Ruby

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

<Snipped quote by Ruby>

MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPARSIN.

You have been weighed. Measured. And found acceptable. Welcome in, Rubes.

@Enarr

HA I WIN SEE YA SUCKAS

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

<Snipped quote by Theyra>

I mean because we're putting our own spins on the characters you really don't need much more knowledge of the characters.

I'm much more of a nerd now but back when I started with this lot, which was a while ago now, I had only seen the MCU (I think Avengers may have been out? Maybe not quite yet) and the Dark Knight movies.

@Sep

I remember Baby Sep! :D

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

I may try and dabble up a character(s) although rather undecided on who that might be.

@Ezekiel

Hey, I know you.

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

Really gotta say that my favorite blink and miss it detail is that you gave this version of Kara the middle name Lena. It's a nice touch. I really look forward to seeing the influence of the Luthorian upbringing @Ruby

@Enarr

Aw, thanks!

_{(We won't mention just how much time I spent contemplating exactly what that middle name would be.)}

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

Took longer than I thought, but bone apple-tea.

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

<Snipped quote by Ruby>

Perfect example of style over substance with these sheets. SMH

@Byrd Man

You can just say 'hi', dork.

Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]

Supergirl

S U P E R G I R L
S U P E R G I R L

^{"He hasn't dropped them, forgot them, or anything...it's just too heavy for a Superman to lift."}

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 _________________________________________________________ Kara Lena Luthor _________________________________________________________ Student/Heiress | Affiliation(s): M.I.T. Student / LuthorCorp _________________________________________________________ Multiverse 668 - Prime | Open 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 _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Kara has long been part of the upper crust of society, and a veteran of cotillions and charity events and the drama inherit with the life. There are times she's an outsider, there are times she's a societal power-broker for those her age. Rather tellingly, she has two close friends amongst a sea of 'friends.' And none, of course, at her new school. ►Kara is fairly good at not killing people or crushing things at this point, though plenty of damage has been quietly paid for or swept under exotic Persian rugs. A lot of these cover-ups have led to a reputation among high society that Kara Luthor is a bad girl with a destructive streak, a true upper class rebel. ►Although Lionel and Lex have dragged her into the narcissistic muck from time to time, Kara remains a kind person at heart. She knows the names of every staff member of the home, keeps in touch with old nannies, and is generally considered a stealth sweetheart under a cold exterior by those who have spent any real time with her. Those who don't know her assume this is the act, and the Machiavellian rich girl who doesn't care about leaving destruction in her wake is the real Kara. ►All Kara recalls about her pre-adoption past is the nice old lady who found her and helped her, the cop who checked in on her, and the dream of a white skinned woman followed by the sound of fluttering wings. The only thing she truly recalls in detail is the white skinned woman telling her, "Despair won't like this, but this isn't your time little one." Supporting canons: Lois Lane Perry White Maggie Sawyer - 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 ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Posting History -

W H A T I F...? W H A T I F...? ________________________________________________________________________________________ What if Kara Zor-El arrived first, much younger when she arrived and ended up adopted by Lionel Luthor? Still a child when she was adopted, Lionel Luthor was a struggling businessman, a minority partner of a meager polymer company. The story was always through a charity for orphans he contributed to it was arranged he would foster the girl, and without finding a home he found suitable, took her into his family permanently. Good fortune and hard work, cunning and intellect, helped him create LuthorCorp: a company that would come to define bleeding edge technology thereafter. Lionel leaves out the violence and injustice done to the old woman who found Kara. Or that LuthorCorp was built on the back of the vessel that brought Kara to Earth. The very A.I. meant to guide and counsel Kara shackled and stripped, leveraged into helping Lionel. Lionel's wife had passed a mere few years before Kara's arrival. The home was stoic, cold, and distant; Lionel had no patience for disobedience. Yet the first few years after Kara's arrival to the Luthor home saw Lionel at least try, and Kara found a willing partner in navigating the ebbs and flows of Lionel's moods in Lex, Lionel's only child, three years her senior. Whether it was the incredibly strict rules, the gaslighting of Lionel, Lex was there to help Kara navigate Lionel's narcissism. When Lionel would try to pit Kara and Lex against each other, it rarely worked, and when it did the two were quick to apologize to the other and admit their wrongs. Over time both Lex and Kara excelled in academics, both focused on STEM. It was, to Lionel, proof Kara was one of them. Both began spending time at LuthorCorp, though eventually Kara made the decision to attend a university away from the LuthorCorps HQ. In the few friends she had, including Lex, she admitted to just wanting distance to find herself. In truth, she needs to hide powers she doesn't fully understand, let alone fully control. What Lex uncovered at LuthorCorp after Kara left shocked him, disgusted him, and left him in a cold rage. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Kara tries to run away from the narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy of her adopted family, but with secrets buried as deeply as they are within this family, not even Supergirl can escape that gravity. At the same time, and likely no coincidence, Kara's powers begin to really develop. What results could make King Lear blush as Lionel, Lex, and Kara each navigate the maze of deceptions and buried secrets. Kara stumbles upon a new reporter with a killer instinct for the Luthor's named Lois Lane, as the two begin an uneasy alliance of necessity. Lionel and Lex clash, Kara learns more than she ever dreamed (or dreaded) she might, Supergirl emerges, and what remains of Krypton comes for the Last Daughter. All the while Kara tries to navigate the life of a wealthy heiress and university student.

---

What Are You Listening To?

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

_{Vaera Balaerys, dragonrider}

The wind whipped, snapping her cloak, and forcing her face into the heat and scale of the dragon she rode. It was the rumble of the guttural thunder from the leathery beast she rode that forced her back to the world—cold, stark, and full of mountains and hills as far as she could see in the dense cloud cover. The dragon had a point that she ignored the best she could until she could no longer, slipping one gloved hand from the leather straps that helped attach her to the beast. It was warm, and wet, breathing harder than it should have been.

“Just get us down.”

Landing hurt, but she ignored it, instead looking across the high mountain valley in which the dragon made its own. If there was any great skill above any other, she had spent her life practicing, it was her pain tolerance. She nearly jumped when her booted feet hit the ground, the spark of pain spreading through every part of her in an instant, lingering dull grief left in its wake, her face twisted and her voice cursing at every step she took. It would go away if she ignored it, she told herself.

With a twisted expression, her Valyrian eyes had their first true, good, inspection of the slice of Westeros before her: snow-peaked mountains, a league yet above the rocky mountain valley her dragon had set them down at. The Westerlands, crowned with mountains filled with enough gold and silver to be worthy of note even in Volantis. She heard Syrax lift off, but she ignored it, her eyes more focused on the dark pines in the distance, standing just under the thick blanket of grey clouds above.

Her mind more focused on the past.

”It will hate you. It will never accept you.”

What will, Papa?, she asked him, in the naivety of her youth.

He paused a moment. A long moment in the big fur chair in the great room of the lodge, staring at her, into her, before his deep voice finally gave the answer, ”Creation, my girl. You will never stop fighting, until you die.”

It was her sixth name day, and that was the gift he had given her. She had never properly thanked him for it. Momma gave her a little bow, and a horse, and her favorite cakes…her father had given her the truth.

“I hear you,” she said, snapping her head west, to the tree line, a bloody gloved hand brushing the hilt of her blade.

The man came slowly in darkness, a man draped in black, hooded, riding a black horse. Her eyes did the work for her; the saddle was castle-made, maybe better. His clothes were simple, could have been town bought, could have been castle-made. Someone was ready for a journey, given the heavy bags from the saddle.

Finding someone in the dying daylight in a high mountain valley was strange. Finding someone dressed like that? Even stranger, she thought, as her hand slowly coiled around the grip of the sword. They waited until Syrax left.

Even stranger? As the horse slowly approached and the mysterious ride removed the hood…Vaera recognized the face. She’d seen it, once, barely visible in pale moonlight over a Myrish private garden just moments before he left the garden, the Myrish master who’d been her host for the visit bleeding out behind him. “Assassin,” she said, with recognition.

His head dipped, black hair parted down the middle and long enough to nearly get into his eyes. He looked different now, years later. Tired? Weary? Sad? Troubled? Whatever it was, the man simply nodded at her, “…yeah, used to be. Well…” His voice trailed, like there was more to the story, but instead he simply motioned to her. “You’re hurt, Vaera Balaerys.”

“You know me?”

His eyes suddenly looked…amused. “You’re not your brother,” he swallowed, and took a look around, before returning his dark eyes to her, “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, or not. I’m no threat.”

“That why you came sneaking out of darkness?”

He actually chuckled, if under his breath, “How many strangers just go riding up to a dragon and it’s rider on a lonely hill when the sun is starting to fall?"

“Well, yes…I suppose,” even Vaera had to admit it made sense.

“You’re here for it?”

She blinked at him, “It?”

“The dragon.”

This time, she chuckled, “Its name is Syrax. And no, we’re here because of me.”

For a few moments, the man just stared. “Not your dragon.”

Before she could, the question was answered with a sound: the screech of a dragon in the sky. A screech that did not belong to Syrax. “When did Westeros get wild dragons this far from the Narrow Sea?”

“I don’t think it’s wild. There’s a Targaryen at Casterly Rock. Without a dragon.”

Fuck. Loreon. “The Master of the Rock is alive then?”

His face was stone, not unlike the mountains in the distance, “Loreon was alive when I left. His uncle, the Castellan of the Rock, dead. As is Loreon’s sister.”

“He has a sister?” Did Loreon tell her that, she wondered? It was hard to remember. She was starting to get cold again, and every breath was beginning to hurt a little more than it did before.

“Had.”

Her hand squeezed the grip of the blade, and his eyes softened. “Your doing?”

“No. The Uncle.”

Vaera didn’t relax. “Did he like the uncle?”

His mouth twisted, and he gave a casual shake of his head. “Nah. Liked the sister a lot more. Uncle sent the assassin.”

“Sent you?”

That made him smile among the growing shadows of the dying day, “She sent me.”

He’s not lying. Her hand relaxed, her thumb hanging casually off the belt, instead, as she watched him. “Running back to your master?”

“Trying to find her. Something isn’t right with Westeros. Something is going on.”

Vaera Balaerys laughed, sudden and harsh, hard enough to cause a curse, leaving her slightly bent, her voice just as amused as it was strained through the filter of pain, “…you don’t say?”

His body leaned back in the saddle, a black moleskin glove slipping into a saddlebag behind him. There was no rummaging, she noticed, just exact precision: he reached in, then withdrew his hand, seemingly having gotten exactly what he meant to as he straightened himself and tossed what appeared a small black wineskin almost within an inch of her feet. “For pain. For healing.”

“An assassin’s gift?”

He shrugged, “A kindness between travelers on the road. Take it, leave it, I did my part.”

“Currying favor with your gods?” She asked, suspicious.

This time, he laughed, “After the last few days, I’m not sure what gods I believe in anymore. Lady Vaera,” he said, his tone suddenly officious, formal, as he bowed his head, just slightly, and recovered the black hood about his head. “I think I’ll continue on, before either of those dragons comes back this way.”

In her own gift of kindness to a fellow traveler, she waited until he was out of sight to take the horn and blow it. The sound of dragons filled the twilight sky above of the mountains of the west. She picked up the wineskin, opened it, and brought it to her nose for inspection. A concoction, she thought, looking at the skin almost confused by the oddly sweet scent.

To be cautious? To play it safe? To not drink the mysterious drink from the mysterious assassin? As Syrax began to circle to slow for landing, Vaera threw back her head and drank from the skin. The burning sensation was immediate, her head suddenly circling as much as Syrax overhead, flame dripped from her mouth to her throat to her chest and finally her belly. For a heartbeat she thought she might die, and then…she smiled. Syrax barely had time to settle before she jumped back upon the beast with an energy that felt like unnatural.

“C’mon. We need to make sure your new friend gets to where they want to go.”

She had no idea how to do that, but the dragon did. It rose, It flew, it circled in wide, large, loops before the final section of the final encirclement saw Syrax and she blurred past the other dragon close enough that Vaera felt she could almost reach out and touch it. That did it, she saw as she looked back, as the eyes of the creature focused on Syrax, its wings beating wild as catching Syrax became its focus. The two traveling companions, once more, found themselves being chased as they raced for the sunset. Whether the mysterious drink, the thoughts of the assassin’s warning on Westeros, the thought of Loreon in danger, or just the very words of her long-passed father—the flight of the two dragons was far shorter than she expected. Before the final gasp of the dying sun, the giant shape appeared, with the town that sprawled beside it, looking from so far up as if it might just tumble into the Sunset Sea.

Their arrival was announced as the two dragons, one riderless, rushed across the face of Casterly Rock.

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

_{Lady Lorelai Lannister}

The sun seemed dim up in the grey-blue sky, robbed of its brightness and its very shine chilled from its typical warmth. Her eyes dared closed for the first time all day. When they re-opened, she couldn’t tell whether five moments had passed, or far longer. Her body felt as if moving would take double a normal effort. It was stunned, sapped, salted with the choppy Sunset Sea below the trade galley.

The captain and its crew had been kind, but that was because to them she was Lady Lorelai Lannister. Some of them even referred to her as Princess. The stubbornness of some people never failed to amaze her. She didn’t feel like a Princess. She felt like a criminal, and one of the kind crew would betray her—that she knew for fact. She didn’t blame them, not really: as soon as they returned to Lannisport the news would hit them that Lorelai Lannister was dead.

Except they would know better, and one of them would be paid quite a lot to tell that story to someone in Lannisport or the Rock. That kind of coin could change a sailor’s life. Lorelai’s weary body let out a pathetic little sigh, unsettled with the knowledge she would be changing yet another life, especially given she kept thinking about a life she had no way of knowing if she had ruined or not.

Did he get out? Her uncle was dead; she believed that with the same level of belief she had in the sun rising again. She had never seen his face quite like that, the darkness in his eyes, the emptiness. It wasn’t Keano in front of her days ago telling her to get out, now, it was the Stranger itself. She was certain there were better killers in the world, but in that moment of time and in that place, there couldn’t have been a more perfect assassin for the moment.

Her uncle was dead, her brother now thrust into the very worst of it. The web of informants and eyes she left partially behind. One sailed with the crew on the very galley she now used as an escape. Two were at her destination of Bear Island. Somehow, there was no comfort in the information. The very thing she had spent the vast majority of her adult life working on, inherited from someone she had loved so much, something possible only because she was the daughter a King…it was all nothing more than a golden noose around her neck and tightening fast.

They told her to stare at the horizon if she felt sick. She spent the first staring at the horizon. The sickness she felt had nothing to do with the sea. The rest of the day faded in and out as her body as the pale sun and the rocking of the waves below induced her in and out of sleep. She had tried to resist it, not wanting to fall asleep. Not trusting anything or anyone enough to fall asleep. But the Gods would have her in the dream kingdom.

They just weren’t the Gods she had expected. These were Old Gods, nameless and faceless, more of a feeling that rose in the back of her mind than a Stranger taken the form of Keano that had stood in front of her that night.

Run, she heard his voice tell her, as his eyes warned her what she was really running from.

When her eyes opened, she still slept, the grey cloud dimly lit excuse for daylight obfuscated by a black cloud that swirled overhead. There were several, slow, blinks of her Lannister emerald eyes before her mind realized that it wasn’t a cloud—it was the largest murder of ink black ravens she could have ever even imagined. Each caw came like a thunder strike, shuddering her and leaving her green eyes desperate upon the galley deck. There was no one there, now, there was no one to turn to…but she was too terrified to look up again.

She heard the shout of sailors going about their daily work, she heard the chatter of deckhands, she heard the sea, felt them roll the deck beneath her. It was better, now, she felt. Opening her eyes with a sigh, looking up, she stopped and stared at it. The black raven, that heart-dropping third eye.

Lorelai was wrong. It wasn’t better now, it wasn’t over.

Never will, never will, never will.

Quick word, said with it’s beady little three eyes trained intensely upon her. Without so much as considering what came next, Lorelai scrunched her nose and made a petty, adol, horrible face at the creature. Spooked, the bird took flight, and immediately Lorelai regretted it. Not because of the bird, but because of the freeze in the air. The cold was there before she even felt it creep, the vessel shuddering to its very keel as impact rocked the wooden frame.

Standing to look and see only made it worse: ice. The very realization made her skin crawl, and burn. Burn from the sheer cold of the wind now. The corner of her eye caught the blur of a shape just beyond her full sight, a quick pivot and it only, somehow, got worse. Yet, this time, it wasn’t cold she felt as she shivered. It was him, the man she’d seen stabbed, the man from the past, the threat of him all rushing back around to the more rational parts of her mind.

Caution didn’t win the day, though. It was the desire to talk that did that.

“You again?”

Though his face was slate blank, the anger still lined the edges of his eyes and the set of his jaw. The anger and hatred made the shiver cascading through her limbs still itself, if only for the clarity his anger provided her.

“…what do you want?”

At first, the question just seemed to bounce off him like a half-drawn arrow against full plate. But then, just when she might have moved on something stirred and his dark ice-colored eyes sharpened their focus on her, looking into her eyes, “It shouldn’t be you. Butt doesn’t matter what games the Children play now, whatever they hoped to achieve with you.”

“You know children and their games, “her voice trailed off, frozen shoulders shrugging at him, like she barely knew or cared what he meant. The clever response didn’t impress him. Behind the defense of the clever, Lorelai Lannister had only truth left to her: “I don’t know what you are. I don’t know what the bird wants. I don’t know…”

He looked like he might laugh, before his skin began to grow gaunt, losing what little color was left to it, the still black wound in his chest still seeming to stir within him, “You will.” It sounded to her ears like the worst kind of promise before her body was given the shock of the ship below her once again colliding with such a force that this time it nearly threw her from the deck. When she looked up, he was gone, again. Her long, deep, breath at the sight of an empty deck clouded in the cold air before her, her eyes closing heavy.

When they opened again, a broad shouldered sailor with a heavy belly and skin bronzed under life under the Sunset Sea’s sun stood before her, staring down at her in a curious awe that alerted her immediately.

“What?” Curt, short, demanding, the tone of a High Born lady awakening to such a sight.

“Your breath, M’Lady.”

“It’s cold, what else would my breath do?” She demanded to know, pulling the cloak about her even tighter to her.

He just stared at her. She nearly barked at him, but something wasn’t right, and she felt doubt creep across her mind. Was she even awake? She was now as focused on her breath and the steam from it as the sailor was.

The sailor that was…sweating. The deck full of sailors…sweating.

“BEAR ISLAND!”

Lorelai and the sailor stared at each other until, finally, the sailor began to back away from her, keeping his stare long after his body began to react to the other sailors around the deck, preparing for arrival to Bear Island. “M’Lady,” he allowed her in a tone that betrayed him, sounding more like a haunted whisper.