| Welcome to Xmen Revolution. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Leevald, Miranda; Stacy X | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Feb 27 2013, 03:00 AM (1,441 Views) | |
| Stacy X | Feb 27 2013, 03:00 AM Post #1 |
![]()
Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
|
[align=center]PLAYER INFORMATION[/align] NAME: Si CONTACT: PM or AOHELL Sianofthedead HOW YOU FOUND US: I read various XMR peeps gushing about this place on another board, then Terry convinced me to apply OTHER CHARACTERS ON THE SITE None RULES CODE: Blackbird CREDIT WHERE IT'S DUE: Based purely on my own interpretation of her stint in Uncanny X-Men (I refuse to believe “Ripcord” in New Warriors was the same character) with some research on snake biology and brain chemistry thrown in. [align=center]CHARACTER INFORMATION[/align] [align=center] ![]() Naomie Harris[/align] BASIC INFORMATION CANON OR ORIGINAL: Canon AFFILIATION: Others (for now) FULL NAME: Miranda Stacia Leevald CODENAME: Stacy X NICKNAMES: Stacia, Stace, Scales, Kaa, Babysnakes, Slytherin CURRENT AGE: 30 DATE OF BIRTH: September 6, 1982 MARITAL STATUS: Single SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Negotiable for a fee (pansexual) BASE OF OPERATIONS: USA, currently mobile TIME AT INSTITUTE: Not Applicable REGISTERED WITH SHIELD? Yes – but not to her knowledge HOMETOWN: San Francisco, California KNOWN RELATIVES: Dina Burke (née Leevald, mother) Anna Burke (half-sister) Max Burke (step-father) PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEIGHT: 5'7" BUILD: Lean and quite long-limbed, has a wardrobe focused on giving her curves EYES: Yellow with elliptic pupils HAIR: Black and wildly frizzy, usually battered into submission with straighteners or gel. DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Her mutation is pretty distinguishing. See powers. CLOTHING STYLE: Anything as long as it’s mostly black. Her choices usually involve leather, latex or vinyl, maybe denim or silk if she’s not working. Stacy’s fairly adaptable (for instance donning a full Burqa to hide her mutation a few times) but she always wears her black yeti fur coat outdoors and has a logic-defying love for impractical shoes. UNIFORM: Not Applicable POWERS GENERAL DESCRIPTION: Neurochemical Perception/Control Stacy’s primary mutant power is the ability to ‘read’, generate or otherwise control brain chemistry or pheromones and their affects on humans and other animals. Through skin contact, she is able to instantly induce many possible reactions including nausea, pain, dementia, arousal, ecstasy, anesthetisation or adrenaline rushes. She has an instinctual ability to interpret body chemistry and perceive incremental shifts, effectively giving her a tough to beat lie detector function. The strength of any change she forces herself is generally dictated by the amount of time Stacy stays in skin-to-skin contact but can be affected by other variables. Given five or ten minutes to focus and build up the potency of a single touch, she has learnt how to administer huge chemical doses in barely a second of contact, something she calls a snake bite, leaving a regular human affected for up to a week. If Stacy is unprepared, a single touch can usually overwhelm a victim’s system for at least three or four minutes (having a healing factor might increase recovery time but wouldn’t buy immunity to Stacy’s power since no alien chemical is being introduced to the victim’s system). In extreme situations a slightly unpredictable mirroring of her own biochemistry can play a part, such as fear or excitement boosting her ability to increase adrenaline levels in others, feeling sick boosting her ability to make others nauseous, etc. Although her concentration for administering a snake bite might be affected by weariness or external factors, there is no fatigue factor affecting a basic three-four minute biochemical change. As long as she is conscious she can wield her ability. The only problem may be that if she is not particularly lucid, she might not prompt the specific chemical change she was aiming for, making the results much less predictable. Reptilian Appearance/Senses Stacy’s ochre-brown snakeskin is her defining aesthetic quality. She has wider, paler scute scales running from her diaphragm to her pubic bone and a diamond pattern in burnt red and yellow on her forehead and running down the outside of her limbs. She has no recognisably human fingerprints but the marks her fingers do leave are just as unique. This mutation has the negligible benefits of above-average resistance to dermal pain, cuts and bruises plus an ability to happily bask in the kind of Death Valley temperatures that would send most humans scurrying for shade and water. There are three other physical manifestations of her mutation: pointed ears, enlarged canine teeth (fangs that serve no special purpose) and the miniscule heat sensitive supralabial pits dotted within the black markings over her cheekbones which allow her to ‘see’ body heat or warm objects regardless of light conditions. Like most snakes, she is able to taste scent on the air as well as smell it. Stacy’s chemosensory ability to track a person’s biochemistry is comparable to a bloodhound; it relies only on occupying the same space before anything washes away or otherwise masks a trail. WEAKNESS: Stacy may be at ease with her appearance when on familiar ground but obviously walking among the general populace with a lot of snake skin showing can cause problems. Those not frightened will often hassle her and generally make going anywhere in public without a disguise a gruelling ordeal both mentally and in many cases physically. Her scales give Stacy above average resistance to external injury (we're talking paper cuts or accidents with tin cans here) and a higher dermal pain threshold but nothing superhuman. She is just as vulnerable as the next man to blades, bullets or high impact damage and while she may be resistant to sunstroke, her skin is still vulnerable to fire, electricity and radiation burns. It should also be noted that Stacy would still succumb to dehydration like any human if she were forced to go more than three or four days without drinking any fluids. Since going on the run in 2011 Stacy has had no time to become familiar with any one place and is struggling to keep her paranoia and antagonistic tendencies in check. It makes her an easy target for those who know how to play mind games. Although she’s not a sadist, Stacy’s attitude towards normal humans has become very narrow-minded and her growing distrust of telepaths has become a full-scale phobia. In regards to her mutation, the chemical control relies on her being able to touch a target’s bare skin. It gives her little to go on when faced with fully armoured attackers or a large crowd. If contact time is an issue, Stacy won’t get the period she needs for concentration before being able to inflict the more severe ‘snake bite’ effect. Also, her mutation makes stronger scents and colder temperatures a lot more bothersome for Stacy than they would be for an average human. Lastly, she has a weird recurring nightmare about being poked with a stick by the late Steve Irwin anytime she eats cheese just before sleeping. PERSONALITY Stacy was a friendly but strong-minded latchkey kid who was generally well liked by others her own age but inclined to misbehave or lie if she wanted attention from her mother or other adults. Constant conflicts with her stepfather gradually gnawed away at her self-assurance and to compensate she developed a pre-emptive aggression that, by her teens, had earned her a reputation as a disruptive little shit. When Stacy’s appearance mutated the resultant bullying made school unbearable and the girl became a complete shut-in. Once she settled down with other mutants, Stacy came to fully embrace her appearance but retained an inherent need for privacy, somewhere to retreat both physically and mentally. She habitually plays up to the expectations of others, both positive and negative. As a result Stacy is at best a gregarious extrovert and at worst a venomous crook. She still often spins out lies, jokes or a slightly eerie blank state as a self-defense mechanism. The idea that telepathy could cut through all that is what makes her terrified of psychics. She is naturally independent, quite enterprising and has a complete lack of respect for the law. She wouldn’t kill without extreme provocation but, saying that, has found herself capable of murder on one occasion. She has no problem committing theft, blackmail, extortion and physical assault for her own benefit. Having heard many other mutant tales of woe Stacy knows her own history is nothing extraordinary and expects no sympathy or protection from anyone as a result; but she does still feel genuine sympathy for others when it seems justified. A part of her genuinely likes taking care of others (without her mutation she might have become a fearsome paramedic or social worker) but thanks to her time on the streets of California and Nevada she isn’t likely to be dishing out any grand act of philanthropy without ultimately selfish reasons. HISTORY: PRE-APOCALYPSE Once the cheerleading prom queen of her Californian hometown, Stacy’s mother Dina seemed to have a comfortable life as a suburban housewife all set. But then along came Stacy, the result of an unplanned pregnancy with an anonymous suitor, possibly a mutant. Dina’s parents were less than understanding and she became an outcast from her own family, moving into a run-down apartment on the outskirts of San Francisco. Stacy never had the opportunity to meet her father or any grandparents and grew to resent Dina for this, writing her off as a high school burnout. Dina felt an equal but quieter resentment towards her daughter for being the perceived cause of her downfall. Despite this mother and daughter still maintained a tenuous bond and the good days seemed to outnumber the bad. As soon as Stacy was old enough to go to school, Dina got a job as a waitress and Stacy became a latchkey kid but for this she never begrudged Dina, instead revelling in the freedom she’d been given. Although she often got called into meetings with teachers and principles, Dina felt grateful to at least have a child who could take care of herself. As Stacy approached her tweenager years Dina married her boyfriend Max and they moved in with him. Every stepchild’s nightmare, he was a six foot tall homophobic, xenophobic chunk of muscle with a job in construction. Stacy was incapable of showing Max any sort of tolerance and found herself goading him into fights to prove her misgivings. Unfortunately some part of Max’s brain interpreted this as flirting and he started molesting the girl whenever he came home late enough and drunk enough. Any respect Stacy had for her mother was quickly eroded after she explained what was happening only to be dismissed as telling more attention-grabbing lies. By the time Stacy had started High School barely a day passed when she didn’t end up in a fight with one or both parents, and even took a certain vengeful delight in causing arguments between the two. Stacy’s mutation became apparent shortly before her fifteenth birthday when a rash resembling eczema dried up her skin, which then flaked off to reveal snake-like scales. Simultaneously, her eyes gradually faded from dark brown to a watery yellow, the pupils contracting into reptilian ellipses. Stacy quickly dropped out of school, spending everyday in front of the television or with the radio blaring, reading magazines her mother bought. For around six months Stacy began to develop her heat sense and found her tongue and nose becoming more sensitive, but assumed that was as far as her mutation went. Many conflicts arose about Stacy becoming a waster but during their last family fight, her stepfather finally crossed the line, hitting Dina and turning to grab Stacy by the wrist. Her x-gene was jumpstarted by the stress of the situation and Stacy manifested her mutant power, making Max violently sick when he touched her. This seemed to be the final straw for Dina. Appalled by what her daughter was becoming, she rushed to her husband’s side. Stacy, who had been expecting gratitude, was met with a fit of hysteria and ordered to get out. Stacy furiously packed as much as she could into her school backpack and stormed out. Not trusting child protection services, the teenager had no idea what to do and no one she felt she could ask for help. She spent a few years in San Francisco, sleeping on the streets or in empty buildings when the other squatters were mutant-friendly. She soon learned how to make those that attacked her sick but it was among the alcoholics and junkies that didn’t fear her that she learned how to generate a chemical state of bliss or anaesthesia. For the same amount of money they handed over to street dealers, the addicts learnt that they could get a similar high with fewer if any side effects than their regular vices and soon Stacy was in popular demand, earning the nickname "Stacy-X". Having earned enough, she decided to migrate down to Los Angeles in search of a potentially wider market. Of course word began to get back to the various dealers of L.A. about a mutant who could potentially put them out of business. The last ‘warning’ Stacy received on the matter put her in the hospital for nearly a month. As soon as she was well enough to stand, she decided to cut her losses and move on once more, this time for Las Vegas. She figured maybe she’d get a job as an assistant for Penn and Teller. After a few weeks in Vegas Stacy ran into Rachel Drache, a fellow mutant and madam for ‘The Ranch’ a mutant brothel out in the surrounding desert. Drache saw Stacy’s potential and brought her back with an initial offer of a room and a housekeeping job. The Ranch had been part of what looked like a ghost town or possibly an old film set, the inhabited building itself being the only one not on the verge of collapse, but only just. The exterior reminded Stacy of the Adam’s Family house. Walking through the doors was like stepping into a different world though, full of red carpets, expensive art canvases, gothic staircases, indoor fountains and private lounges with everything from pool tables to hot tubs. Living there made Stacy feel like a Princess and soon she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Working all over the building, she quickly got to know the layout, as well as the prostitutes who worked there. The women came from all walks of life but all were mutants and the majority showed physical signs of mutation, working for Drache because no one else would employ them. Once Stacy realised how much she stood to earn by joining their ranks she couldn’t be added to the books fast enough. As soon as she’d hit her twenty-first birthday, the girl became Drache’s protégé, learning not only about turning tricks but also networking, basic self-defense and management skills. A lot of the girls admired Stacy’s blatant materialism; her utter lack of shame encouraged them in turn to feel less guilty. And in return Drache felt Stacy was safe enough to be entrusted with caring for the more unstable girls at the ranch, the self-harmers who needed bandages, the depressives who needed brain chemistry tweaks, the addicts who needed to be weaned. Stacy discovered a sense of self-worth she hadn’t even known in her days before the snake scales. Working front of house, where the customers expected a taste of the bizarre, her monstrous looks were an advantage. Stacy made conning overpaid businessmen into buying overpriced liquor an art. And with Drache never more than a few feet away the number of humans that would sometimes crowd her never seemed too many. In the private rooms though Stacy could only handle one at a time. Left alone, any more would bring back memories of the attacks she suffered in L.A. and she would loose her ability to stay in control. And that was the other key to her newfound self-esteem; control over the powerful, the kind of men and women who wouldn’t have touched her with a ten foot pole back when she was just another run away bundled up in clothes scavenged from dumpsters. After leaving home Stacy stopped using her surname and she never saw her parents face-to-face again; but once settled at the Ranch she did try to heal the rift with a series of awkward phone calls. Through conversations with her mother Stacy found out about Anna, her new half-sister. Dina never mentioned Stacy to Max again though and whenever he answered the phone Stacy simply hung up. In due course the name “Stacy X” became more notorious, used by the media when the mutant found herself at the centre of two different scandals involving Jason “Chef Jay-R-Tee” Treemont and pop singer Sugar Kane. Stacy spent most of her time between clients reading or sprawled in front of the television and her happiest memories were of the slow days when everyone would gather round for the daily talk shows and heckle the latest troupe of hillbillies, transvestites, mutants and Klan freaks. On rare occasions, some of the more confident Ranch residents would organise trips into the city and Stacy would always be near the head of the pack. Revelling in the confidence you only find among rowdy gang members, she felt secure enough to drag the others into strip joints or casinos to tease, seduce or start fights with the regular human lap-dancers and croupiers. Of course this gained the attention of the police but there wasn’t a cop in Nevada that didn’t know about the Ranch (many were regulars) and they were amazingly lenient. The worst she ever incurred was a night to cool off in a drunk tank. And of course no casino hotel dared to ban them since the Ranch’s notoriety was becoming a cult phenomenon that possibly accounted for a good chunk of the big spender tourism. The power of the local god status they received was intoxicating. Stacy would watch with a mix of amazement and conceit as politicians, film stars, mobsters, government agents and business tycoons walked through the Ranch doors. Drache constantly emphasized to the girls that for their own safety, whatever happened on the Ranch stayed on the Ranch - but during mealtimes the girls would gossip among themselves about whatever juicy new scandal clients had given away. It almost became a competition as to who could dig up the best dirt each month. One ranch worker, Big Nancy, went one step further. A morbidly obese telepath able to control men’s minds, she never touched her customers but took a sadistic delight in overpowering and playing with them like puppets. The others girls would stand in the doorways laughing as Nancy’s clients were humiliated and forced to truthfully answer any question the spectators cared to ask, no matter how personal or classified, saving her the time of relaying the information second-hand. Of course Nancy made sure her customers never retained a bad memory but Stacy was still nervous about joining in the fun. She found Nancy’s power frightening. She wondered how many telepaths were out there, turning people’s inner-most thoughts and secrets into a playground or using their powers as an alternative to Rohypnol. She began to spool through the security surveillance tapes every now and again just to check no such thing was happening at the Ranch. HISTORY: DURING APOCALYPSE An end of days scenario in 2009, unsurprisingly, had a devastating effect on trade at the Ranch. Rachel Drache, the mysterious fire-breathing madam, started calling in favours from a variety of shady global contacts. Many assumed her connections to be former clients but some rumours maintained that she had once been a member of Magneto’s brotherhood, a billionaire Sheik’s runaway bride or even a Shi’ar dynasty henchwoman. Whatever her sources, thanks to her efforts the desert brothel was able to branch out as a storage depot and fence for a variety of illegal weaponry and stolen goods. Stacy found herself dealing with a wide range of criminals and hearing all kinds of colourful stories from them. In preparation for a worst case scenario of the Horsemen heading further inland, Madam Drache also arranged for several of the girls, including Stacy, to receive more training in martial arts, firearms and first aid. Stacy was fiercely protective of the Ranch and took all her training extremely seriously – she’d finally found her place in the world and she’d be damned if she let even Apocalypse ruin that for her! When San Francisco was rocked by earthquakes, Stacy spent a tense few weeks wondering if her relatives had survived. It was her young half-sister Anna that eventually called, speaking to her sister for the first time to let Stacy know that their mother had been hospitalized but was expected to make a full recovery. Stacy wired a enough money to her mother's account to cover the predicted medical bill and sent a curt 'get well soon' card specifying that any leftovers should be spent on Anna alone. HISTORY: POST-APOCALYPSE In 2011, nearly eight years after Stacy had settled in Nevada, her new life was irreparably shattered. Drache had recently been forced to deal with a series of customers for being too rough with the girls, and became convinced of an entrapment conspiracy. It was as if the mutants were being goaded into using their powers violently, which Drache believed would be used as an excuse to arrest the girls and shut the Ranch down. Stacy watched the surveillance tapes as usual and got the distinct feeling that they weren’t so much being goaded as tested… The sun had just set on her latest day shift and Stacy was sat in her room flicking through the cable channels when the distinctly acidic taste of adrenaline suddenly flooded the air. Going to the window, she was puzzled by the site of nearly a dozen unmarked vans blocking the parking lot entrance. Without warning, the Ranch was attacked. Wide-eyed with terror, Stacy watched wave after wave of Purifiers march into reception. Within seconds the sounds of gunshots and the low-pitched roaring sound that accompanied Madam Drache’s fire-breathing powers were echoing down the corridors. There was shouting, and more explosions that shook the building. Then a terrible, ominous silence. And then just as suddenly the sound of gunfire and screaming seemed to be coming from every direction. Instinctually, Stacy grabbed her coat, picked up a gun and headed straight for the door. She found Nancy staggering through the corridor, wounded and screaming. As far as Stacy could gather, the men had shot their boss Drache repeatedly in the stomach, instantly releasing the internal fire in her belly to consume her as she bled to death. Nancy had tried to take control of the situation but the female attackers seemed to have anticipated this and instantly aimed for a headshot as soon as they saw the telepath. The bravado Stacy had felt back in 2009 crumbled in the face of reality. The taste of smoke was already strong and she knew the rickety building probably didn’t have long to stand. Nancy was too big and slow to escape. Without asking or warning, Stacy simply used her powers to send the woman off to happy land until either the fire or a bullet came to claim her. It was a parting act of mercy but also a matter of self-preservation. Although Stacy had at various points played therapist, nursemaid, jester and bouncer at the Ranch, it was Drache who the mutant prostitutes had ultimately relied on for protection – other than Stacy only a few of the girls had shown any true competency in their Apocalypse-prompted training. Unprepared, outnumbered and terrified, they were systematically slaughtered along with any customers who had the misfortune to be visiting. Those with more aggressive or defensive powers fought as best they could but few could do anything to rival half a dozen MP5 assault rifles firing at once. Panicking, Stacy abandoned any hope of saving her home or remaining friends. She survived by avoiding as many people as she could using her mutant senses, her familiarity with the twisting corridors and the cover of the rapidly escalating smoke. Around her she could hear the women she had once laughed and chatted with screaming curses at humanity with their last breath, she could taste the blood of those she had nursed through withdrawal and hangovers, mixed in the air with the scent of cordite. The utter heartbreak mixed with fear made it hard to be vigilant as she made her way through the chaos. Still, Stacy managed to avoid the larger groups, leaving a trail of violently sickened assailants in her wake. But the disadvantage of the smoke cover was that it made it hard to tell friend from foe and Stacy couldn't be sure she hadn't attacked any of the other ranch workers. Despite taking people on one by one, she only narrowly avoided serious injury. As she finally put her hand to the exit door the last Purifier to be left busy decorating his shoes with his breakfast managed to press a gun against her ribs and demanded she undo whatever she’d done to him. Stacy took particular exception to the threat. Meddling even further with his system she effectively doped him enough to disarm and bundle the man out of the fire exit with her. Finding a warm running engine outside, she shoved the body of a chauffeur out of the car and bundled her queasy hostage into the backseat. Crashing through the car park fencing and speeding away, Stacy saw her life being consumed by flames in the rear-view mirror. She had only the clothes on her back and the contents of her pockets - sunglasses, wallet, smart-phone, gun and half a pack of cigarettes. But, as it turned out, that was all she really needed. She drove as far as she dared to push the fuel gauge. After sunset she stopped in the empty Nevada wilderness to interrogate the gunman. Her thoughts had been racing around the idea of mafia politics or some new rival brothel, or that maybe someone at the Ranch, in their competitive search for gossip, had heard something they were better off not knowing. With the right chemical prompts the Purifier told her everything he knew. How they were hunting mutants from every walk of life, from tunnel dwellers like the Morlocks to public figures like the X-Men. The Ranch whores? As far as he was concerned they needed purifying in every sense. They were the Church of Humanity’s target practice. Stacy’s anger came to a boil and she finished the impromptu interrogation by flooding the Purifier’s system and giving him a heart attack. She made a brief effort to dig a shallow grave then dumped the stripped body out in the desert before driving off. After that day, Stacy became a nomad. Making a living had to take priority over revenge. Through her phone contacts she gradually rebuilt a client base, travelling around the States to where the work was, never staying in one place too long for fear of another attack. When Magneto publicly executed Reverend William Stryker Stacy practically cheered at the media coverage. She started supplementing her income with thievery and low-end blackmail; and after her first year alone also started renting herself out as a ‘consultant’ for those who wanted to make use of her ability to sniff out lies in ways that differed from any telepath. When it came to the Skrull invasion, it was business as usual for Stacy. That meant very little resembling normal but thanks to the Complacency Wave nothing that she felt the need to actively rebel against. When the alien device generating the wave was destroyed and news coverage tried to pick apart what had happened, Stacy was left feeling a tiny bit defiled. But since most of the world had been in exactly the same boat she was quick to get over it and get back to work because honestly, what else was she supposed to do? SAMPLE RP POST: Inn of the Anasazi, Santa Fe, New Mexico Timeframe: March 2nd 2012, @ 17:08 “C’mon then, Babysnakes!” Stacy shifted her weight and tried not to let the 300lb Texan sat in the corner of the hotel room see her eyes rolling with contempt. He was parked on a chair that clearly wasn’t made for such a sitter and she stared again between his wide spread legs at the way the seat material bulged dangerously. There was nothing dangerous about the bulge in his pants. Jesus… she thought, not sure whether to be relieved or let down. She willed his sweaty ass to burst all the way through the chair and lodge as painfully as possible in the frame. Too bad she wasn’t telekinetic. He dangled a sugar mouse at her, holding it delicately by the tail, pinkie finger raised. He had a whole damn bag on the dresser table next to him. He wiggled the little sweet again and the flesh on his arm rippled. The fat itself didn’t bother her in the slightest; it was what it stood for. Far as she knew, he was the son of some oil billionaire who’d sold out to Roxxon Energy, never worked a day in his life and spent his daddy’s money on gourmet junk food, vintage booze and high-priced ‘speciality’ hookers. Not one ounce of his bulk had been earned and that made it obscene in her eyes. “Come ta Poppa Bear!” With his free hand he patted a chunky thigh. Pet play with a daddy kink… The perfect recipe to get Stacy’s gag reflex going. She lowered herself to the floor, crawling on all fours across an impossibly clean carpet. Black talons dug into beige short-pile as she closed the distance like a good little predator. The Texan lent forward, teasing her with the mouse. Stacy let out a genuine growl of annoyance. Kneeling between his feet, she launched herself up with all the speed of a striking snake, snapping it up. She let him feel the contrast of sharp teeth and soft warm tongue on the end of his finger, smiled with spiteful satisfaction at the way he jumped. He grinned once the shock had passed and he was sure he still had all ten digits. “You like that, huh?” He was reaching eagerly for the paper bag before she’d even answered. Stacy tried not to make a face as she swallowed the over-sugared marzipan. “Yes Daddy.” She managed. “Mmm, Daddy likes this!” he said, turning back to give the thick gold chain around her neck a small tug as he offered a second mouse. Least I won’t have to worry about missing dinner when I get back, she thought wearily, taking the second treat. He petted her thick, coarse hair, letting a thumb explore the feel of her face. She closed her eyes, leaned into the touch, a purposely feline gesture. “Babysnakes still hungry?” “Starving.” She replied, adding a short hiss to the S sound. She was incredibly proud of herself for not laughing. Normally she only did it when she was angry or shocked, but then some customers seemed to like the hiss. Tacked onto normal speech it just reminded her of the cat in the Tweety-Pie cartoons. She used to do impressions of him when she was a kid. Stacy heard the Texan’s weight shift in the creaky chair. Running on autopilot for a while she weighed up the pros and cons of whether to follow through on the whole session or just dose the man up and rob him blind. He seemed like the generous type. But he was tedious. And unlikely to yield any better contacts. And she was missing a Loony Toons marathon… PS: “Stacy X” has already been registered as an account name but I can’t see any evidence of established board history here so I’m hoping the above is okay |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mellencamp | Feb 27 2013, 04:36 AM Post #2 |
|
Unregistered
|
Just a small thing before I get to the review. Why have you changed her first name and given it to her half sister?? It just stands out to me as Anastacia is a far cry from Miranda, which is her canon first name. I could see it being used as her middle name since she doesn't have one in canon, but it just seems strange. |
|
|
| Stacy X | Feb 27 2013, 11:28 AM Post #3 |
![]()
Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
|
Why surely - I used to write a younger version of Stacy on an old board from 2003-2009, when I started she only had the canon name Stacy and I expanded that to Anastacia, which had been shortened to Stacia and then just Stacy. Later when she supposedly popped up as Ripcord it seemed odd to me that someone called Miranda would have the nickname Stacy - she originally didnt seem like the type to completely cover up her proper first name, that to me implies a shame that I really don't think she's capable of. It's a small thing but the farcry from Stacy to Miranda really bugged me. Then "Vengeance" pretty much reintroduced Stacy X like Ripcord never existed - which was fine by me. Hence the disclaimer at the start and a half-sister that vaguely acknowledges the connection to what New Warriors said her name was. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Mystique | Feb 27 2013, 02:26 PM Post #4 |
|
Unregistered
|
Stacy-X is a pun on Ecstacy, not a shameful cover up of her first name. It's a reference to her powers. |
|
|
| Stacy X | Feb 27 2013, 04:34 PM Post #5 |
![]()
Neurochemical Control/ Reptillian Traits
|
Yeah - but I still thought that was based on her real name being Stacy, otherwise she would have introduced herself as Miranda to the X-Men. Never mind though luvvie, I know your hatred of bending canon is probably going to outweigh my hatred of Ripcord. ^_^ Edit made. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Doctor Nemesis | Mar 3 2013, 11:07 PM Post #6 |
|
Unregistered
|
I see no other issues aside from that little hiccup. You've got my S T A M P Although another admin may feel there are edits or changes you need to make. |
|
|
| Betsy Braddock | Mar 11 2013, 05:48 PM Post #7 |
![]()
Telepathy (I'm not a bloody ninja)
|
Sorry about the delay - please be proactive about joining another faction and make sure you have consent from other players before using pheromones on their characters. A P P R O V E D |
[align=center] [/align]
| |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Others · Next Topic » |








[/align]

9:02 AM Jul 11