Roman

Agents of H.E.L.P. - Per Angusta Ad Augusta

Redacted; re-written sheet will be re-posted in due course.

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

I will reply to the IC, barring any unfortunate incidents, within 24 hours.

@Sep

Should I fail this task, know that Scotland has fallen.

@Sep

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

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

_{Location: San Francisco - California}

Titans Together! #1.16: Rehearsal Speech

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Arsenal - @Simple Unicycle}

Previously: Slip The First Stitch

"Make it so. Green Lantern, Robin and Martian will investigate the transport and see if they can determine how Cinderblock escaped. Arsenal, Stitch and I will take to the T-Bird for the eagle-eye view; Superboy and Wondergirl will fly ahead, with Kid Flash holding the line until we arrive."

The movement from the team was instantaneous; had Stitch a nose to wrinkle they would have wrinkled it at Troia's ongoing cavalier attitude toward murder, but while Nassour's short departure speech to Stitch upon their arrival to the tower could only be described as laconic, their creator had still taken the time to impart upon Stitch the sheer breadth of culture - and subsequently cultural differences - that existed across the muddled planes of Earth, and which they were surely to clash against. Tact was a tricky skill to master, but one Stitch was getting a lot of practice at. At this moment, with Troia leaving swiftly, Superboy trotting to heel after a beckoning finger, they exercised that muscle by maintaining a firm silence; still, the reactions of select other Titans to such a definitive statement did not escape them, and for a moment they allowed themselves a moment of kinship in shared distaste.

They sidled carefully to Arsenal's side, silent as the grave and half as unnerving; absent of the usual biological functions, Stitch's form was incredibly still when not in motion, no chilly shudders through limbs or the soft rise-fall of lungs or the half-minded fidgeting when distracted. When they moved, it was with careful planning and measured forethought, an act not yet instinctual. Stitch was still getting used to locomotion in its entirety; the simple willing of direction in their astral manifestation was insufficient to propel their physical body. It was with some trepidation that they tried an imitation gesture, pushing their elbow into Arsenal's ribcage in what they hoped would be interpreted as a playful manner. The fabric rags of their constructed epidermis gave slightly beneath the pressure, but there was still enough firmness beneath to nudge.

"I should believe the 'T-Bird' to provide adequate vantage point for your sixteenth bullseye, Titan Arsenal." They said, attempting an air of jocularity to their tone in an effort to manifest this 'camaraderie' that they had been encouraged to find within the team. Their voice hummed and reverberated with a strange intensity, words not spoken with breath over vocal cords so much as simply the appropriate sound waves crystallised and broadcast as thoughts manifest through will and magic. It came from Stitch's direction, but expulsed from a bodily aura rather than thrown from tongue and throat. The sound arrived immediately, punctual and clear, and disappated just as quickly. "It should prove plenty recompense for the previous interruption of your practice. I, for one, am keen to number your efficacies. Perhaps there is opportunity yet for competition?"

Roman's Scrapbin

_{Location: San Francisco - California}

Titans Together! #1.16: Rehearsal Speech

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Arsenal - Simple Unicycle}

Previously: Slip The First Stitch

"Make it so. Green Lantern, Robin and Martian will investigate the transport and see if they can determine how Cinderblock escaped. Arsenal, Stitch and I will take to the T-Bird for the eagle-eye view; Superboy and Wondergirl will fly ahead, with Kid Flash holding the line until we arrive."

The movement from the team was instantaneous; had Stitch a nose to wrinkle they would have wrinkled it at Troia's ongoing cavalier attitude toward murder, but while Nassour's short departure speech to Stitch upon their arrival to the tower could only be described as laconic, their creator had still taken the time to impart upon Stitch the sheer breadth of culture - and subsequently cultural differences - that existed across the muddled planes of Earth, and which they were surely to clash against. Tact was a tricky skill to master, but one Stitch was getting a lot of practice at. At this moment, with Troia leaving swiftly, Superboy trotting to heel after a beckoning finger, they exercised that muscle by maintaining a firm silence; still, the reactions of select other Titans to such a definitive statement did not escape them, and for a moment they allowed themselves a moment of kinship in shared distaste.

They sidled carefully to Arsenal's side, silent as the grave and half as unnerving; absent of the usual biological functions, Stitch's form was incredibly still when not in motion, no chilly shudders through limbs or the soft rise-fall of lungs or the half-minded fidgeting when distracted. When they moved, it was with careful planning and measured forethought, an act not yet instinctual. Stitch was still getting used to locomotion in its entirety; the simple willing of direction in their astral manifestation was insufficient to propel their physical body. It was with some trepidation that they tried an imitation gesture, pushing their elbow into Arsenal's ribcage in what they hoped would be interpreted as a playful manner. The fabric rags of their constructed epidermis gave slightly beneath the pressure, but there was still enough firmness beneath to nudge.

"I should believe the 'T-Bird' to provide adequate vantage point for your sixteenth bullseye, Titan Arsenal." They said, attempting an air of jocularity to their tone in an effort to manifest this 'camaraderie' that they had been encouraged to find within the team. Their voice hummed and reverberated with a strange intensity, words not spoken with breath over vocal cords so much as simply the appropriate sound waves crystallised and broadcast as thoughts manifest through will and magic. It came from Stitch's direction, but expulsed from a bodily aura rather than thrown from tongue and throat. The sound arrived immediately, punctual and clear, and disappated just as quickly. "It should prove plenty recompense for the previous interruption of your practice. I, for one, am keen to number your efficacies. Perhaps there is opportunity yet for competition?"

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

<Snipped quote by Sep>

lol I don't think that's what the issue is. Hillan has a post cooking and then I'll build from there.

@Lord Wraith

Speak for yourself; my productivity has gone WAY down across the board since the 22nd. I'm at nearly 60 hours already. I have a problem.

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

_{Location: San Francisco - California}

Titans Together! #1.11: Slip The First Stitch

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): All - Everyone}

Previously: None

Astral Projection was one of the earliest tricks Stitch had learnt, and it remained even now one of their favourites.

In the early weeks, lacking the need for (or ability to) sleep Stitch had quickly found the night hours to be particularly boring; after initial bodily excursions had been deemed "dangerous" and "hazardous" and "creepy when you stand in the corner and watch me", their creator taught them the art of breaking free the spirit from the shackles of the body. In this way, one could enter a deep and restful meditative state in their earthly form, while the soul continued to freely experience and absorb the world around them, imperceptible to most and unhampered by tellurian limitations like 'walls'. When they arrived to the Titans, it became a habitual practice; the illusion of sleep that meditation provided helped ease their colleagues' instinctual aversion to the uncanniness of Stitch, while the projection allowed them to explore the tower, linger in its spaces, and generally mill about unseen, unheard, unfelt. Some might call Stitch's nightly custom "spying" or "an invasion of privacy" or "voyeuristic", but if they did, no one voiced it to Stitch, who themselves regarded it as little more than "healthy curiosity". In Stitch's short life thus far, they had learnt that 'living' could mean a lot of different things, and those differences became all the more pronounced between observed and unobserved behaviours. Eating, for example, was often a communal activity, rarely partaken in alone (apart from a few select cases), whereas bathing was a ritual nearly always undergone by oneself. The one time Stitch had seen two parties bathing simultaneously, cleanliness did not seem to be the ultimate goal, which was even curiouser still.

On this night, they drifted through corridors and walls awaiting the sunrise that would oversee their comrades' rousing into the waking hours, poking a head through closed doors to assess whether anyone else forsook their sleep. All things told, the early morning had been relatively bustling as the minutes ticked by; by their reckoning, Stitch would likely be the latest to rise, despite not even actually sleeping at all. Something in this irony burst joyfully within them, and their ghostly form twitched and hacked silently as they let the humour wash over them. They were still getting the hang of 'laughing'. Wally was up and about, pacing furiously through the corridors and Stitch in equal measure, before pausing - as he so often did - in the kitchen; Robin could be found haunting the gymnasium, all pirouettes and somersaults elegantly spun and caught, his body a whirling display that ended in a flourish and a bow, Stitch his unseen audience providing unheard applause; Roy, similarly, was practicing his own skills, counting his perfection seemingly to himself. Stitch lingered in the lounge, hovering an inch or two above the cushions of the sofa, observing how Megan sat and how best to emulate it, how best to reproduce camaraderie with a peer. They turned their spectral eyes to the television, practiced laughter again. They departed.

The noise blossoming through the hallways drew their attention next; Kyle, of course, there had been no doubt that the short, simple chords and rough-edged voice emanated from his dormitory, a habit as frequent as Stitch's phantom excursions. They had to admit the words were catchy - they'd found particular enjoyment in this thing called 'music' since coming to the tower, and often liked to spin rhymes about their own (strictly metaphorical) tongue in imitation of what they had been exposed to, stringing pleasing-sounding nonsense together in a manner not dissimilar to their creator's own ceremonial chanting, a recurring element of their early life. Kyle's music did not seem to cast any spells, however, unless the spoilt moods of those in proximity was an intended effect. Stitch couldn't be sure. The evidence was certainly there, punctuated as if on cue by the thumping of the shared wall between Kyle and Troia's respective rooms.

Their jaunt was cut short by the alarm blaring, and Stitch gasped as their astral form blinked out of existence and their consciousness was wrenched back to their ragdoll body. The echoing rhythms of Kyle's speakers were replaced jarringly with the ambient melodies of Stitch's own music, pulsing from the earbuds stuck to either side of their head; a technique to clear the mind, in aid of projection. Gingerly, they tore the tape affixing their earbuds, and the bellowing klaxon dipped momentarily to be replaced with the voice of their collective benefactor, Loren Jupiter:

"All team members please suit up. We have a situation developing."

With that, Stitch was up, taking a quick moment to smooth out their indentation from lying on top of the otherwise pristinely-made bed (they had never had a need to actually get underneath the covers) and then slipping into the all-blue, one-piece suit Jupiter had provided them on arrival; they paused in the mirror momentarily, admiring the outfit. They were, secretly, quite proud of it. Stitch's creator, a man of pragmatics and more cosmological concerns, hadn't seen the need for clothing at first, given Stitch's anatomy (or lack thereof); but Jupiter's costume both enabled Stitch's modesty (a lack of which, they were told, often made others uncomfortable, even in Stitch's special case), and also welcomed them fully into the fold. The 'T' logo, emblazoned on the suit in the center of the chest, was the strongest symbol they knew. It made them part of the team. It made them a Titan.

And right now, slipping silently into the fray of the gathered team members in the kitchen, tensions and jokes and clashing personalities making the space fraught with apprehensions, Stitch put a hand to that same symbol, feeling - not for the first time - that these were not comrades, or compatriots, or even colleagues. They were strangers.

Roman's Scrapbin

_{Location: San Francisco - California}

Titans Together! #1.XX: TBC

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): TBC - [TBC]}

Previously: None

Roman's Scrapbin

_{Location: San Francisco - California}

Titans Together! #1.11: Slip The First Stitch

^{_{___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): All - Everyone}

Previously: None

Astral Projection was one of the earliest tricks Stitch had learnt, and it remained even now one of their favourites.

In the early weeks, lacking the need for (or ability to) sleep Stitch had quickly found the night hours to be particularly boring; after initial bodily excursions had been deemed "dangerous" and "hazardous" and "creepy when you stand in the corner and watch me", their creator taught them the art of breaking free the spirit from the shackles of the body. In this way, one could enter a deep and restful meditative stage in their earthly form, while the soul continued to freely experience and absorb the world around them, imperceptible to most and unhampered by tellurian limitations like 'walls'. When they arrived to the Titans, it became a habitual practice; the illusion of sleep that meditation provided helped ease their colleagues' instinctual aversion to the uncanniness of Stitch, while the projection allowed them to explore the tower, linger in its spaces, and generally mill about unseen, unheard, unfelt. Some might call Stitch's nightly custom "spying" or "an invasion of privacy" or "voyeuristic", but if they did, no one voiced it to Stitch, who themselves regarded it as little more than "healthy curiosity". In Stitch's short life thus far, they had learnt that 'living' could mean a lot of different things, and those differences became all the more pronounced between observed and unobserved behaviours. Eating, for example, was often a communal activity, rarely partaken in alone (apart from a few select cases), whereas bathing was a ritual nearly always undergone by oneself. The one time Stitch had seen two parties bathing simultaneously, cleanliness did not seem to be the ultimate goal, which was even curiouser still.

On this night, they drifted through corridors and walls awaiting the sunrise that would oversee their comrades' rousing into the waking hours, poking a head through closed doors to assess whether anyone else forsook their sleep. All things told, the early morning had been relatively bustling as the minutes ticked by; by their reckoning, Stitch would likely be the latest to rise, despite not even actually sleeping at all. Something in this irony burst joyfully within them, and their ghostly form twitched and hacked silently as they let the humour wash over them. They were still getting the hang of 'laughing'. Wally was up and about, pacing furiously through the corridors and Stitch in equal measure, before pausing - as he so often did - in the kitchen; Robin could be found haunting the gymnasium, all pirouettes and somersaults elegantly spun and caught, his body a whirling display that ended in a flourish and a bow, Stitch his unseen audience providing unheard applause; Roy, similarly, was practicing his own skills, counting his perfection seemingly to himself. Stitch lingered in the lounge, hovering an inch or two above the cushions of the sofa, observing how Megan sat and how best to emulate it, how best to reproduce camaraderie with a peer. They turned their spectral eyes to the television, practiced laughter again. They departed.

The noise blossoming through the hallways drew their attention next; Kyle, of course, there had been no doubt that those short, simple chords and rough-edged voice emanated from his dormitory, a habit as frequent as Stitch's phantom excursions. They had to admit the words were catchy - they'd found particular enjoyment in this thing called 'music' since coming to the tower, and often liked to spin rhymes about their own (strictly metaphorical) tongue in imitation of what they had been exposed to, stringing pleasing-sounding nonsense together in a manner not dissimilar to their creator's own ceremonial chanting, a recurring element of their early life. Kyle's music did not seem to cast any spells, however, unless the spoilt moods of those in proximity was an intended effect. Stitch couldn't be sure. The evidence was certainly there, punctuated as if on cue by the thumping of the shared wall between Kyle and Troia's respective rooms.

Their jaunt was cut short by the alarm blaring, and Stitch gasped as their astral form blinked out of existence and their consciousness was wrenched back to their ragdoll body. The echoing rhythms of Kyle's speakers were replaced jarringly with the ambient melodies of Stitch's own music, pulsing from the earbuds stuck to either side of their head; a technique to clear the mind, in aid of projection. Gingerly, they tore the tape affixing their earbuds, and the bellowing klaxon dipped momentarily to be replaced with the voice of their collective benefactor, Loren Jupiter:

"All team members please suit up. We have a situation developing."

With that, Stitch was up, taking a quick moment to smooth out their indentation from lying on top of the otherwise pristinely-made bed (they had never had a need to actually get underneath the covers) and then slipping into the all-blue, one-piece suit Jupiter had provided them on arrival; they paused in the mirror momentarily, admiring the outfit. They were, secretly, quite proud of it. Stitch's creator, a man of pragmatics and more cosmological concerns, hadn't seen the need for clothing at first, given Stitch's anatomy (or lack thereof); but Jupiter's costume both enabled Stitch's modesty (a lack of which, they were told, often made others uncomfortable, even in Stitch's special case), and also welcomed them fully into the fold. The 'T' logo, emblazoned on the suit in the center of the chest, was the strongest symbol they knew. It made them part of the team. It made them a Titan.

And right now, slipping silently into the fray of the gathered team members in the kitchen, tensions and jokes and clashing personalities making the space fraught with apprehensions, Stitch put a hand to that same symbol, feeling - not for the first time - that these were not comrades, or compatriots, or even colleagues. They were strangers.

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

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.

---