I want to be Nightwing (now with rp samples)

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[Impressive Title Here]
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
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Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. One post per week
Online Availability
Varies incredibly
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
  4. Advanced
  5. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Modern/realistic. Low fantasy. Low Scifi. Supernatural. Future Dystopia (not post-apoc).
Yeah I'm a huge nerd and went on a Nightwing comic binge yesterday so now I want to roleplay Nightwing (and/or Dick Grayson).

Seeking some sort of mentor/mentee situation, such as, but not limited to:

- mentor/mentee
- hero/apprentice
- hero/sidekick
- counselor/wayward teen
- guardian/foster
et. al.
(Where Nightwing's the position on the left)

Can be 100% platonic or romantic. Any gender. No comic knowledge needed. OC, canon, whatever.

I aim to post about once a week but can post more or less often depending on situation. I guess it's pretty erratic, like my post length. Which I'd like to say usually mirrors, but generally starts off with super long posts that taper down to around 1 - 2 paragraphs.

I can rp Nightwing as starting out straight or bi.

Some rules:
- No Batman
- No romantic Jason/Dick (platonic's ok)
- No Agent Grayson/Spyral stuff

If you have a specific plot you want to do, that's fine. I can do action superhero-y things, but I was a little more focused on the personal relationships here.

Anyway, as you can tell here I'm pretty laid back about the whole post formatting thing. I'm just looking for someone to have fun with. Don't want to be too rigid about it. =)

Caveat: I've actually never done a fandom rp or a superhero rp so I might not be up to par buuuut
Hopefully we aim to have fun here.



  • [[Uses a setting based on The Lost Room universe.]]

    A little over a month ago, in an upperclass neighborhood, Jiden Sparx found himself in his father's lab with a pencil.
    Robyn, his father, was a biochemist and professor at a nearby university. He had his own lab in his home, although a good half of it was more of a storehouse for miscellaneous electrical and mechanical components. The Sparx house held a family engineers. Lindsey, Jiden's late mother, was an electrical engineer and inventor. Jiden had followed in her footsteps, taking an interest in electronics and robotics. He told himself he was also an inventor, but simply didn't have any good ideas yet.

    Lindsey died when Jiden was 18. Now, Jiden was 25. And approximately one month ago, Robyn also passed. It had all happened so quickly. Jiden was at the dining table eating cereal when his father came up from the lab to make himself a sandwich. Robyn had sat down to eat it in his lab coat, asked how J's day was going and then promptly passed out on the table.

    Jiden had turned around and dropped everything, rushing over. He didn't know what to do at first, or what had happened. But when he checked for breath or a heartbeat, there was nothing. Jiden grabbed a defibrillator and attempted to resurrect his father, but blood came out of his ears after a few tries and Jiden knew his father was gone.

    It had been sudden, unexpected, completely uncalled for...
    His father had been taken away just like his mother had when he was 18.
    Jiden had no idea what to do. Something snapped in his brain and he simply went downstairs into the lab and tried to pretend it had never happened.
    He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to think about it.

    Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.

    He'd looked at his father's desk, covered in papers. But placed on top of them was a single, perfect, yellow pencil. Expertly sharpened, rounded pink eraser that you knew wouldn't smudge up your work. This scene should have been nothing special. But the pencil almost seemed too perfect. Too well-placed. And why a yellow number two pencil? Mechanical pencils were clearly the superior writing utensil.

    He wasn't sure what possessed him to take the pencil. But he did. Maybe it was an inferior writing tool, but it still wrote nonetheless so it certainly served a purpose. He wound up leaving his house and going to a coffee shop where, after at least an hour of awkward silence and denial, he finally decided to do something about his situation. He took out his cellphone and dialed 911 to report the dead body in his kitchen. He found himself getting incredibly anxious at the series of questions he was asked by the operator, and pulled out the yellow pencil from his pocket to mindlessly doodle on a napkin.

    But when he pushed the point to the napkin, he found he could not make a mark. Instead, a penny spontaneously appeared whenever he tried to touch graphite to a surface. The phone dropped from between his cheek and shoulder and he tried again to write something. But every time, another penny clinked atop the table, sometimes bouncing a bit before coming to rest. He dropped the pencil, reached under the table to pick up his phone, rushed a "Sorry, I have to go," and ended the call with the operator. It wasn't long before he had amassed quite the collection of spontaneously generated pennies from this assumedly magical pencil. The situation perplexed him far more than his father's mysterious and sudden death.

    His pile of pennies did not go unnoticed, of course. That was when Carson and The Organization entered the picture. Indeed, Jiden's entire life flipped that day. Carson told him that the pencil was "an object. One of many" and that there was a secret organization simply called "The Organization" which collected these objects and safe-guarded them. It was a long conversation Jiden couldn't remember the specifics of. But he did remember he didn't need much convincing to join, and he ended up paying their bill entirely in pennies.

    The Organization had become the perfect way to escape his problem. He never went back to his house once the training began. Deep in denial, he booked himself a hotel for any time he needed a place to stay, and decided the Organization would be the start of a new chapter in his life-- maybe even an entirely new book, because he planned to completely forget his father's passing. The training was a breeze. He'd known much of it already, and what he didn't know previously was quickly and easily picked up.

    Today, the training would be completed and he'd be on to working directly with his partner/mentor, who incidentally enough was already decided to be Carson. Now, Jiden was exiting the auditorium doors, his arms stretching above his head as his mouth opened in a wide yawn. When his green eyes spotted Carson, his arms went to his sides and he trotted over the older man, a wide smirk on his face.

    "You look like you need a good bowel movement," Jiden chortled, playfully pegging his right elbow into Carson's arm. "Lighten up, Partner."
  • After giving himself about five minutes to recover, he let out swift exhalation and pushed any of the debris on top of him away from himself with his human hand. The police were going to exit the bottom of the building at any minute, and he needed to be out of here before then.

    With a groan, he pushed himself up. Once he was standing, he bent back over to pick up the few credits that had evicted themselves from his satchel in order to occupy the ground. Placing them back with where they belonged, in the several seconds that passed, he realized how truly annoying it was to only have the ability to use one arm. His left and mechanical one was limp at his side and would no longer respond. Not even the fingers.

    He snorted and quickly ran off into the distance, covering the urban sprawl. The unevenness in his footing was just as annoying as his dead arm. Over the past several weeks, his right leg had been morphing from human to that of a dragon. The other day, he finally had become unable to wear a shoe. He'd been stealing credits in order to pay off his Mechanik for a new leg. His mechanik, however, happened to be a little gremlin.

    But that was neither here nor there. Now he couldn't even get the leg. He had to repair the arm, first. So it should've come as no surprise that his next stop was Twitch's door, banging on it with him human fist.

    "Yo! Let me in before I kick it in for you!" Lori taunted.

    He liked to joke. Of course, who knew if anyone other than himself found his humor funny. But on top of that, he was a bit anxious-- he didn't want to be on the streets right now. That anxiety inadvertently showed itself through his nonhuman, red and white fluffy ears. A bit like a rabbit's, they twitched and tilted toward every suspicious sound.

    Lori hated them, but he couldn't deny they were superior to his previous human set, so he'd never tried to cut them off.

  • [[Takes place in a dystopian/futuristic fantasy setting.]]

    "Lori Lentil. is that the name you go by these days?"

    The man referenced could hardly be called such. Once human, he was now a varied assortment of red scaley dragon parts and mechanix. Red-tinted goggles covered his eyes, and his white "hair" was comprised of all feathers, a yellow scarf wrapped around his head in a pitiful attempt to hide it. Protruding out from his skull were two red horns, marking him as a dragonkin even though he had not been born such. His right arm was human and his left was automail. Both arms had been handcuffed together behind him, the back of a chair separating his arms from his his torso, which was clad in a bright red and gold vest that did a terrible job of keeping him hidden from situations such as this.

    Nevertheless, here he was, the scarf around his neck left dangling on the floor from its length, hopelessly entangled between his arms, making the situation that much more uncomfortable.

    The man at the other side of the table Lori was forced to sit at was half mechanix himself. But unlike Lori, that man's mechanix were completely legal. Lori's were street-bought, one of the reasons he was here today.

    "Funny," the other man, dressed in a black suit stated, "I would've thought you would be the talkative type."

    It was then that Lori's huge, human mouth spread into a grin. His teeth were littered with plaque and stains, his breath stinking as he exhaled once. Then twice, a snort coming from him.
    And he laughed.

    "Why talk to you? You know me for all of five minutes!"

    Lori threw himself backward, landing on his arms. Still laughing, of course. Lori wasn't immune to pain, but with his skin thicker than a normal human's, and half of his upper body being conveniently metal, it wasn't as if he had much pain to worry about.

    Once he was on the ground, he kicked his right, and entirely dragon, foot up and into the table, shoving it into the other man. While the agent was pre-occupied with that, Lori's automail left hand began to heat up to a temperature hot enough to melt the handcuffs. In the process, he burned his human hand and melted part of his scarf, but hey, Lori was ready to take some losses.

    After his arms were freed, he jumped up and roundhouse kicked the cop again with his dragon leg once more before running out of the room.
    Lori wasn't in this to kill people, no. Just steal shit and run. The more he ran, the more fun the game became. It wasn't as if Lori kept a low profile. But then again, in a city of 150 million people, nobody really expected to be able to find anyone else very often.

    Which was part of the reason, after Lori had punched out a window on the 50th floor, he turned around and stuck out his tongue before leaving.

    "So long, suckers! Neh!"

    And off he jumped, scarf flailing around behind him.

    Lori wasn't exactly the most mentally stable person on the planet.

    Surrounded by fog, he began coughing. He hadn't expected to be blindsided by toxic air. Despite how confident he was in himself, he'd never jumped out of a building before. A brief moment of panic flushed to the forefront of his mind before he started digging in his satchel for some sort of.. Something.. so he could stop his fall. Perhaps he hadn't thought this completely through.
    No.
    No he didn't, and now he was quickly falling to his death.

    Down below, he could see a fire escape. Fuck it, he thought to himself, and reached out for it, grabbing the railing with his automail arm and hoping it'd break his fall. The stairwell instead unbuckled from the building it had been attached to and ripped from the side of the building, but not before the joints in the automail arm pulled too taught and popped.

    By this time, his fall was significantly slowing, and his chances of surviving were exponentially rising. However, he was quickly realizing he wasn't going to come out of this one unscathed.
    His automail fingers still being able to grip, he threw himself at more and more iron pieces in hopes that one of them would prevent his body from splooging all over the pavement found at ground level.

    The long story short is, it never did, and he wound up on his back with a totally gimp automail arm and a brutal headache with a very, very gnarled iron fire escape beside him.

    BUT AT LEAST HE LOST THE COPS.
    Lori considered it a win!

    "Ow."

edit: I'd prefer it to be threads but I guess I'm open to a PM rp, though I've never done that before.
 
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