Heroid

((It has happened to me and, to be honest, while some people may think it's funny, I don't appreciate BUYING an item that I'm afraid to use. The "devolving" thing means that if I'm on a team, I risk delaying progress if I use it at the beginning, or risk a team wipe if I use it during a battle. And if I'm rp'ing, then the "devolving" ruins immersion, and immersion has *always* been CoH's greatest strength.

If the devs want to play a joke on us, they should wait until April 1st. Otherwise, if I buy a costume pack and one of the features causes me to have not-fun as opposed to fun, it makes me less likely to buy another costume pack. Will all of them have little unpleasant jokes like this?

Every time it happens, I petition the devs and let them know how I do NOT appreciate their joke at my $10 expense. Seriously, as cool as the costume pieces are, I wouldn't have bought the Mutant Pack if I had known they were going to do this. I definitely will not be buying the Origins pack on account of it.))

((Wow... you're getting good, Rose! ))

((New Rock up! ))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...bye-pt-12.html

((For me, the iconic characters are Ascendant and Paladin. But that's just me.

Universally speaking, I'd guess the character that the most players know is the guy puking in the corner in Pocket D. He's hard to forget.))

((Running late, but I got it up!))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...bye-pt-11.html

I awake to the sound of her raspy breathing. He hand is on my back; a light hand that is no more substantial than if she had lain a sheet of rice paper upon me. I give her old, spotted fingers a coarse-tongued lick, and when she only responds by smacking her lips, I decide to do a bit more exploring. When I slip from beneath her hand, it doesn’t drop, doesn’t move.

The apartment is laid out thusly: the entrance from the outside landing opens into a small, tidy living room, about half the size I would like to live in, but appropriately sized for someone like Gen. Standing in that entrance, if you look to the left, there is the short hallway leading to an even smaller, tidier kitchen, and to the right, with no hallway – only a doorway, and not even a door – is the bedroom (which, including the closet and bathroom is larger than the compact living room). The small, small bathroom with lavatory, toilet, and walk-in shower equipped with a metal seat is somehow fitted into the far corner of the bedroom. There is a door there, albeit a very narrow one that some people might have a hard time fitting through. Again, it’s just the right size for Gen.
Beside the bathroom is a floor-to-ceiling closet with folding, louvered doors. A tap of the paw causes the door to fold open. With cat curiosity, I go inside.

There are shoes here, some in boxes – some out. Some of them have tassels that tease me to come sink my claws and teeth into them. “Here we are,” they say, “We’re small and mouselike! Don’t you want to see what we are?”

I fight this urge because these are Gen’s shoes, and I would not make her sad or angry by vandalizing her property. Instead, I climb up a dress that hangs low on the far end of the hanging rod, and make my way to the topmost shelf of the closet. There I am confronted by boxes. Paper boxes. Plastic boxes. Metal boxes. All of them, I know, are treasure boxes. I climb over these and find myself in a deep, dark corner.

Something scurries just past my foot and I catch it on a claw and then crush it between my teeth. It is furry – a spider. And it doesn’t taste good, so I do n’t eat it or chew on it any further. This shadow-place; this unfathomable back space, is the only place crawling things like spiders can live in this apartment. There is too much life in the rest of the place. Too much light. Too much movement. But here it can live and thrive, hidden among the treasures like an eight-legged ghost guardian protecting a pirate’s horde.

I want to open one of the boxes, but I dare not. One does not go peeking into another person’s treasure, even if one is a cat. It’s simply not done.

But… one box, one cardboard lid… surely it wouldn’t hurt.

Here in the back space there are more boxes and I choose the smallest of them – one made of sturdy cardboard, but with a shallowly formed lid that is light and easy for me to lift up and slide back. In the semi-magical gloom of a closet shelf, I strain even my cat’s eyes to look inside…

I will not tell you what I see. It breaks my heart, and it would break yours also.

((Did anyone actually see an event blue side?))

((So far, nothing has happened... Heading over to El Super Mexicano...))

((All of my characters are happy-go-lucky, not-a-problem-in-the-world types.

Well... one of them is. Maybe.

Super-powered people with perfect lives are bo-ring. Omnipotent bad guys are (usually) even more bo-ring. All of my heroes and villains have problems, either from circumstance or from their own faulty personalities (or both). So I guess my favorite stereotype is the hard-luck type. The down-and-out do-gooder. The angsty anti-hero. The good girl/boy with bad luck. Nobody ever pulls for the dog that's on top.))

((I'm flattered that you guys like my art.

But just a reminder -- I don't want to get in dutch for soliciting on the boards (since this thread is a place for me -- or anyone else on Virtue -- to show their Virtue character art). I might have broken this rule a time or two myself, and if so, I apologize.

So please, if you have a request for art, do it in the form of a pm. ))

“Do you like tuna?”

Well, of course I do. I purr.

“Well, then, I’ll open us a can.”

She walks to the kitchen in her halting, struggling gait. I hear her knees creak and her hips pop as she goes. I follow along, careful not to make her stumble, but staying close on her heels.

Gen’s apartment is small and tidy. Once a day, she tells me, a lady comes in and helps her clean the place and so it doesn’t smell like some old people’s homes – musty and stale. No, Gen’s place smells of spice and wildflowers which are all over the place in vases and jars.

There are pictures too. Pictures of people I don’t know. Pictures of landscapes and architecture. Paintings and photographs. There are photos of her, from times throughout her life. A small, square-top table in the short hallway between the living room and the kitchen is covered with them. I pause for a moment and let her go ahead while I leap up to the tabletop to look.

She was pretty when she was young. Very pretty. Some of the pictures have cities in the backgrounds – other cities in other countries. There are men in some of them, but never the same man in two of them. There is a sister in many of the pictures – also very pretty – though the older Gen gets in the photos, the fewer of them are with her sister, until by the time Gen’s hair is white, the sister is absent altogether. And there are no children in the photos, but there are cats and dogs and at least one cockatiel. As I sit here on the edge of this table, I see Gen’s life spread before me. She seems happy. I think it’s been a good life for her, despite the fact that she seems to have never gotten married, or had children, or done any of the normal things that people associate with a long, happy life.

She’s lived a semi-solitary life of quiet contentment that she shared only with her sister and her pets. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I leap to the floor and trod quickly to the kitchen.

Gen struggles with the can-opener as I enter; her hands struggle to turn the crank.

“I have an electric one,” she says, “but this helps keep my hands strong. And besides, I can drop this in the dishwasher now and then.”

I look to the countertop where a white electric can-opener sits and I notice the amount of goo and goop that is built up behind the circular cutter. I agree with her. The old hand-cranked model is much more sanitary.

Here you go, she says and sets a small porcelain bowlful of tuna on the floor for me. For me. And then she opens a can for herself and dumps it on a bed of fresh greens.

After we eat, we go back to the living room and she puts a vinyl on the turntable. We listen to Mendelssohn’s Hibrides, and she scratches my ear and tells me stories of the people she’s met and the places she’s been and lovers she’s known. Times she’s had her heart broken and times she’s broken others’ hearts.

The stories go on and on and I listen to them all until she gets quiet. I look up from her lap to see that she hasn’t fallen asleep as I suspected. And though the music long since reached its end, I can tell that she is still hearing something; some long-ago song in a dance hall where her younger self still swirls her skirt and flirts with suitors that time never placed a withering finger on.

I lower my head onto my paws. As I fall asleep, I swear I can hear the sweet sound of Xavier Cugat’s Brazil...

I'm not sure whether to post this here or on the art forum, so I'm opting for here.

I'm sure you've all heard of Project Rooftop. (If not, you really should check it out here: http://www.tencentticker.com/projectrooftop/ ) Well, there's a new superhero redesign site called Superhero of the Month. Both of these sites are fun for comic book fans to visit because you see some great (and sometimes, not-so-great) interpretations of your favorite characters.

Superhero of the Month just announced a contest with entries accepted through the month of October. The subject is Robin, and not just the Boy Wonder, but any character who has filled the role of the Batman's kid sidekick. So check it out here: http://superheroofthemonth.blogspot.com/

I hope you all will visit and then go back in November when the entries are posted for voting.

By the way, I have absolutely no connection to SotM except that I do plan to submit a drawing in the contest.

((New post up for today!

Comments welcomed! ))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...bye-pt-10.html

I think the kids are too whiney. I think it was a tad sappy. But I think if it finds its focus, it might be a good show. Better than Heroes, yeah.

But I'd rather see good stories that develop these characters and not have a new unexplainable event every week.

((You don't have cash, but do you have... inf? ))