TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Hey, I like Nightcrawler.

The first thing Nathan felt was a cold breeze, carrying the scents of pine and earth. A chill ran through him. After nine years in a steel city, he had forgotten what true, growing trees smelled like, the freshness of a sweet, earth-tinged breeze blowing through a forest. He kept his eyes closed longer than he had to, digging his toes into the spongy earth. He opened them when he heard shouting. Doctor Funtimes crouched on the ground, waving her arms wildly. “Go, Mister Hamsterface! Run and be free! But don’t spit bullets at the mice ‘cause that’s rude and if you’re a rude hamster you won’t have any little mouse friends!” Mister Hamsterface, for his part, seemed taken with the idea: In the glow of Doctor Funtimes’ flashlight, Nathan saw a small brown dot amble toward a grassy hilltop. He had nearly forgotten that grass was green. Once Mister Hamsterface was a fair distance away, Doctor Funtimes stood and shined the flashlight on him, casting her own face into shadow. She laughed. “Your clothes are stupid.” From a practical standpoint, she was right. His robe was too thin to stand up to anything more than a stiff breeze. If Fortuity had gotten his way, it wouldn’t have mattered. “I—Fortuity made me wear this.” “He’s a dirty meanieface full of lame.” At least they agreed on something. Her shoes brushed against the grass as she approached, and she turned the flashlight into a lantern when she neared. She set it down at his feet, still smiling, and pulled her sweater over her head. “You can’t wear stupid things. You’re with me now.” Relief washed over him. Every time the robe brushed against his knees, he remembered he wore a shroud. “Jeans and a T-shirt are fine.” Doctor Funtimes made a face. “Ew, no. Now, let’s see here….pink tux? No….” Rescuing him from a painful death warranted gratitude, among other things, but forcing him to wander the countryside in a tuxedo that resembled a preschooler’s painting was not one of them. “What if…” She looked up sharply, still grinning. “Hm?” No pretending he hadn’t said a word now. Nathan swallowed his fear and started over. “How about a brown pinstripe suit?” She waved her hand as though swatting a mosquito. “No, that’s for raisins.” He had no idea what that meant, but he guessed she wasn’t taken with the idea. “With red Cons. And a brown suede duster.” Doctor Funtimes laughed and clapped her hands. “Ooh, me likey!” With a wave of her hand, his robe became a pair of tailored slacks and a pale green button-down shirt. His feet were still bare, and were it not for the cold, he wouldn’t have minded. “I need more stuff.” She turned a branch into a flashlight and scampered off into the nearby wood, singing a song about water buffalo. By the second verse, she returned with something heavy and shiny draped over her shoulders. “Here,” she said, grunting with the effort as she handed it to him. “Hold this tuba.” “Where’d you get a tuba?” “From a log over there, silly! Now hold the tuba.” He held the tuba. She waved her hand again, like a conductor at an orchestra. Nathan felt the weight of the tuba decrease, shifting to his shoulders as metal became cloth. Warmth surrounded his feet as the tuba became a pair of Converse, and when the rest of the tuba was repurposed for his duster, he felt quite cozy indeed. “Thanks,” he said, inspecting his new clothes. They weren’t quite like what the Tenth Doctor had worn—the stripes were too wide and the duster a shade too dark—but he laughed anyway. “This is perfect.” “Oop, hang on a second.” Doctor Funtimes pranced over to him and took hold of his tie. She tilted her head to one side, stuck out her tongue, and waggled her fingers over the silk. White cloth became lime green so bright he thought it might glow on its own. She tucked it back into his vest. “There. Now it’s perfect.” Close enough. “Where are we?” “Tillamook Forest. I picked it ‘cause it’s fun to say. Tillamook, Tillamook—say it! Tillamook! Tillamook, Tillamook, Tillamook….” “Tillamook.” She was right: it was a fun name. If his memory of Fractured States geography served, they were about an hour from Portland, Oregon. She seemed to be in a good mood, so he dared another question. “So—uh—what about Mister Hamsterface?” Doctor Funtimes took both his hands in hers, brown eyes shining. “He’s free, Nathan. Free like a taco on Epics Eat Free Friday.” “Um.” Nathan would have laughed, had an ordinary person said those words, but she was completely serious. Or appeared to be. He couldn’t tell if her quirks were genuine or not. “You told him not to spit bullets. Would—could he do that?” She shrugged. “I dunno. If he’s eating bullets, I’m not judging.” “No, of course not.” She could transform a revolver into a hamster, bring a hat to life, and cross hundreds of miles in a second. If Fortuity was a vengeful god, she was a playful one, and her hands were warming his, her face so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. He felt suddenly dizzy. Why did you save me? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. Most Epics became angry when questioned. If he angered her, she might shoot him. Or turn him into a newt. Or…actually, he had no idea what she might do. She might kill him, she might give him a straight answer, or she might laugh and challenge him to a pancake fight. Fortuity could see the future, and he had found her unpredictable. Nathan had always known chaotic Epics existed. The stories had left no doubt. But he had known it in the way he knew sunny days were possible outside Newcago, or that steel hadn’t always been worthless. He knew those things, but knowing them didn’t help him survive the endless nights or scrounge up rent money. But now a chaotic Epic was with him in a strange forest, wearing a rainbow dress and a smile, and he had no idea why she didn’t kill him where he stood. “Thanks for the clothes.” “You joined my party.” “So did Mister Hamsterface.” Doctor Funtimes laughed so long and hard she began to cough. “You silly,” she said when she got her wind back, “hamsters can’t party!” “Oh. Right. I—I was just joking.” She laughed again. “You’re silly. I like you.” Nathan thought the dizziness had passed, but it overwhelmed him once more. He hadn’t heard right. He couldn’t have heard right. “What?” Doctor Funtimes giggled, stood on tiptoe, and tapped his nose. “Your face is nice.” Her hands touched his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. “It feels like a face. I like your face.” I like you. Newcago Epics didn’t say those words often. Not to humans, at any rate. Being liked by an Epic was more than simple favor. It was a blessing, a promise of protection for as long as one was deemed worthy. Though worthiness could change, there was usually an inciting incident of some sort, one that gave the favored human a clue as to why they were favored—and how to keep the Epic’s admiration. Doctor Funtimes had given her blessing. And he had no idea why.

David has never been to Oregon. We can assume Megan spends most of her time in Newcago. We can also assume that Epics exaggerate when talking about the damage they did. Oregon is okay. It has to be! It has to be okay!

Name: TwiLyght Gender: Female Position: Knight and Knitter of the Newcago Court Powers: Illusionist, superhuman knitting speeds, and a wonderful eye for color, darling Backstory: I like to tell people I have a mysterious past. (Couldn't resist.) What I really mean by that is that I spent the last 24 hours knitting, watching Netflix, and trying out different spices in my hot cocoa, and that the 24 hours before that looked much the same. But I say "mysterious past" for reasons of prestige. Weapons of choice: Powers, sarcasm, and hatch chilies (which, sadly, repel a vast portion of the population, as too many people are spice wimps). Likes: Knitting, cooking, hot cocoa, sarcasm, and telling people I have a mysterious past. And pugs. I like pugs.

It's gorgeous. Even the cities are like that—there are trees everywhere and parks all over the place, with duck ponds and little footbridges and bike paths going straight through the woods. Oh, and there's lots of BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land, so there are acres and acres of untouched forest that usually sit right up against somebody's property. My grandmother used to own a small farm, and two hundred feet from her house was the BLM land boundary, so she basically had this gorgeous forest right in her backyard. Deer and quail would come up to her windows. The forests aren't off-limits or anything, so I'd imagine a few people would try to rough it once things got bad between the Epics. (That's what I'd do. And a lot of Oregonians. There's a TON of preppers—people who are storing up food for any apocalypse that might come—so there would probably be an increase in the Northwestern mountain man population.) I actually said "NOOOO" when Megan told David Oregon had been destroyed in the turf wars. I vote we make it so she was exaggerating slightly.

My family calls them "pansy hats." If the rain gets heavier than a drizzle, we just pull up our hoods. More than that and we'll duck into the nearest coffee shop to wait it out.

Everyone controls a character or a handful of characters and is responsible for their development and interactions with their environment and other characters. So an intro post would just be a piece about your character or characters, where they are, what their life is like, and how they get involved in the storyline. Leftinch, Joe and I have already posted ours in the "What Happened in Oregon" thread, if you need ideas/examples. As for interactions, a typical one would go like this: Player1: Sparky the Happy Giraffe cantered over to the group gathered in the bog. "I love bogs," he said. "I sure am happy." Player2: "You're an idiot," said Grumpy the Dwarf. Player1: Sparky was hurt. "Why am I an idiot?" And so on. It's basically just a story, but with each person controlling one or two characters instead of one author controlling them all. So it's a little more surprising. Ooooohhhhhhh, you should read some of my early HP fan fiction. (Read: NO. NO YOU SHOULDN'T.) An American high schooler writing for British teens = an okay story but with too many Americanisms tossed in. There's a "How to Brit-Check Your Stories" floating around on FF.net somewhere, and I'm pretty sure one of my stories inspired almost all of the "What NOT to Do" points. Google some pictures of the cities if you want to have Mel start there. All you need to know to start is that Oregon has a lot of forests—pines, birches, willows, all kinds of trees, as well as ferns and other scrubs. Blackberries grow wild, and in some towns (like Newport) you can walk down the sidewalk and there'll be a blackberry thicket with ripe berries just waiting to be picked if they're in season. There's a lot of streams and rivers and thick grass. It's usually pretty chilly there (75 F is warm for the summer; in some places it can get down to 50 during the day in June) and it rains frequently. Usually just a light misting rain, which Oregonians ignore. You won't see a lot of umbrellas among Oregon or Washington natives.

That looks fantastic, Delightful. I'll give everyone a chance to post their intros before bringing Nathan and the Doctor to Oregon. Just a few questions so I can take a vote: What time of year would you like to do? I was thinking early spring or autumn. And where in Oregon would you like to set this RP? We could go with one of the bigger cities (Portland or Salem) or, if those of you with characters already in the major cities would rather set it in a small town like The Dalles or Cottage Grove, I could have Funtimes give your characters a lift. It's up to you. And I'm very familiar with Oregon, so for those of you who aren't, I can post a short bio of whatever city/town we choose.

Yes please. But not too much, darling. I don't want to drink all the fish and catch all the beer, if you get my drift.

Looks good, Theorymaker! I like the idea of an Epic paparazzo.

David read a little book called Shatter Me and realized that, no matter how bad his metaphors get, he has never called anyone a "cardboard cutout of vanilla regurgitations" or said that "realization slams into me like 200 pounds of common sense." (Yes, those are real metaphors from a real book. The story is terrible, but the metaphors are hilarious.)

I'm here to drink beer, knit scarves, and read the comments.

His last line of the movie, which he says with a slightly dazed expression is, "Would you like some coffee, Emperor Steelheart?" To which Steelheart says yes. And then incinerates the camera.

((The Steelheart RP is up, guys! http://www.17thshard.com/forum/topic/12488-what-happened-in-oregon/ JOIN US.))

This thread is closed to new Epics, but is open to new non-Epic characters. If you want to join as a non-Epic, but aren't sure about how they can become involved in the plot, post your request in the latest Question thread and we'll help you. When Nathan Sperry woke with a pounding headache, blinking in the torchlight, he knew exactly where he was. Fear banished the lingering effects of the drug. Several sensations came to him all at once—a wooden table beneath him, too-thin cloth shielding his body from the chill, the taste of cloth in his mouth, the something pinning his wrists and ankles. A few frantic glances confirmed what he already knew. Thick leather straps held his wrists and ankles down. His mouth was tied with a gag. A thin white robe covered him. And the table belonged to Fortuity. The second Fortuity had signaled to him at the casino, he’d known something terrible would happen—and when he turned from his woman of the week long enough to ask his name, Nathan knew he was a dead man. There was no point in running. Not from Fortuity. Not from an Epic who would know his steps before he took them. There had been nothing to do but retreat to the kitchen and sink to the floor in a shaking heap. Nothing else but to listen as the news was bounced from server to cook to server and nod mutely as they cried and hugged him and said he’d be missed. Nathan gave his arm a tug, then another, but only succeeded in bruising his hand. The straps were tight, almost to the point of chafing, but not quite. Fortuity didn’t want any distractions. “Don’t panic. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just take everything as it comes.” That was what his manager had said during the “What to Do if You Anger an Epic” portion of training. It wasn’t part of the official program, but she always carved out a few minutes for it. Don’t panic. Too late. Don’t get ahead of yourself. What was there to get ahead of? Just take everything as it comes. Nathan lay his head back and took a few breaths, slow and even as he could. His heart pounded—how much longer until it stopped? How long before breathing was impossible? And then what? Don’t get ahead of yourself. He had heard that severe trauma sometimes induced unconsciousness. That victims of violence occasionally—or was it often?—blacked out for the worst of it. Would that happen? Or would whatever drug he’d been given keep him aware until the end? Take each thing as it comes. The drug had worn off. Fortuity wanted him awake, and he wouldn’t risk further complications with more drugs. He would black out, and that was that. That was what he told himself, anyway. He heard a door slam shut, and his pulse quickened. His eyes smarted—but he blinked them away. He wouldn’t cry. He forced himself to listen instead. There were two voices, one Fortuity’s, and one female. He’d brought the woman back to his penthouse. Nathan tried to calculate what that meant. Did it mean more time to wait—or that his death would have an audience? Nathan thought back to the woman at the casino. She was pretty—all of Fortuity’s women were pretty—but she wasn’t dressed like most Newcago women. No flapper dress or cloche hat for her. This one had worn a dress of fluffy black tulle and knee-length silk, dyed all the colors of the rainbow and then some. A thick wool sweater, black with multicolored ribbons woven throughout, hung off the back of her chair. Her black hair had been like her eyes: sparkling, though due more to the presence of glitter than that of mischief. Not once had she stopped smiling. An Epic. She would want to watch. As if on cue, she spoke, her voice muffled by the thick wooden door. “Where’s Nathan?” Fortuity laughed, a low, growling sort of laugh that froze Nathan’s breath in his lungs. “He’s right in here, doll.” “Is that the bathroom?” Fortuity paused. “Uh—sure is. But you don’t really—“ There was a scuffle. There was a slam. There was Fortuity’s shout of anger. “And now you’re in there! See ya!” Fortuity pounded on the door. Nathan couldn’t make out his words, but he could guess. The woman giggled. “Have fun with the doorknob!” More growling—and a yelp of surprise. What did she do to the doorknob? Nathan didn’t have time to wonder. In a moment, he heard her running—no, skipping—toward the door, his door. “I’m gonna go find Na-than, I’m gonna go find Na-than,” she sang. Nathan’s mouth went dry. If he had to choose death by Fortuity or death by a giggling singer—he wasn’t sure which he’d choose, but the former seemed slightly less nightmarish. She knocked on the door. “Yoo-hoo! Nathan!” For the first time that night, Nathan was grateful for the gag. She giggled again. “Ready or not, here I come!” One more knock and the door vanished, sending a sheet of something rippling and transparent crumpling to the floor. The Epic jumped and clapped her hands. “I found you! Yay! We’re going to have so much fun!” Nathan couldn’t have said a word had he wanted to. With another small jump, she landed on what had been the door, causing a series of loud pops. Bubble wrap. She had turned the door into bubble wrap. Nathan watched as Fortuity’s date pranced over the bubble wrap in light-up socks and mismatched Converse, her giggles blending with Fortuity’s shouting and banging. Too soon, she was at his side. With another giggle, she crouched beside the table so their faces were level. She had brown eyes, very big and full of mischief. He’d rather think it mischief than malice. “Hi there. I’m Doctor Funtimes. Do you wanna join my party?” The words of his manager returned. “Always give an Epic what they want. Don’t ever tell them no—unless there’s a more powerful one standing by.” Fortuity wanted to cut him open. Doctor Funtimes wanted a party—which could very well involve the same. She had locked Fortuity in the bathroom with a malicious doorknob. Nathan nodded. Doctor Funtimes gasped, jumped in place and clapped her hands. “Yay! I love parties! I throw good parties.” Nathan watched her, frozen where he was. Any second now she would wrap her hand around that ceremonial dagger lying on a nearby pedestal and…. She snapped her fingers. The leather straps dissolved into confetti. There was still something in his mouth, but the gag was no longer pressing on his cheeks. He tasted sugar. Nathan sat up, lifted his hand, and spat out a brownie. “Try it,” Doctor Funtimes said. “They’re nummy.” Nummy? She giggled, clapping her hands again. “Let’s go find that poo-poo head! He’s fun.” Nummy? “Come on!” She pranced around the table, took his hand, and helped him off. Nathan had no time to process the sensation of walking out of his own tomb, let alone while clutching a brownie with bubble wrap popping against his bare feet. Doctor Funtimes danced onward, dragging him along until she stopped at the nearest door and knocked. “For-TU-i-ty!” she sang. “I found something!” He heard the crack of gunfire, and the cry of something dying. “You put him back where he was!” “Nah, I think I’ll keep him.” She snapped her fingers again and, to Nathan’s horror, the bathroom door became a curtain of beaded gumballs. “Look at him! Isn’t he fun?” Fortuity tore a handful of strings down when a gumball hit him in the eye and threw it on the floor, leveling his revolver at Doctor Funtimes. Nathan instinctively ducked behind her. “You listen to me,” he said, his voice soft with barely-restrained rage. “You put my penthouse back the way it was, you put him back where he was, and I’ll shoot you. I’ll just shoot you. Got it?” It was a generous offer, but Doctor Funtimes giggled. “Nah, he looks neat. Toodles!” Another gunshot tore through the air. Nathan fell to the ground, hands over his head, bracing himself for the sound of Doctor Funtimes’ body hitting the floor. Instead, she giggled. Nathan looked up and saw her holding something small and square. Two more gunshots. A crouton hit the floor. Doctor Funtimes jumped and clapped her hands. “Ooh, ooh, throw a grenade this time! I wanna make a salad!” Fortuity growled and reached into his pocket—presumably for another bullet—but he never reloaded. Doctor Funtimes snapped her fingers, and his gun became a hamster. “What the—?” He swore vilely at Doctor Funtimes, throwing the hamster. She caught it with a shocked gasp. “Fortuity!” She may as well have admonished an ill-behaved child. “We do not throw Mister Hamsterface! We hold him and pet him and love him!” She cradled the hamster in her arms to demonstrate. “But you—he—he’s a hamster!” “And he wants you to respect his life choices.” “He’s a hamster! No—he’s my gun! Give me my gun back!” She stuck out her tongue. “Give—ah!” Growling again, he drew another revolver, bringing the barrel level with Nathan’s leg. “You turn that thing back into a gun, or I’ll shoot him. Won’t kill him—oh, no. That’s for later. You’ll get to watch me take your little friend apart piece by piece.” “Nathan or Mister Hamsterface?” “Both.” A bullet clicked into place. “Now. Put the hamster on the floor, and step away.” Doctor Funtimes snapped her fingers. Fortuity’s fedora leaped from his head, growling savagely. Once on the floor, it took ahold of his cape and gave a tug much mightier than Nathan expected from a walking hat, yanking Fortuity back a step. “What the—“ He tugged back, but he was already losing ground to his hat. “This—doesn’t—even—make—sense!” Doctor Funtimes laughed. “Catch me if you can, meanieface!” She grasped Nathan’s arm, and Fortuity’s penthouse vanished. The last of the late-night traffic whipped past. Few pedestrians were out, but those that were stopped in their tracks to stare. Cold night wind cut through his white robe, pulling it taut around his legs. He danced from foot to foot on the frozen steel. “Now let’s see,” Doctor Funtimes said, her steps echoing hollowly as she walked a few paces down the sidewalk. “He parked his car right….over….aha!” More staring. An Enforcement officer spied him from across the street and frowned. Not one of Fortuity’s victims had ever escaped before, but it had to be a crime. Denying Epics what they wanted was a felony. “Doctor?” Nathan’s teeth had already begun to chatter. The officer signaled to one on their side of the street, who made his way toward them. “Hold your seahorses,” she said, and waved her hands broadly over a sleek black convertible with gleaming red leather seats. The convertible changed shape, rounding as its color lightened from black to golden brown. “Is there a problem here?” The Enforcement officer was still a good ten feet away, but he was well within firing range. Even if he wasn’t, no one could escape their radios. “There!” Doctor Funtimes skipped back to where he stood and indicated her handiwork. “Isn’t it pretty?” Fortuity’s car—his beloved convertible, the one he made all his women ooh and ah over—was now a giant metal hot dog on four wheels. Nathan didn’t know what to say. “Sir, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you a few—“ If the officer finished his sentence, Nathan never heard it. Doctor Funtimes took his arm and, just like that, Newcago was gone.

Hang on, I'll start a new thread…..

All right, I've got the initial post ready to go, so I plan to have this show up and running sometime today. Just post your intros whenever you can. No rush, and we'll wait for everyone who wants to join to finish their characters.

MB: Can….can I add extra explosions? Steelheart: I suppose….. MB: Oh, cool! So I was picturing this opening scene where you explode-- Steelheart: *prepares energy blast* MB: And live!

If it was Brett Ratner, on the other hand, we'd get a slew of new Epics, all of them with the power to create various types of explosives from thin air. And on the DVD special features, we'd have a ten-minute clip of him tearfully describing the filming experience: "I *sniff* I never thought I'd get to *sniff* direct a movie like this. *sniffle* People who can shoot fire out of their hands? *full-on sobbing* It was the best day ever!"

Oh, man. Between that and the explosions, Michael Bay is going to have a field day with that script. And my motto on the Internet is "Always satire until proven serious." I'm from the Northwest. Sarcasm is my native language.

Unless it's because it's an alternate reality where female superheroes are powered by cleavage, in which case we're not in Kansas anymore, and we've got weirder problems to contend with.

"Your Majesty, Elsa Steelheart, First of Thy Name, Titan of Ice, Snowwarden, Frozenborn, Queen of Newcago and all Lands of the Seventeenth, I, TwiLyght, do swear my humble, undying fealty to thee. I shall forevermore serve thee and thee alone with the utmost fervency, till last I draw breath, or until I learn what frozen things do in summer."

Multiple characters are fine. There's no limit, but I'd recommend no more than four.

Please tell me they'd give Power Girl a better (read: non-cleavage-focused) costume.

Joe, looks good! Here's mine: Epic Name: Doctor Funtimes Primary Power: She can transform matter with effort proportional to what she's transforming. Changing a carrot into a gun could be accomplished with a snap of her fingers; changing a cottage into a fishing boat would take a bit longer and more concentration. Of course, she'd be more likely to turn a gun into a live hamster and a fishing boat into a bouncy castle, but that's just her. Secondary Power: Long- and short-range teleportation Weaknesses: She has a few, which I will hint at throughout her arc. Modus Operandi: Ooooohhhhhh, you want to fight? You're funny. And now you're dressed like a clown! LOL now your handgun is a box of Pop-Tarts! What, you're not going to GIVE me one? Well, your face looks like a butt! And now the Pop-Tarts are a bag of marbles. Hahaha, don't try to throw them at me; I'll just turn them into M&M's! Okay, now I'm bored. Buttface. Appearance: She wears a knee-legnth silk dress with thick black tulle petticoats so it poofs out a little. The silk is rainbow colored, as though someone pelted a white dress with dye-filled water balloons. (Which is exactly what happened.) She wears light-up knee-high socks, one blue and one green, and Converse high-tops, one yellow and one red. Her long black hair is nearly always sparkling with glitter, and she's nearly always smiling, but no one can say why. It scares them. And a human character, because Doctor Funtimes needs a sane narrator…. Name: Nathan Sperry Age: 22 Appearance: Short brown hair, blue eyes, fairly tall. Wears jeans and a T-shirt with beat-up sneakers. Home City: Newcago Interests: He enjoys watching old episodes of Doctor Who (the ones that aren't banned; Steelheart wasn't fond of those where the Doctor overthrows an oppressive dictator, but he did like the ones where he never quite figures out what's going on) and reminiscing about those that he saw as a kid. He works as a waiter in one of the casinos catering to Epics, and his main concern is staying alive and out of trouble.