[1 - Arrival] [It's not the first time she's woken up not knowing where she is. It's not even the first time she's woken up on a beach not knowing where she is, although most of the time they've been New York beaches, which makes this one look surprisingly clean. What is different is just how much she hurts. Normally, she wouldn't be so scraped up. Normally, the scrapes would have healed, and the headache would have passed, and she would be thoroughly awake as soon as she opened her eyes.]
[That's not happening. Given her superhuman resilience and healing, that can only mean one thing: something really, really bad happened last night.]
[She's swaying a little as she pushes herself to her feet, shaking water and sand out of her long, blonde ponytail. All right, Bethan. Where the hell are you this time? she thinks, with more exasperation than fear, and looks this way and that, her eyes narrowed. There, in the distance - way further than they should be, this is definitely not New York City - there are the lights of a town. Well, that's a start.]
[She stoops to pick up her waterlogged helmet, emptying seawater out of it and tucking it under her arm, and sets out towards the lights, still unsteady on her feet, but with a hard, determined look on her face. If she sees anyone else along the way, she'll hesitate a moment, but then turn towards them and whistle through her teeth.]
Hey! Where's that? [And she points to the town with a gloved hand.]
[2 - A Softer World] [Oh, she does not like this town. She likes to be anonymous, to be ignored when she chooses, to make her own way in the world. She might not be New York born, but there's a reason she lives there. Here, though...]
[Everywhere she turns, there's someone trying to talk to her, to welcome her, to push pamphlets into her hands. It's like this entire town is full of Jehovah's Witnesses. She doesn't even look at the pamphlets she's given before balling them up and throwing them in the nearest bin with a look of mounting anger. It isn't long before she's had more than she can bear, and the next person - human or monster - to approach her will find her wheeling on them, teeth bared like an animal, grey eyes flashing with anger.]
I swear, if you give me one more fucking leaflet, I'm gonna shove it so far down your throat you'll shit papier-mache for a week!
[She sounds like she might actually mean it, too.]
[3 - A Harder Soul] [It's almost a relief to realise not everyone is happy to see her. She doesn't know how to deal with people talking to her, smiling at her, trying to be nice to her. People glowering and trying to be subtle about following her... that's much easier.]
[She pretends not to see the three men on her tail, but angles herself for back alleys and isolated places even more than before. Please, she thinks grimly, please just try it. After all this day's had to offer, she could use a fight. What's more, she's confident about her ability to win it. She's been stalking the streets of New York for three years as the Bandit, masked by her leathers and her motorcycle helmet; she's fought plenty of armed men bigger and heftier than these three, and taken them down. She's got this.]
[What she hasn't reckoned with, of course, is that the Bandit has superpowers. Bethan, right now, is just a young woman - a young woman with a lot of fighting experience and the muscle to show for it, but just a normal young woman nonetheless, as she finds out to her cost when one of them pulls a knife. Her still-damp leather jacket absorbs some of the impact, but even so, she stumbles back as blood begins to flow, her eyes wide with surprise. She expected it to hurt. She didn't expect it to go that deep.]
How the fuck did you...
[She's angry, and she's not done fighting yet, but this has caught her off-balance and cost her any slim advantage her fighting prowess might have given her. It's not even the pain, or the bleeding, that slows her. It's sheer shock.]
[In the moment she lets her guard drop, and the three men take advantage of it, moving in to press home an attack. She won't thank you for it, but if anyone's passing, now might be the time to help.]
[4 - The Bandit] [She's normal. For the first time in almost twenty years, Bethan is normal. No fast healing, no supernatural resilience, and most likely no resistance to other powers, either. That's... a lot to deal with.]
[So she doesn't deal with it. She's really good at not dealing with things.]
[The Bandit might have superpowers, but that doesn't mean she can't be the Bandit without them. Sure, it's more dangerous, but it's not like she expected to live to a ripe old age anyway. Sure, she doesn't know this town or its monstrous inhabitants well enough for a battle plan, but that doesn't mean justice can't be served. And she's still got her helmet, her motorcycle leathers. That seems like some kind of sign.]
[Midnight finds her perched on a Bavan roof, a dark shape in black leathers and a helmet with a tinted visor. Freerunning is a lot harder with a badly-patched stab wound, but it's not impossible, and she's always been good at climbing. And she likes rooftops - not just for the vantage point they offer, but because up here, the air feels cleaner, easier to breathe, without walls pressing in.]
[She crouches on the slates like a gargoyle, leaning over the gutter and watching the street below. Waiting. Listening.]
[Maybe you find her up there. Or maybe you're out hunting when a black-clad figure drops, with a small cry of pain, from a windowsill overhead, landing with fists clenched between you and your prey. Bulked out by the too-big leathers, and standing almost six foot in her boots, the Bandit looks like a muscular man - and, if the saltwater hadn't damaged the voice transformer taped to the inside of her helmet, would sound like one, too. As it is, the voice that comes from the dark visor is just a little muffled.]
I don't know how to call 911 here, so you should probably back off before you need an ambulance.
[Wildcard!] [[If you have any other ideas for threads, throw them at me here, or hit me up at jormandugr!]]
Bethan Costigan | OC
[It's not the first time she's woken up not knowing where she is. It's not even the first time she's woken up on a beach not knowing where she is, although most of the time they've been New York beaches, which makes this one look surprisingly clean. What is different is just how much she hurts. Normally, she wouldn't be so scraped up. Normally, the scrapes would have healed, and the headache would have passed, and she would be thoroughly awake as soon as she opened her eyes.]
[That's not happening. Given her superhuman resilience and healing, that can only mean one thing: something really, really bad happened last night.]
[She's swaying a little as she pushes herself to her feet, shaking water and sand out of her long, blonde ponytail. All right, Bethan. Where the hell are you this time? she thinks, with more exasperation than fear, and looks this way and that, her eyes narrowed. There, in the distance - way further than they should be, this is definitely not New York City - there are the lights of a town. Well, that's a start.]
[She stoops to pick up her waterlogged helmet, emptying seawater out of it and tucking it under her arm, and sets out towards the lights, still unsteady on her feet, but with a hard, determined look on her face. If she sees anyone else along the way, she'll hesitate a moment, but then turn towards them and whistle through her teeth.]
Hey! Where's that? [And she points to the town with a gloved hand.]
[2 - A Softer World]
[Oh, she does not like this town. She likes to be anonymous, to be ignored when she chooses, to make her own way in the world. She might not be New York born, but there's a reason she lives there. Here, though...]
[Everywhere she turns, there's someone trying to talk to her, to welcome her, to push pamphlets into her hands. It's like this entire town is full of Jehovah's Witnesses. She doesn't even look at the pamphlets she's given before balling them up and throwing them in the nearest bin with a look of mounting anger. It isn't long before she's had more than she can bear, and the next person - human or monster - to approach her will find her wheeling on them, teeth bared like an animal, grey eyes flashing with anger.]
I swear, if you give me one more fucking leaflet, I'm gonna shove it so far down your throat you'll shit papier-mache for a week!
[She sounds like she might actually mean it, too.]
[3 - A Harder Soul]
[It's almost a relief to realise not everyone is happy to see her. She doesn't know how to deal with people talking to her, smiling at her, trying to be nice to her. People glowering and trying to be subtle about following her... that's much easier.]
[She pretends not to see the three men on her tail, but angles herself for back alleys and isolated places even more than before. Please, she thinks grimly, please just try it. After all this day's had to offer, she could use a fight. What's more, she's confident about her ability to win it. She's been stalking the streets of New York for three years as the Bandit, masked by her leathers and her motorcycle helmet; she's fought plenty of armed men bigger and heftier than these three, and taken them down. She's got this.]
[What she hasn't reckoned with, of course, is that the Bandit has superpowers. Bethan, right now, is just a young woman - a young woman with a lot of fighting experience and the muscle to show for it, but just a normal young woman nonetheless, as she finds out to her cost when one of them pulls a knife. Her still-damp leather jacket absorbs some of the impact, but even so, she stumbles back as blood begins to flow, her eyes wide with surprise. She expected it to hurt. She didn't expect it to go that deep.]
How the fuck did you...
[She's angry, and she's not done fighting yet, but this has caught her off-balance and cost her any slim advantage her fighting prowess might have given her. It's not even the pain, or the bleeding, that slows her. It's sheer shock.]
[In the moment she lets her guard drop, and the three men take advantage of it, moving in to press home an attack. She won't thank you for it, but if anyone's passing, now might be the time to help.]
[4 - The Bandit]
[She's normal. For the first time in almost twenty years, Bethan is normal. No fast healing, no supernatural resilience, and most likely no resistance to other powers, either. That's... a lot to deal with.]
[So she doesn't deal with it. She's really good at not dealing with things.]
[The Bandit might have superpowers, but that doesn't mean she can't be the Bandit without them. Sure, it's more dangerous, but it's not like she expected to live to a ripe old age anyway. Sure, she doesn't know this town or its monstrous inhabitants well enough for a battle plan, but that doesn't mean justice can't be served. And she's still got her helmet, her motorcycle leathers. That seems like some kind of sign.]
[Midnight finds her perched on a Bavan roof, a dark shape in black leathers and a helmet with a tinted visor. Freerunning is a lot harder with a badly-patched stab wound, but it's not impossible, and she's always been good at climbing. And she likes rooftops - not just for the vantage point they offer, but because up here, the air feels cleaner, easier to breathe, without walls pressing in.]
[She crouches on the slates like a gargoyle, leaning over the gutter and watching the street below. Waiting. Listening.]
[Maybe you find her up there. Or maybe you're out hunting when a black-clad figure drops, with a small cry of pain, from a windowsill overhead, landing with fists clenched between you and your prey. Bulked out by the too-big leathers, and standing almost six foot in her boots, the Bandit looks like a muscular man - and, if the saltwater hadn't damaged the voice transformer taped to the inside of her helmet, would sound like one, too. As it is, the voice that comes from the dark visor is just a little muffled.]
I don't know how to call 911 here, so you should probably back off before you need an ambulance.
[Wildcard!]
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