Amelia as Bellona :: The Roman Goddess of War (by @asotoriver)
As the goddess of war, Bellona is often considered one of the more vengeful goddesses. She is closely linked to Mars, often as a sister or companion, and always appears with her helmet and spear. Her temple was also a place of meeting for when roman officials would decide whether or not to enter a foreign war. She is known for her decisiveness and her deadliness.
She worked methodically, dropping the red stained gauze into the bright yellow toxic waste bin beside her without a glance. Cleaning out superficial wounds had become second nature and enabled her to carry out a personable conversation whilst working, Thalia couldn’t help but smile as she remembered exactly what Ricky was like to work for. “It’s been a while since I worked there, I don’t really know any of the newer faces but there’s a couple of good ones still there. If you’re talented you’ll flourish there, I’m sure.”
Thalia’s attention was pulled away as she paid attention to the wound, part of her wanted to refer Amelia in for a doctors assessment but she knew it would be waved off as a waste of everyone’s time. It was almost as though the direction of the knife had come out from within her hand, not stabbing in. The only logical conclusion was she’d yanked it too hard. She winced mentally at the thought.
“You know, I’ve never been to either - which did you prefer? East or West?” She asked, eyes still intently focused on the work at hand, before smiling and bowing her head down further at the question. Innocent and harmless enough but she’d been around enough journalists to know the look of someone who took note of everything you said. “New Havenite, I like that - and yeah, that’s me. Born and raised and never truly left other than to go on a few holidays here and there.” She shrugged off the question about Talon as though it was just another passing comment, “Oh, well since I worked part-time at Buzznews - just as a researcher… I’m no writer that’s for sure - we used to sit next to each other. Grab lunch or walk home after together. We stayed pretty close even after I graduated and left to work here fulltime. He’s my, uh…” She frowned, ceasing her dabbing as she tried to find the correct word as none of them seemed completely correct. “Uh… person… I guess?”
“East Coast, I think. But New York is pretty specific to itself, so I can’t be sure I’m making a fair comparison.” Amelia watched the other work, impressed by how comfortable and practiced she seemed with the situation. “Your whole life, wow. You must know all the good spots, then.”
She was surprised to hear that Thalia had worked at BuzzNews. It wasn’t uncommon for people to work as a researcher part-time while studying or doing something else; there were currently several who she ran into regularly around the office. Still, the thought of seemingly quiet and methodical Thalia in that noisy space...as her attention was pulled momentarily by someone else in scrubs rushing past the door of the room, she realized it wasn’t all that different from the hospital.
The next comment was what really caught her interest, though. “Your person, you guess.” Amelia sat forward a little, raising her eyebrows to match her knowing smile. “I see.” She scrutinized the other only a moment longer, before leaning back again. Probably best not to make new friends uncomfortable from the get go--hopefully she’d have more chances later. “You must have lots of good stories,” she grinned conspiratorially, “of the variety he’d rather I not know.”
Despite what the newspapers printed, Lyra–and, by default, Blue Bolt–was in fact a woman. She never particularly cared what pronouns people used for her alter ego considering that it was probably better if they didn’t know she was a woman. (After all, it wouldn’t take much deducing to figure out that one of the only genius women in the city was the one behind the Blue Bolt technology.) Still, when she saw crimes being committed against other women, she was always compelled to help.
She was going to hop off of the roof to get rid of the creep who cornered the poor girl when someone seemed to come to the girl’s aid first. Blue didn’t recognize this vigilante and she took a moment to watch her as she took down the man. If it looked like she needed help, she would be there in less than a minute, but the other seemed to be holding her own. The sound of something broken forced her to straighten her shoulders, but otherwise the vigilante pulled out a gun (stun gun judging by the way the man jolted when hit with it) and came out the victor. And then she dissolved into the wall. Honestly, Lyra shouldn’t have been surprised.
Doing her best to reason where she might have disappeared to, she deciding to turn on her heat sensor and was able to keep an eye on her as she climbed up a fire escape a few buildings away. Turning on her boots, she hopped from roof to roof, until she ended up with the other vigilante.
“You did pretty good earlier,” she stated through her voice distorter. She chose to ignore the girl’s other words since she wasn’t there to give her any trouble. “Thought you might need some help with your ribs though. I thought I heard something break.”
Anima tilted her head, assessing the figure that had addressed her. It took her only a second to recognize them as Blue Bolt, and she listened carefully to the modulated voice, disappointed to find no suggestion of who was actually under the helmet. Still, they seemed pleasant enough--the compliment was certainly nice.
“Well thank you.” She relaxed a little, rolling her shoulders in a light shrug. “No worries, though. He landed a hit, but what you heard were his bones, not mine.” She grinned, before adding playfully. “Did you enjoy the show?”
By now, almost all of her defensive tension had ebbed away to amiable intrigue. She’d read plenty of theories about the tech-wrapped hero before her, but she’d still not been sure what to expect. If anything they seemed..friendlier than she would have guessed.
There was plenty she’d like to know, but she knew better than to rush in with a full line of questions. Vigilantes, herself included, were never the most forthcoming. Besides, as much as she wanted answers, for the moment, she needed allies.
“Name’s Anima. You must be Blue Bolt.” She hesitated a moment before offering one gloved hand. Her raised eyebrows gave away that she was only teasing when she said, “I’m trusting you won’t zap a colleague?”
Powers & Abilities / Specialities: Wind and Mist manipulation, allowing for, among other things, minor cloud formation and flight. Additionally, sword fighting, sailing, sewing, and cooking.
Backstory: Adelaide Walsh was born in 1696, in Barbados during the golden age of piracy. Her mother, Constance, originally from Ireland, was a servant in the household of wealthy merchant and she never knew her father. Constance passed when she was ten, but the rest of the household continued to look after her.
By the time she turned sixteen, Addie was dissatisfied. She craved the luxury she saw others enjoying around her, and the adventure she’d heard about from the sailors who passed through town. Thus, when a pirate ship was spotted coming towards port one misty, moonless night a few weeks after her birthday, everyone locked their doors, extinguished their lights, and hid. Everyone, that is, except Addie. No, Addie was waiting at the docks with a small bag of all her possessions when they arrived.
“I’d like to join you,” she said to the puzzled first mate, who’d been sent by the captain to see what, exactly, this strange girl was doing.
“No girls allowed.”
“You break all the other rules. Don’t see why you shouldn’t break this one.” she quipped.
He considered her a moment, looking down at her before crossing his arms and responding. “It’s bad luck, having a woman aboard a ship.”
“Most people would say the same about pirates. Besides,” before he could add anything else, she reached into her bag and pulled out a parcel that smelled faintly of sugar and rum and held it where he, and the eyes that watched them the deck could see. “I can cook, and mend, and plenty of other useful things. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
And well, that settled it.
She stayed on that ship for twelve years, rising through the ranks and learning any skills the others would teach her: sword play, sailing, reading, negotiation. To the delight and astonishment of the members of the original crew, Addie grew from a mere galley girl to an excellent pirate. Then they sailed into the hurricane.
It was mid-September, off the coast of Hispaniola. It hadn’t looked that bad at first, but when they got up close to it, it had been nearly otherworldly. The ship was destroyed, the crew and wreckage scattered in all directions, the wind screaming and the sea wild and dark against the black sky, obscuring them from each other. When finally the storm passed, Addie found herself clinging to a piece of drift wood, miraculously alive, floating in what she recognized as a harbor, but filled with strange ships, the likes of which she had never seen before.
It was Newhaven Harbor, and the year was 2019. In one night, she had traveled 1500 miles, and, far more importantly, 295 years. Beyond that, she'd developed some strange abilities. It seemed that you could take the girl out of the storm, but not the storm out of the girl.
It took some getting used to, but Addie was a quick learner and, if nothing else, a survivor. She quickly crafted a life and a name for herself, delighted to find that, while much had changed for the better, the rules and workings of the criminal world had largely not, and she was soon able to find some...friends, who eased her transition into modern life.
Now Addie spends her time wreaking havoc and otherwise enjoying the luxuries of the twenty-first century. She’s partial to bubble baths and Game of Thrones, and has even figured out how to use a cell phone...mostly.
Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Criminal MO: Smash, grab, run like hell, drop half, laugh the whole way. Tempest isn’t a thief so much as a performer. She loves to put on a show, the louder the better. Property damage, high speed chases, and flashy fights are all right up her alley. She wants the attention more than anything else. She isn’t particularly into harming civilians, but, y’know...stuff happens. Don’t mistake her chaos for a lack of control, though. She’s been at this for a while, and she knows what she’s doing. When it really comes down to it, she’s quick with her cutlass and sharp as it’s edge, and she always gets away. At the end of the night she usually ends up foiled but free, which is fine. Her real money comes from whoever’s paying her to cause a distraction. Anything else she gets away with is just an added bonus.
Extra Info:
She’s declared herself Caspian’s arch nemesis. She doesn’t have anything against him, in particular. Quite the opposite actually, she adores him and the drama and publicity he brings. If she can track him down for a fight, she knows she’ll be in the papers the next day.
Tempest is terrified of Puck. She hasn’t met him and hopes she never will. While she doesn’t (or perhaps refuses to) know what he is, what’s she’s heard reminds her far too much of the tales her mother told her as a girl.
Tempest’s night-uniform looks like a pirate halloween costume, because it is one. In fact, it’s this one. She bought in on sale from a halloween store the November after she arrived. At this point it’s pretty warn out, with lost of mismatching patches, and she’s somehow managed not to lost the hat, which she is very fond of. She’s considering buying a new one once the halloween shop opens up again for the year. The only parts she’s added are a pair of sturdy, knee-high leather boots that she wears in her daily life as well, some striped stockings for added flare, and the very real, very sharp cutlass that was one of the few things she washed ashore with. The outfit doesn’t do much to conceal her civilian identity, but the light vortex of mist and small clouds she keeps swirling around her at all times when she’s wearing it takes care of that.
During the day Addie works at the marina, showing boats and giving sailing lessons to tourists.
Bonus Gif Below the Cut (cw: violence, revolutionary war)
“A mother? If only I could be so lucky. But I vaguely remember a school teacher giving me a lecture on the notion. Then again it would be just like a teacher to refer everything to books. Besides, nothing wrong with the idea of what you see is what you get either.” His words were rolling together particularly well tonight, and he was thankful she was up for the banter.
“Anima. Pleasure. I’m Pitch.” He replied, mimicking the same motion of flipping a ponytail too since he liked the dramatic effect. By the looks of her and from testing the waters he could tell she absolutely wasn’t in the mood for his antics, but what good was crime-fighting if you took it too seriously all of the time. “I can also be the guy who gets you to the hospital to get that looked at.” He nodded towards the side she catered to, his tone being more serious to the jovial tilt . “If public isn’t your thing, I know someone who’d be able to help you with it… provided they’re out and about I’m sure they’ll do what they can.” He held out his hand, palm up, for her to take. While wary of the fact that she could be a threat he had his own reasons for making sure she knew he wouldn’t be.
Her jaw tightened before she could stop it, and she only hoped he hadn’t seen. The hospital was the last place she wanted go, but his other suggestion wasn’t much better. Perhaps it was petty, but begging Nightingale’s help was a particularly unappealing option, given their last interaction. It went beyond admitting weakness, to something even more humiliating. No, she’d be much better off on her own.
“That really won’t be necessary. At worst, it’s a cracked rib, and it’s not like there’s much that can be done for that anyway. Certainly not anything I can’t manage myself.” She shrugged, trying still to appear casual, but careful now to balance the movement after he’d caught her favoring her left side.
“But to return to your previous point, what exactly do you think you’re getting?” Maybe she could get him to drop the subject of help if she diverted back to the banter. He’d seemed...prone to it, earlier. Ignoring the offered hand, she turned slightly, starting a slow circle around him, her gaze tracking him intently. Her eyes sharp, but not malicious. “Because I’ve read,” it was a light pun, tracing all the way back to the earlier comments about books, but she made sure to highlight it in her tone nonetheless. “about you, Pitch. And I’ll hazard I know what you are better than you do what I am.” She finished the challenge with a smile that, behind the mask, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Bo thought he’d been blending with the evening crowd for the most part. He’d been practically ordered to take the night off by multiple other vigilantes and despite his protests, he’d realized they had a point about pushing himself too hard. So he’d given himself some time to relax and just hang out downtown and be alone. There were plenty of places to sit and watch the people and creatures of Newhaven as the day wound down to a close.
He hadn’t been paying much attention to the majority of his surroundings. He rarely took the time to just exist and it was far more enjoyable than he remembered. Of course, when a feminine voice jolted him out of his thoughts, he couldn’t help but think it was a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.“You really have that ‘I don’t know how I fit into the world’ vibe about you.” If you told someone they seemed like they were out of place, wouldn’t they automatically become uncomfortable and thus fall out of place even if they’d had one?
He turned a critical eye to the woman who’d made the comment. A complete stranger. He couldn’t help snorting before he shook his head and scooted over to make room for her on the bench. “Speak for yourself, I think I happen to fit just fine until someone like you looks too close,” he grinned. “And I’m not the one poking my nose around and saying things like that to strangers.”
There was a moment when he debated dropping the conversation to return to his people-watching, but there was something intriguing about this woman. When things and people caught his attention, it was usually best to follow his gut. There was always something new to learn if he dug just a tad deeper. “Bo Abrams,” he offered with a hand. “Amateur observer and apparently the odd one out.”
Amelia had been on her way home after some errands when she’d spotted the kid. She was planning on taking an hour or two to herself before changing and going out for the night, though part of her (mostly the bruised ribs) argued she should just take the night off entirely. The sight of the teenager pulled her out of her internal debate momentarily, though, as her curiosity drowned out the arguing factions.
He didn’t look uncomfortable, just like this wasn’t something he did often, which struck her as strange for someone his age. She probably could have picked a more tactful opening line, but this one was practically guaranteed to get some kind of...interesting reaction, and you could learn a lot from what kind.
His response prompted her to match his grin with one of her own as she took a seat next to him. “Unfortunately for you, I have a degree in looking too close and talking to strangers.” She shook the hand that was offered, taking note of his name as she gave her own. “Amelia Reid, professional observer, though most of us just call it journalism.”
“So what brings you out here tonight, Bo?” Amelia leaned back in her seat, taking a moment to look at him more closely. College age, inquisitive, and persistent, from what she’d seen so far, yet for some reason, still just slightly out of place. As he’d said himself: the odd one out, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Not yet, anyway. “Something tells me this isn’t your usual spot.”
“You’re a survivor, aren’t you? I bet the whole world could stand in your way and you’d just keep going.”
Amelia glanced up at him curiously over the edge of her screen, surprised by the sudden compliment, but pleased all the same. “I’d like to think so, yes” she grinned at him, “but it’s always nice to hear it from someone else.” Sitting back in her chair, she tilted her head as she considered him for a moment before adding, “I get the feeling that the same could be said about you, Talon.” It was the truth, but if he asked her to explain, she didn’t think she’d be able to. It was just, as she’d said, a feeling. But one she trusted, nonetheless.
"Grey cardigans. The looser and longer, the better. I probably own too many, but they’re so comfortable and they go with everything and they look more ‘put together’ than a hoodie, so I’m not remotely sorry. They’re really the ideal article of clothing; it’s like wearing a work-appropriate blanket.”
mars: who is your ideal best friend?
She bit her lip, stifling her first response which was to say simply ‘someone blind,’ instead taking a moment to think a little harder. “Someone who could see and accept me for me, without having or trying to get me to fit too many preconceived expectations. I guess also someone who could be...patient with me, who could care about me and trust me without demanding full openness right away. Someone who could forgive my mistakes, but still call me on my shit, as much as I’d hate it in the moment. It would probably help if they liked mystery novels too, but that’s not a deal breaker.”
She paused and lowered her hands somewhat at the recognition. She gave the other masked hero another once over. The sigil seemed strange, foreign, to her - it wasn’t a brand she’d even heard referenced by others. The lack of knowledge as to who this new person was made Nightingale feel somewhat rude - especially after she’d been addressed by name.
That worry over coming across rude was swept aside by the following remark. Nightingale bristled at the reference towards her week under the influence of Mainframe - a topic that still touched several sore nerves. “I can’t say that I’d know I don’t really have the free time to browse the internet about Vigilantes… I assume you’re a fan of BuzzNews?” She asked innocently enough but drawing a line under the conversation topic.
“Is there anything you would be holding against me? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure to meet yet… neither can I say I’m familiar with who you are. Are you new here?” Nightingale knew her time was better spent looking for the criminal rather than rising to comments that made her feel catty - yet she didn’t feel completely at ease with the thought of leaving the unknown Vigilante. It would be nice to be able to keep tabs on everyone running around protecting the city - and making allies where she could was the smartest thing to do.
Anima watched with interest as the other woman reacted to the subject of her reputation but didn't press the issue. "I'm just trying to stay informed," she shrugged, matching Nightingale's innocent tone. A quiet voice in the back of her mind wondered with amusement if it would be narcissistic of her to say she was a fan.
She tilted her head, considering the blonde and her question. Was 'a gut feeling' a bad answer? Something about the way she seemed to be trying to hide the feathers Anima knew she'd ruffled, her tight politeness, rubbed Anima the wrong way. It made her want to press, to see what it would take to a get a raw reaction, rather than something so…appropriate. Was it a good idea to scratch that itch? Probably not. This woman was a colleague, after all, and not a bad one at that. But something about her…
Why did she care what Anima thought of her anyway? Anima was the newcomer; shouldn't the situation have been flipped? It wasn't like personal opinions affected either of their ability to help people. Why did she choose to deflect the more pointed comment about her reputation, without explaining or defending herself, but then focus on this? It shouldn't have mattered.
"Not as yet, but we've all got something, haven't we?" Her tone hadn't changed from the casual lilt she'd been using, but she narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched Nightingale intently, waiting for the other's response. "Don't see why you should care. I wouldn't let it affect our…working relationship." She flashed a tight smile. "Anima. Pleasure's all mine." She stepped forward, extending a hand to shake, so it would appear she had a reason besides just wanting a closer look.
Shutdown raised an eyebrow as they found someone else on their rooftop. They tilted their head slightly. The woman looked somewhat familiar– definitely a vigilante. Maybe…hmm…was this Anima? They’d never interacted with her before, but they’d seen her at least. They watched her for a moment, arms crossed, trying to figure out what she was doing. But after a few seconds, it was clear she was in pain.
When she turned to look at them, Shutdown simply held their hands up. “I’m not here to hurt you. I was here for the view of the city. Hope you’re not opposed to five minutes of company.” They didn’t see any blood, which meant their newly acquired bandages wouldn’t do anything. And Shutdown was definitely not one to be a safe escort to the hospital– probably the exact opposite. But hey, any chance to make an ally.
Anima tilted her head, considering the new comer. Their posture agreed with their words; they meant her no harm. Their seeming sincerity appealed to her, as did the fact that they hadn’t tried to make any assumptions about her right away. If nothing else, she could certainly stand to make some more allies in the still somewhat new city. “I suppose I could bare it,” she grinned again, but this time it was playful, not predatory, before glancing out over where she’d ended up for the first time. Immediately, she understood why the other was there. “It’s really a vision from up here, isn’t it?”
She waited another moment before deciding the situation was probably safe and sliding back down sitting again, resting her back against the vent more gently this time, and leaving some space open beside her. She grit her teeth as her ribs once again protested the change in position, before looking back up, eyebrows raised in intrigue. It was clear from this person’s attire that they were another part of the city’s...nightlife, she’d call it, and their actions towards her so far implied that they were likely on the right side of it, but the sigil on the mask that covered their mouth wasn’t one she immediate recognized. “I’m Anima. What can I call you?”
The coffee shop wasn’t busy. It wasn’t quiet either, never would be at that time in the afternoon, but the activity was low enough that she’d be able to carry on a quiet conversation just fine. Dimetre Darc wasn’t late to their appointment; she’d just arrived early to make sure she had time to set up and get comfortable. Amelia wanted to establish quickly that she was in charge of the conversation.
When she saw him step through the door, she put on her best professional smile and set down her hot cocoa next to the large notebook she had open on the table before her. The left page had a list of points she wanted to bring up, while the right was blank with her pen laying across it. A laptop might have been easier, but she wanted to be able to see him as they spoke. Once he spotted her, she stood to greet him, extending her hand and looking up at him kindly, but intently.
“Amelia Reid, BuzzNews. I don’t think I had a chance to introduce myself at the hotel with all of the,” Amelia pursed her lips, playfully drawing out her search for the right word. “Excitement. Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Mr. Darc! Thank you for agreeing to meet with me; I’m trying to do some follow up on the incident, and I’d like to go over your experience.” She sat back down, but kept her gaze on him. “There’s no rush though, if you’d like to get a drink first. The cocoa’s pretty good.”
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
areudirty
andulkaphoto
titsay
kaledo-art
