|
Supers
May 14, 2010 23:18:14 GMT -5
Post by Black Cherry Cola on May 14, 2010 23:18:14 GMT -5
Setting - The Earth you know, with major landmarks and continents fairly identical. (- But it's not our Earth ) - Modern-day, with some archaic and some futuristic technologies. - Around the world, there are three major places "supers" are fabricated, through place-specific means. - + London, England, United Kingdom: After the age of six, orphans who have been unsuccessfully adopted are injected with substances varying in type and quantity according to test groups, and then put through a series of tests to see how the children react with the injections. Test subjects who aren't adopted (which, once they are tested on, is rare, but not unheard of) are released as soon as they hit eighteen. - + Vechnyy, West Kazakhstan, Kazakhstan: Children have the opportunity to be enrolled in a public boarding school, sponsored by a private donor. There, they are expected to train both physically and mentally. Their training progresses with their education. Anyone can enroll at anytime, up until age fourteen years and six months. It is simply known as The School. The School focuses on making logical thinking warriors, fit for the army, although they wouldn't directly influence their students to go into the army - they certainly try. Training lasts for a minimum of eight years, though students aren't force to leave until they are twenty-one. - + Albuquerque, New Mexico, United States of America: Embryos are created in Petri dishes, injected with a number of chemicals, and then artificially inseminated into volunteers. They are raised in foster homes, attend public schools in addition to several classes offered by the institution. Children are named by the day of the week as their first name, the month as their middle name, their surname the same as their foster parents', with an additional number detailing their date. (For example, under this naming system, I'd be: Tuesday February Rice the Twentieth) - In extremely rare cases, "supers" are born naturally. This is still a scientific mystery, and a few have gone in for voluntary testing. (- I should stress that scientists [or teachers] aren't "evil" or the "enemy;" they're just scientists, doing what scientists do. You know, testing stuff and junk.) (- Yeah, we call them "supers" because Fiona lacks serious creativity atm) - By the way, I'm taking extreme liberties in locations. If you have a burning desire to correct me, I don't mind hearing your correction. Also, questions, send them my way.Restrictions - You are human. You can either be a super human or a regular human, but your core genetic make up is human. - If your super is under 18, you'd better have a damn good reason why they aren't in the above institutions. - In case I confused you, people from The School are more like Bruce Wayne or Tony Stark types - you know, Batman, Iron Man (um, do you see why I had to get this out of my system?). Home grown supers that just happen to be super strong and super smart. - This is totally a blend of the eras. That said, please don't make futuristic technology ridiculous. You guys have such great imaginations.Plot - You're either a super human or a regular human. - You're a villain, a hero, or just someone trying to get by. - It's almost like building your own superhero comic. Have at it.
|
|
|
Supers
May 15, 2010 0:03:44 GMT -5
Post by Black Cherry Cola on May 15, 2010 0:03:44 GMT -5
Tuesday had been born on an unusually dreary Tuesday afternoon in Albuquerque, New Mexico in 1987. Then again, the year didn't matter; it never mattered, not when she was living with her family, not when she left them for Chicago, Illinois. The only people who cared about 1987 were the people behind the counter who cared to card, and Tuesday couldn't be bothered to buy anything worth carding for. She didn't drink, she didn't smoke, and the only party she could ever be bothered to go to was her grandmother's funeral. Coffee was her drug of choice, and the newspaper was her favourite pastime.
She wasn't Tuesday June Smith the Sixteenth anymore. Now, she was Maybelline. Just Maybelline. Like the cosmetic line. It was the slogan that caught her eye: Maybe she's born with it - or maybe it's Maybelline. Maybe it was. Ever since she could remember, Maybelline knew she was special. No, not special - super. Or, like the kids at school had a tendency to call her, "super special." There was no telling who her biological parents were. Maybe the Smiths, who raised her and a couple other kids like her, but part of a different experiment; or maybe it was a couple of strangers, looking to sell off the ability to reproduce for the extra cash. Somehow, Maybelline never found it in her heart to care. Realistically, her DNA was probably too screwed up to tell exactly who it was; in fact, it would probably come up with some elephant in a traveling circus. If it was still alive.
Before she was conceived, or maybe when she'd been conceived - Maybelline never cared for her conception story after she discovered what happened at the science building - the human DNA supplied by the donors was mixed with DNA from a number of elephants. Her charts weren't very clear on exactly what kind of elephants, and every time she asked, she was either ignored or brushed off with a Latin term that changed almost hourly.
Consequently, she was a big girl. Naturally tall with an impressive bone structure, she was remarkably square-shouldered and square-jawed. As a kid, she'd been the school bully, using her comparative size to intimidate her peers into giving her their lunch money and doing her homework for her. Now, she regretted it a little. More than a little. Every morning she sat in the same little coffee shop at the same little corner on the same little street, wondering what would have happened if she'd used her bulk for more useful things. Maybelline didn't have any friends, and none she felt she could trust.
Her skin was thick and rough with a gray-brownish tinge. All her senses were above normal, except her eyesight. It was miserably poor. Maybelline hated contacts - in fact, she hated doctors' offices. They reminded her of her childhood. After she'd left New Mexico, she contented herself with a broad pair of glasses. Appearances never bothered her.
She regarded her reflection coldly in the icy window of Peter's Coffehouse, glaring at her large, brown eyes and short, wirey, black hair. This morning she felt particularly resentful. There was a newspaper spread out in front of her, opened to the classifieds. As usual, there didn't seem to be anyone hiring. Holiday rush had just finished, and people were starting to settle into the new year. No one could afford a new recruit, and Maybelline's resume wasn't particularly impressive. Fired three times for her anger management issues, and no college experience to give it any kind of boost.
Maybelline wrinkled her nose in disgust at her reflection, making a small grunting noise to herself before turning back to comb the newspaper, taking a sip from the near empty cup of coffee. She'd be okay; there was still a little bit of money coming from her parents, who were desperate to talk to her, and from the scientists, as a kind of thank you for your services monthly gift. Both institutions respected her name change with little question - at least, little question to her. She didn't doubt that there was talk back home about the broken, wayward elephant woman who took on a brand as her legal name.
name :: Tuesday June Smith the Sixteenth Maybelline location :: Chicago, Illinois; Peter's Coffeehouse party :: 1: herself
|
|