TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Fortuity wore red, backtrack wears pink. I solemnly swear that I will not ship this perfect, slightly disturbing, non canon-compliant pairing.

I picture him looking like a shorter, rounder-faced, wimpier Indiana Jones with Harry Potter glasses. So kind of like Indiana Jones except not at all. Beards make everything better. Funtimes would add beards to the raptors if she thought she could get away with it.

Contact lenses. I kid, I kid. Though that would be hilarious.

"I'll talk to Remington to make sure he agrees," she told him. "But I believe you." Nathan looked up, and saw Sam smiling. Not a half-there smile like the Doctor's, and not a thin-lipped predatory smile like Lightwards', but the warm sort of smile only another human could give. She believed him. Part of him—a small part of him—knew he ought to be dismayed that his acting skills were so poor, if a confession was all it took to sway her. But to finally toss his costume aside and admit that was what it was, to have someone see him without it and like him better for it, made him wish he could have done this all along. She sat on a stump and gave him an accusing look. "You could have told us before. We're all in the same boat here, Nathan." Revolution joined her with a smile of her own—only in her case, the surprise was evident and genuine. "I've got some questions now. First, was this disguise your idea, or hers? And secondly…" Her smile widened. "How come we don't get to pretend we're Epics?" Nathan laughed quietly, so as not to flare the pain in his side. That bruise would last a while, to be sure. "It was her idea. All hers. I asked for jeans and a T-shirt, and she said no." Even a suit had been too plain for her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I…." He thought of Lightwards, and his smile fell. "If you ever grow bored with your little toy and feel like giving him away, do come to me first?" ​ "Look, I didn't even know she and I were actually dating until this morning, much less if she actually wanted me to tell you. As for the whole Epic thing, it's not worth it. Believe me." Funtimes moved a few steps away from the enormous lizard that emerged from the jungle, regarding it with a small frown before she stuck out her tongue. "My apologies, Doctor. I did not order it--I'll probably have to kill it a few times before my control really cements." Rather than stare blankly, the raptor sat, fixed Lightwards with a reptilian glare, and growled. Remington knew he ought to be afraid, or at least worried, that a lizard taller than he was with a mouth full of sharp teeth resisted the only control keeping it from devouring him alive. But he couldn't help a smile. The raptor had been threatened with death, and he growled. "Kill me all you want," that growl seemed to say, "I'll still rip that stupid hat off your head before I rip you in half." Remington stole a small glance at the stubborn raptor. He was tall, a good several feet taller than him, covered in dark scales, small feathers and strong muscle. But it was his eyes that drew his attention. They reminded him of Remus, the half-wolf Husky kept by one of the families on a neighboring farm when he was younger. Eyes that would watch your every move. Eyes that sized you up as their owner decided whether or not you were worth biting. ​Not that Remus had ever bit him. His owners had trained him well—as well as anyone could train a force of nature. The raptor continued to growl, making Lightwards look stupider by the minute. Remington liked him.

You understand Remington so well. Any creature that sits and growls at Lightwards is okay in his book. I will post tomorrow, since I believe this calls for a longer response and I work early.

Relationships are complicated. All right. So taking Wes out to a cottage in the middle of what used to be a national forest would be just the ticket. Room to roam, with plenty of large game. About how big is he again?

So Remington knowing a few things about wolves—having grown up near a dog that was part wolf—would give him some useful knowledge to apply to this situation. Perhaps it would leave him a bit unprepared for Wes' level of intelligence, which he would not expect, but which he would ultimately come to view as a good thing. He might even become fond of him. (Now there's a boy-and-his-dog story that probably won't be made into a movie anytime soon….) What would be the best way to keep the others safe from Wes during that in-between stage? And how long would it take for Wes to accept him so he can charge into battle on his attack raptor, Alice by his side, causing the entire internet to explode in an explosion of pure awesomeness?

Wes it is, then. That would be freaking awesome. Creepy, of course, but awesome in its creepiness. So how could Remington get Wes more or less on his side? Would allowing him to hunt, while drilling it into his head that his friends are not prey, sway the raptor to more or less follow Remington's commands? In other words, showing Wes that he's a different sort of alpha, while allowing him more freedom than Lightwards did and treating Wes as more of an equal, work? I'm not hoping he'll have a loyal dinosaur pet, since given Wes' original POV segment "pet" doesn't seem to be his thing, but is there a way for Remington to train it as an attack raptor that doesn't eat his friends?

How about Wes? Short for Wesson, which is of course short for Smith and Wesson. I thought of another reason Remington would push for adopting that raptor: It's powerful, strong, and mean. He'd want it on his side instead of Lightwards'. And yes, the thought of training it to attack him would certainly cross his mind.

I also like Timeport. approved.

....okay, I think you sold me. Remington Springfield and his dinosaur comrade, freeing Oregon from the tyranny of undeath. Why is The Walking Dead never this awesome? But for Nathan, she'll insist on something safer. Remington can handle the mean ones.

Epic Name: Lightwards Primary Power: Resurrection from fatal wounds Secondary Power: Raising zombies Tertiary Power: Ticking off powerful, mentally unstable female Epics and not learning from his mistakes. While I like that idea immensely, how obvious is its mean-ness? I can't see her allowing something that murderous near Nathan, let alone into her house. Maybe something less….serial-killer-like?

That would work. She will add a sufficient amount of legalese, though, to make sure Lightwards doesn't order Nathan's raptor to eat him in his sleep or something. (Which, were he less terrified of Funtimes, sounds like something he would do. )

It's the smart choice. (I like it. That would be a great and organic way to lead Nathan to the right conclusion, and if Remington was the first one he told....)

Yes, but Funtimes hasn't had the chance to figure out how to work it yet.Edit: Kobold, you could have him suggest it to her first. Or, if you want to see her lose it a little, just have him do it.

Yes you do. I forgot about them, but I'm toying with writing it in that Funtimes decided against it for fear they'd turn out to be spies. Knowing Epics, it's not out if the realm of possibility to assume that they had some way of report on her to Lightwards. Thoughts? Edit: welcome, mail-mi! either post your character bios here or PM them to me (although if you post them here first, you can get input from the rest of us geeks) and, if your character is an Epic, PM me their weakness.

YOU get to know his secret! YOU get to know his secret! And YOU get to know his secret! EVERYBODY GETS TO KNOW HIS SECRET!!!! (Or everybody in the Empire, at least. ) Oh, that's always fun. (Not as many as me! )

If Remington could guess it based on a few clues and a bad mood, it makes sense for Sam to guess it because the guy looks scared. (I liked that post a lot, actually.)

I found another song for Lucentia, by the way. Edit: And corrected the date on Remington's flashback. It was supposed to be "two years ago," but I had six on the brain because it happened six years after Annexation Day.

If he didn't know better, Nathan might suspect Sam of being an Epic. He looked up and there she was, arms folded and eyes narrowed, looking far more suspicious than any teenager had a right to look. Any teenager under normal circumstances, anyway. "I once watched an Epic use his powers for the first time. He saved my life from a monster. But I watched him turn into one himself every time he used those powers." Nathan drew himself up a little, wincing as he did, and tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying. Tried to reach her conclusion before she did and ready his defenses. "Here's my question, Traveler: if you're not an Epic, what's your excuse for beating up Remington Springfield?" That wasn't where he thought she was heading at all. Part of him wanted to smile. He thought he did, for a moment. If you're not an Epic…Sam had guessed the truth. Whether she knew it or not, she had guessed the truth. An ordinary, non-powered, teenage girl had guessed his secret. Not an Epic who saw him as nothing more than a "brave little body" in need of reanimation. Then again, she did think Remington's black eye and bruises were his fault. Whether she believed her own guess or not, she thought him capable of beating a hunter black and blue for laughing. If he told, would she even believe him? Nathan decided then that he didn't care. There was no point in keeping up the charade, not around Sam and Revolution, at least. Remington knew. Funtimes started it. And now Lightwards had joined a growing list of enemies who would turn to murder the second Funtimes released his hand. Even if Sam proclaimed him a liar and spit in his face, it would only be another dark stain on a very bleak morning. "Because he told me to." He stared at the ground. The ground didn't glare back at him. "He thought… thought it'd help my cover when he guessed the same thing you just did." Nathan sighed, which didn't help the pain. "And I never got a chance to tell him that my name's not Traveler. It's Nathan." ------------------------------------------- I affect you, but CorpseMaker doesn't. Heh. Wonder if that's even true. Little as he believed it, Quota knew that the only way to get to CorpseMaker would be to follow this grumpy little Epic down the block—the only caveat being he had to stop using his powers. Noticeably. "That's cool," Quota said, allowing hope and amusement to rise again, relegating fear to the background. "Lead the way."

That would be seriously unnerving. Even knowing it was an Epic doing it. You'd be sitting there talking to yourself, wondering if that's the Epic, or if he's somewhere else and this is just an illusion, or if you're even there at all…. Welcome to Calamityville, Facade. Meanwhile, in Oregon, the awesomeness continues.

It's awesome? Thanks! It really is. Not to mention how Lightwards responds to death threats, and his true feelings about the voice in his head we've all agreed is Calamity. I think Page 31 will be regarded as the page when many things were set in motion.

How many illusions can he create at once, and what is his favorite way to mess with peoples' minds? (Since this is Halloween, OP characters are completely fine. I think we're all creating the most terrifying OP characters we can and tossing them into the pot. )

The Jager family theme song: I hate you, you hate me We're an Epic family I'll rip out your arm And use it to beat you too Won't you say you hate me too?

"Of course. My sincere apologies for keeping the pair of you waiting." Lightwards gave a derisive sniff, then smiled as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn't punched Traveler in the stomach for the crime of not being an Epic. For daring to pull the wool over his eyes. For making him feel like a fool. Kid deserves a medal. Doctor Funtimes had replaced her scowl with a smile, which she gave freely to Voidgaze and Sightline. But when it landed on Lightwards, Remington saw a flicker of the same disgust, the same malice he had both seen and felt flare behind her eyes. She wasn't more than a step or two away from embracing the same anger she'd had when she turned his shoes to tar. "Sorry we were gone so long," she told them. "But it's gone now and everyone's all friendly-friendship again and it's so….good!" Epics were dangerous in that state. Everyone knew that. Remington knew he ought to be relieved she was shoving it down and pushing it away, turning toward the same childlike innocence she usually embraced. Yet when he thought of Lightwards he thought of Koschei, and he wished Funtimes would unleash the full brunt of her rage on him. Should've done that when I first saw Koschei. --------------------------------- Two years ago “C’mon, Remy. Let’s get there before the snow hits.” “Snow’s not even on its way.” That was untrue. Grey clouds blanketed the sky, and Remington's breath came out in little cloud puffs as he labored up the hill. Laurie laughed. “Before that deer freezes, then.” “You ain’t the one carrying it.” “Should’ve let me help back when we shot it.” Remington laughed. “Don't sound very gentlemanly.” “Doesn’t matter. “ They continued like that up the hill, onto a dirt road overgrown with dying weeds, and toward the farmhouse. Remington knew the way well, knew they were close even before the cheerful yellow walls came into sight. He smiled, but it fell quickly. The door was open. Remington frowned and quickened his pace. It wasn’t what he thought. Someone was outside and had forgotten to close it. In a moment, his mother would appear at the door, ask the culprit whether or not they were born in a barn, and close it. It wasn’t what he thought. Laurie stopped twenty feet from the entrance. “Remy?” For a good minute, they stared at the door that opened to darkness. Nothing went in and nothing came out. Laurie filled the magazines of both their rifles and stepped cautiously toward the stoop. “Blood here.” Remington’s stomach twisted. Epics. Five years of safety, five years of dodging trouble and shooting the rare intruder, were over. He followed Laurie to the stoop where, sure enough, drops of blood led from the concrete into the house. He dropped the deer in the entryway and took his gun, rolling his shoulders back to ease some of the tension. He stayed close to his wife as they stepped from the landing to each of the bedrooms, following the crimson stains on the carpet. His heart pounded in his ears as bile rose in his throat. Splatters of blood led from the door to two of the three bedrooms. Larger bloodstains spread across the sheets and comforters in Daisy and Barrett’s rooms, holes in the mattresses and more splatters leading off the bed and across the floor. One stain at the end of the hall, and another in his parents’ room, began two more trails of blood. Bullets had torn holes in the plaster across from the stain in the hall. His parents had put up a fight. His gaze traveled with Laurie’s to the pictures on the walls: him as a boy posing with Daisy and Barrett; he and Laurie on their wedding day. Their eyes locked. Understanding passed. And a shot rang out. Only a quick duck into Barrett’s bedroom saved Remington from the bullet. Laurie slammed the door shut, locking it as Remington ran for the window and undid the latch. A series of gunshots slammed into a wall somewhere outside the bedroom. “They’re not firing at the door,” she said when the noise stopped. Remington took his knife and cut a hole in the window screen. It wouldn’t be long before they did. Another round of gunfire. Then: “Remy! Laurie! Get the—“ Barrett’s command ended in a gurgle. “I thought I warned you not to betray,” said a cold, clipped voice from down the hall. Remington lifted Laurie enough to climb out the window; she hit the ground with an oof and a thud. He followed as a loud crack came from behind him, glanced back just long enough to see the doorknob torn from the door, and scrambled out the window, narrowly avoiding a bullet. Once he hit the ground, he picked himself up, ran a short way, and ducked behind the thickest tree trunk he saw. He had time for one look. One look at the Epic who had taken his family and forced his own brother to fire on him. Remington peered out from behind the tree. A tall man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, stood framed by the window. His pale blond hair was set with a narrow circlet of what appeared to be gold, and the white fur collar of a purple cloak rested on his thin shoulders. A revolver was in his hand, seeking a target through the hole in the window screen. Remington was just close enough to see his face, and his lips were drawn into a scowl. He didn’t wait to see if the Epic had seen him or not. He turned and bolted into the forest, the crack of gunfire ringing in his ear. "He's not allowed to hit you." Nathan had been punched in the stomach—and many other places—before. It wasn't quite a daily event, but the casino's peculiar clientele had made beatings and bruisings so regular he came to accept them. Their anger was like the Newcago chill: it was a part of life, a part of his line of work. There was no sense in becoming angry at something that would happen regardless. "He's not allowed to hit you. Any of you." He lowered himself to the jungle floor, leaning against a tree and wincing at the pain as Sam and Revolution discussed how the incident might have raised Lightwards' blood pressure. Calamity, that Epic could throw a punch. Nathan suspected anger had something to do with it, but compared to Funtimes…. Compared to Funtimes, lips scowling and eyes flashing, Lightwards was a kitten. She had it in her. Nathan had always known she did, had known it would surface sooner or later, but seeing her in that state, all malice restrained by nothing more than a fragile alliance, was like seeing a chubby toddler pull a gun on Fortuity. And actually shoot him. He knew it would surface sooner or later, but he had always suspected he would be the target of her wrath. He would do or say something to raise her temper, and he would be reduced to a puddle by whatever she turned his clothes into. He had never thought another Epic would be the one to set her off. "Kissing means boyfriend. If you hurt my boyfriend, you might as well find your weakness and shoot yourself." Boyfriend. It really was real. Really, really, real. Real enough to drive her to threats. Real enough to drive her to murder. "I say I have the best boyfriend ever!" She didn't know that. Couldn't know that. Unless Fortuity had sung his praises between the time he retreated to the kitchen and the moment Funtimes locked her date in the bathroom, she couldn't know a thing about him beside his name and the fact he didn't want to die. Whatever virtues she thought he possessed were products of her imagination. ​"Best boyfriend ever….best boyfriend ever…." He had to prove her right. He had to become the boyfriend she thought he was—or he would be the next one trapped in tar.