Heroid

((Kheldians are too ugly to play, even though their powersets are awesome. If you didn't have to go squiddy or lobster to get their really good powers, then maybe... Plus, I just don't like having the devs define who my characters are. It kinda defeats the purpose of rolling my own characters. I've tried rp'ing Kheldian as something else, but it just doesn't work out. The devs said, "Here's what a Kheldian is," and if you don't play them as that, it just confuses people.

Controllers. I don't have the patience to level them up to the point where they are super-uber-awesome -- which they are.))

((New post up!
Comments welcomed!))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...dbye-pt-6.html

((Favorite superhero? Hmm... depends on who's writing them. The Lee-Kirby Ben Grimm is probably my all-time favorite superhero. I liked him best when he wasn't so comfortable in his own skin. And I liked him because he wasn't the smartest; he wasn't the strongest; he hardly ever won a fight, but he would keep standing long enough to see the fight through, long enough for Reed, or Johnny, or somebody else to come in and end the threat. He was tough.

I think Plutonian from Irredeemable might be my favorite villain (even supplanting Darkseid from the original Fourth-World series by Kirby).

Another favorite hero has always been Mon-El from the LSH. But then, LSH is my favorite superhero team, especially back in the Jim Shooter days. ))

((Hi! ))

((New one today! ))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...dbye-pt-5.html

((I'm hoping for a Cosmic Catastrophe on Innumerable Earths that will merge CoH, CoV, and GR into one world (that looks like Praetoria) where we can all cohabit the same maps. ))

((I think "confusinated" would be what it looks/sounds like -- confused. And "slipperstyle" would be stealthily. I think it's saying the Ghouls who drop from the ceiling will ambush you. That's why you should keep your eyes up ("eye to the pie in the sky").

At least that's how I'm reading it. ))

((And should this be stickied?))

((Some additions I saw just now.))

scamp - get out, leave. As in, "Scamp or you'll get chomped!" (Apparently it is also used in the context of kill/die, similar to the phrase, "check out". You can check out of a hotel, or you can check out of life.)

Swiss this cheese - shoot someone

mindwash -- someone who serves/believes in Emperor Cole? (A Resistance fighter called my Loyalist this during a melee.)

wolverine -- Powers division member? (One called my Loyalist this also.)

power pellet -- ditto wolverine.

scrimslam this chompcham -- beat this guy!

Bloody hell.

I cough up a hairball and watch the uniformed people place my paramours in cages separate from mine. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

The fight and then the subsequent wooing (cats know nothing of making out discreetly when in semi-public places) drew the attention of the restaurant staff and they in turn contacted animal control. Though they appreciated the anti-vermin aspects of alley-cats, an epic fight followed by epic mating was just too much. I was snared and hoisted off my feet before I got to enjoy the fruits of my victory. Tusker -- quiet and probably cat-snickering inside the closed dumpster -- won out after all it seems.

As the animal police drive us to wherever they are taking us, my mind flits like a baby bird between human mind and cat mind. I try to catch it, pin it down to one or the other, but I only wind up chasing my tail. Why did I wind up like this? What am I doing here?

What...? Oh, I'm licking my --

No! I'm here to understand the experience of a cat. I'm here to better understand Miu, the cat-spirit/cat-girl/girl-girl. The girl I fancy. My best and dearest friend. I wish to understand what it means to be a feline. To be beholden to the King of the Cats. To feel the need to hunt to --

The people speed by on the sidewalk and I cannot help myself -- I leap upon the side of my cage as if I can leap through the wire-bars and chase them and catch them and rip their entrails out.

From the cages around me, my potential mates roar their approval. It arouses me in ways my human mind cannot comprehend.

The truck slows and the people walking by are people again, not prey dashing past me. More uniformed people come out and take the cages with the females inside a white block building. The driver himself comes around to get my cage.

"I'd hate to be you old boy," he says looking me in the eye, "You're facing a hard fate. But who knows. Maybe someone will come in and take a liking to you. Maybe you'll just wind up getting clipped and taken to a nice swank apartment to live."

I know when he says, "clipped," he's not talking about styling my fur.

((My signature character, HEROID (Hazardous Environment Rescue Operations Intuitive Drone) began as a homage to Ben Grimm, the Thing, as he was written back in the glory days of the Fantastic Four, back when the King was drawing him (and largely plotting the stories). The classic Thing is my all-time favorite super-hero.

Of course, Roy Kirby developed past that and has fared somewhat better in life than has the character who inspired him.))

((New post! ))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...dbye-pt-4.html

((When I saw the title of this thread, I thought he was asking for some Grey Poupon.))

((If you look around on Deviant Art, you can find all sorts of line art that people put out there for others to color. And coloring is hard work. It really is. It's my least favorite part of producing a drawing.))

((I'm making a turkey sandwich with pepper jack cheese and spicy brown mustard on rye, with a glass of iced tea. Then I'm making a kin/dark stalker and start him on his path from misguided, egotistical Powers Division dupe to angsty Paragon City anti-hero hero. ))

((Hehe! I've got other people using (()) on the forum. It's like having a flashback!

The evening reminded me very much like the old days when I first started rp'ing. Go to the park, lurk, listen in, let your character do what your character would do. I had a great time, even though I too was a little rusty. I mean, I really forgot how hard it is to follow a chat scroll when there are dozens of characters interacting at once. Probably need to go practice in the D some.

I'll be back for more Gemini Park time. ))

((I was there. I didn't bring an old character. I brought a new one. And I had fun. ))

((New post up! ))

http://alternautuniverse.blogspot.co...dbye-pt-3.html

It is no secret that I like to sing. And I’m not bragging, but normally I have a rather rich voice that ranges from a mid-baritone to a high tenor. I can also manage a fine falsetto that never veers out of tune. But as satisfied as I am with my human voice, I must say that my cat voice is much more effective for what a singing male voice is designed for – attracting females.

First of all, this is not why I became a cat. No, no, no. I became a cat because I wished to understand one particular female – a cat spirit in human guise, who has elements of both natures. I seek to define my relationship to her to see if there can ever be more between us than “just friends.”

But right now, I’m having trouble focusing on why I’m a cat. All of my attention is drawn toward being a cat – being a tom cat to be precise.

It started with a pair of buskers playing outside a restaurant in Steel Canyon. Their music drew me to the alley behind the restaurant where other cats had also gathered. You see, we cats are intensely curious and always looking for interesting anythings – whatever excites the senses of a human works doubly so on a cat. So the music drew us, but the odors from the lunch preparations in the restaurant’s kitchen guaranteed that we would stay in hopes of delicious scraps thrown out with the trash.

There were, I would guess, twelve of us back there, staking our spots around the dumpster, preparing for the mad dash and slash that was to come. I had a plan though, since I still had my powers. I would just hold them back telekinetically until I had grabbed up the prime delicacies, and then I’d levitate to the rooftop and let them have at the leftovers. I did not want to risk getting involved in a catfight.

But there was a fragrance hanging in the air – something I could not put my paw on, but it appealed to me on that most basic of levels. That biological function that supplants even hunger.

So I began to sing.

My caterwauling drew the attention of a pretty Siamese and two tortoise-shell tabbies (who, I soon found out were sisters), and, unfortunately, a half dozen rival males. I hadn’t planned on fighting. I hadn’t planned on… anything really, except for finding a nice meal. But I could not leave now, even if I wanted to. At this point, backing down would get me thrashed by this mob of toms. They would fight each other later, but if I was the first to submit, they would take it as a sign of weakness and kill me first.

Suddenly lunch seemed unimportant. Even the sweetly sung mewing of the three females could not draw my attention away from the large male cats encircling me. My cat instincts were taking over, but to survive I would have to stay focused enough to use my powers.

The largest of the toms – I’ll call him Tusker in honor of his saber-tooth-like teeth – had some words for me. (Cat words, which I cannot repeat here, for the language of cats is sacredly secret.) If I had been a normal cat, I surely would have ended up exactly as he described it, with my entrails strung like (cat words) across the alley and the crows picking at my (more cat words, but “kitten-maker” would be a rough translation).

But before Tusker could try to make good on his threats, another tom – younger and trying to establish himself as the most virile of the mob – leapt at me first.

“Powers! Use powers!” I remember thinking.

And I did.

I telekinetically slammed the young tom into the brick wall of the restaurant. He bounced off and shot out of the alley as if he was on fire. I cleared out most of the rest of my rivals the same way. Once they had a taste of what I could do, they decided to go elsewhere for lunch.

Tusker was left. Undaunted by my display he charged. I bounced him off of the wall not once, but twice, and still he came back, claws swiping at me and teeth bared and aimed for my neck.

I dodged – barely – and shot a psi-dart at him. It stunned him, but he shook it off. He started circling me slowly, reassessing me. He was smart this one. Powers or no, I think he could beat me.

A plan came to mind and I moved as if preparing to run. Tusker’s body tensed into a spring, ready to bounce in whatsoever direction I decided to flea. I had one chance and I’d have to time it just right.

With a kick of my powerful hind legs I leapt up to the open dumpster. I balanced myself with my TK while I made a great show of my own claws and teeth. Enraged, and with all his predator’s survival instincts switched into overdrive, Tusker leapt to follow me.

I feinted leaping into the dumpster – a move that caused Tusker to overbalance and fall in. Then I leapt down to the ground and used my powers to slam the lid on him before he could get out.

My three females were suitably impressed.

So now, with Tusker’s angry cat words echoing beneath us, my three females and I are enjoying a quiet, thorough, mutual grooming on the dumpster lid. I’m not quite sure of how these things go, but my cat brain is starting to come to fore this very instant. Of course I know that after the lunch crowd clears out and the restaurant staff comes to empty the waste bins, Tusker will be freed. But I should be long gone by then.

Some things are worth skipping lunch for.

((Very nice! ))