.
“He makes you into something new. Something horrible.”

“That monster - that terrible gargoyle that wrecked up PRCU, the final straw. That thing was him, wasn’t it? And it was after you. And now here you are again. I heard Torres yelling his name at the dance, and he’s whispered about at the Foundation like - like some boogeyman.”
Stephen brought his hand up, splaying and flexing his fingers as he played with the indigo iridescence of psychic energy that coiled around his skin. Was this what Daedalus was after, too? Like he was just spare parts to be taken apart and put back together again.
“If it wasn’t for the dance I’d say they’re just frightening themselves for fun…an evil that you hope is only imaginary. But we’re here, aren’t we? He is real, and we’re here in his clutches, and now Daedalus gets to-”
“--don’t–”

As she cut off Stephen, Haven herself was interrupted by a blast of static and the whine of a microphone's feedback, stilling the stirring prison into silence. A few raspy breaths loomed over them through some unseen tannoy, and then a sharp intake that settled into a sickly, vicious tone, barely-masked animosity and sadism bleeding through every utterance.
"Hhhhello, children. Unnn...ruly. Disssobidient little imps. Some of you have...ran from me. Fled en..tirely, rejected your true purpose that would be gifted upon you. Enlightenment. Evvvvolution."
There was a pause, and the atmosphere was thick with the weight of a hundred held breaths. None spoke nor moved in response to their captor's unhinged words.
"You've FAILED! You can't escape me you can't hide from me I will and have found you and brought you back to where you SHOULD. ALWAYS. HAVE BEEN!"
Thick and fast, full of rage; another pause, and a shaky breath played out over the speakers as Daedalus calmed himself. When he spoke again, his tone was even and measured and matter-of-fact.

"I am only interested in the best. The strongest. Those who sit decidedly, by their own hand, at the top of the food chain. Anything lesser is simply a waste of time."
There were growing murmurs now, the last few imprisoned rousing to alertness and heeding his words.
"The air you are breathing is laced with an atomized low-dose neurotoxin. In small amounts you will metabolize it without harm and suffer perhaps only some drowsiness or a headache; but we have already passed 'small amounts', and every new breath each and every one of you takes only hastens your inevitable death. Painful. Slow. Rotting from the inside."

This incited panic, and quickly. All across the prison, captives sprang up, screaming or sobbing or yelling incoherent threats until the din drowned out all other noise. There was a loud and harsh buzzer, and the hysteria was quieted, before Daedalus continued.
"Panic will serve you poorly, let me assure you. Level-heads and pragmatism will win the day here, children. I have three doses of antidote; only three, no more, no less. Three, for those who prove themselves deserving and capable enough of seizing it."

The spotlights went out, and plunged the jail into utter darkness once more. Only Daedalus' vile words snaked their way through the black.
"As I said; I am only interested in the best. The apex predators. I'm sure you can all count. If there are more left than I have treatment for, I won't be choosing for you. Best to be quick about it."

A tittering giggle trilled over the tannoy, devilish, playful, that belied a far deeper sickness.

There was another harsh buzzer, ringing through the heads of everyone there to hear; instantaneously, the prison was bathed in a blood-red light, the klaxon blaring and each and every cell door slowly and inexorably sliding open.

Captives began to creep out, confusion painting some faces while others were already steeling themselves for the terrible work that would have to be done.

"Good luck!"

And then Hell broke loose.

Roman's Scrapbin

F O R E N A M E S U R N A M E
F O R E N A M E S U R N A M E

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^_"..."

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P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N _________________________________________________________ RACE: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ SEX: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ HEIGHT: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ WEIGHT: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ HAIR COLOUR: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ HAIR LENGTH: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ EYE COLOUR: | TBD _________________________________________________________________ HANDEDNESS: | TBD A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T 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 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 || TBD __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || TBD __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || TBD Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum. L I M I T A T I O N S & W E A K N E S S E S Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.