-Register your character account as First Name Last Name. No account should be all caps.-
-If you do not like this color scheme, we are going to be adding variants soon for you to choose from!-

Come One, Come All

Welcome to All Our Masks! We are an Alternate Universe DC-comics RPG, loosely based off the Young Justice comic and show. We accept canons and original characters and have a 223 Rating. No character or player will be left out, everyone will be RPed with. We try to offer and maintain flexibility for characters and storylines wherever possible in our canon characters and themes. So before you rule out a character, plot, twist, or anything else, please talk to an admin first! We would be happy to assist and work with you wherever we can.

If you have any questions, our C-box is open for guests. Or you are more than welcome to pop onto our guest-friendly Questions and Answers board. For easy navigation, see our Table of Contents thread (link located in the sidebar to your left) for a full list of our informational entries.





Current Months

March 2017
S M T W T F S
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19 20 21 22 23 24 25
26 27 28 29 30 31 -
April 2017
S M T W T F S
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2 3 4 5 6 7 8
9 10 11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20 21 22
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Alias: Miss Red
Age: 13
Occupation: Student / Assassin
Location: Gotham
Gif Square: http://i.imgur.com/s77ivev.gif
Profile: http://allourmasks.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=726
Plotter: http://allourmasks.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=58
Journal: http://allourmasks.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=737
Want Ad: http://allourmasks.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=757
MP3: http://k003.kiwi6.com/hotlink/kxv151z3nf/Simple_Plan_-_Opinion_Overload.mp3
Quote/Lyrics: Don't patronize me or I'll break your face.
Statistics
Joined: 3-November 15
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Jan 15 2018, 01:52 PM
Local Time: Jan 23 2018, 03:02 PM
180 posts (0.2 per day)
( 2.08% of total forum posts )
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Damian Wayne

Anti-Heroes

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Dec 23 2017, 12:08 AM
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<div class="necrolyrics1">I Don't Need No Army</div>
<div class="necrolyrics2">Because this fight is my own. But either stand up and join me Or surrender the throne</div>

<div class="necrotextbox"><div class="necrotext">

<I>March 3rd (Friday), 2017</I><BR><BR>

They are getting better at this partnership thing, are they not? Damian would assert that they are at least moving a little more fluidly than they had when they first started, despite what he would not admit to be some difficulties in adjusting the instincts he had honed for the past thirteen years. Nobody can accuse the kid of not trying; if there is anything that he can be credited for is giving a hundred and ten percent to his efforts at what he sets his mind to.<BR><BR>

And he is trying. They both are, honestly, and Damian has been doing his utmost to be on his best behavior, resisting the urge to needle at Drake at home or at school. That is hard, mind you, when Drake is such a...such a..! You know!<BR><BR>

Tonight is patrol and with it being Friday there is not the issue of school the next day, no worries about how much sleep Damian should be getting. Grayson and Pennyworth worry too much about sleep, if you ask Damian. Robin does not need sleep! At least not as much as everyone insists he does. What do leading experts know about how much sleep assassins should be getting? But we digress. Patrol. Patrol is much more important (than sleep).<BR><BR>

The wind tugs at Robin’s hood and he reaches up to pinch the hem so as to hold it in place lest it be tossed off his head. The clouds roll and trundle aside, the moon peeking out to spread white light in a brief shine upon the city before it is hidden behind another gloomy blanket. Robin squints behind his mask as he surveys the surrounding area, releasing his hood when the air stills. He sighs impatiently and resists an anxious fidget. “What are we waiting for?”<BR><BR>

They had been watching the proceedings of the same group of people for the past ten minutes (of forever) and Robin’s usual...hm...restless nature - politely put - has been tested to its limit. He is an action-type of person. Sitting around, waiting, watching, does not suit him and he has had about enough of all of those.

</div></div>
<div class="necrotag">@[NyteGrayson] (Dick!) </div>
<div class="necronotes">xxxxx.</div></div>
<div class="necrocredits"> luna @ <a href="http://z10.invisionfree.com/Shadowplay/index.php?showuser=24077"> shadowplay </a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Nov 26 2017, 09:21 PM
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<center><div class="necrobox"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/r0nRz9i.jpg">
<div class="necrolyrics1">I Don't Need No Army</div>
<div class="necrolyrics2">Because this fight is my own. But either stand up and join me Or surrender the throne</div>

<div class="necrotextbox"><div class="necrotext">

<I>April 10th, 2017</I><BR><BR>

He is back in Gotham after his unplanned and unannounced stay in Metropolis with his mother. There had been some questions to answer with the school about his sudden lack of attendance at first. It was nothing an influential Wayne and a resourceful al Gul could not handle. Damian was never worried the school front of his return; other things, affairs at home, held his concern. He had even suggested that he his education would be better furthered by other means. Apparently it is believed his social skills would bettered through his continued frequency of the dull establishment. He will reluctantly submit to the arrangement...for training purposes. <BR><BR>

Damian arrives back at Gotham Academy during the lunch hour, looking as smartly put together as always and wearing his usual scowl. It is obvious his short sabbatical had not done anything for his usual demeanor. Once the obligations involving his enrollment were handled and he was organized for his continued schedule he was ushered, no herded like cattle, into the lunchroom. One look at the place - crowded and noisy and chaotic, no order or discipline - Damian heaves a sigh of resignation and controlled frustration. Here he goes again. <BR><BR>

He would not admit to the twinge of social anxiety that twists in his belly. It might be natural, twice that for someone unaccustomed to the normal social etiquette of teenagers his age, but to acknowledge his weaknesses of skill and mental fortitude is unthinkable. To appear as anything but confident would be to dishonor his family name and embarrass himself, putting him below these..people...which he has so rightly placed himself above. Consequently, he barely pauses as he strides as if with purpose into the commissary.<BR><BR>

There are very few at this establishment that he has entertained the idea of keeping company with. Drake is an absolute ‘absolutely not’ and Peirce had left to return home to her parents - who knows if she would ever be back. Not that he relied on her company but perhaps she was not without her uses. That left only one other that he would deign to approach and Damian had been able to spot him in an instant; out of familiarity rather than remarkability, of course.<BR><BR>

“Walker,” he greets formally as he slips into the chair next to his former roommate, sitting his own lunch bag on the table in front of him. Those also occupying the table look up at him and he glares at them for a second before deciding that they are not worth the time, energy or breath it would take to dismiss them and their voiceless opinions. (He has had quite enough of others’ opinions of him to last him quite awhile.)



</div></div>
<div class="necrotag">Symmetricity (Westen!) </div>
<div class="necronotes">xxxxx.</div></div>
<div class="necrocredits"> luna @ <a href="http://z10.invisionfree.com/Shadowplay/index.php?showuser=24077"> shadowplay </a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Sep 26 2017, 11:33 AM
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<div class="necrolyrics1">I Don't Need No Army</div>
<div class="necrolyrics2">Because this fight is my own. But either stand up and join me Or surrender the throne</div>

<div class="necrotextbox"><div class="necrotext">

<I>March 18th, 2017</I><BR><BR>

He heard what Bruce had said last night; he has impeccable hearing. There was no confusing what his father had said as he did not mince his words at all. Damian, however, after thinking about it, is not prepared to give up that easily. The man has not said two words to him since what had transpired so maybe, just maybe his father had thought about it as well. Perhaps he has come to realize that he was wrong, that Damian was being sincere and truthful, and that he does not really want to send his blood son away. After all, Damian is still here today, is he not?<BR><BR>

But, of course, if the two of them are anything alike his father will not come to him. He would likely expect and wait for his son to go to him. So that is exactly what Damian does.<BR><BR>

Because no matter what Bruce says, he has earned the right to be Robin. Even if you set aside the fact that the son belongs by the father’s side, that Damian is Bruce’s blood and rightful heir, the boy has struggled to get to where he is. Aside from last night - which was an accident - he has not killed. He has forsaken his own views, his opinions, his lineage, hell, even his sword stays home while he has been out on patrol. He has learned every new skill that has been thrown at him, has been injured when he did not have to be for the sake of pulling a punch...he deserves a second chance.<BR><BR>

Damian takes the stairs by twos, cape billowing behind him while he shoves the last of the late night snack Pennyworth had pushed at him as he was heading for the secret entrance to the cave. It was alright, could have used more cinnamon, but I digress. He is wasting no time getting down into the Bat’s lair, wanting to be on time lest he miss his father’s departure. He takes off running across the cave floor to meet his father who is finishing his preparations, the batmobile’s engines humming to life.<BR><BR>

“Father!” he shouts, voice echoing amongst the stalactites and ancient stone walls. He slides to a halt in front of the imposing man, his upward gaze intent. “Things did not go as planned last night.” Translation: I messed up and I’m sorry. It is about as good of an apology as Bruce is going to get “It will not happen again, Father. You can trust me!” Brow furrowed, he stares up at the man, the father that has been absent from his life up until this point.

</div></div>
<div class="necrotag">Americanfacepalm (Bruce!) </div>
<div class="necronotes">xxxxx.</div></div>
<div class="necrocredits"> luna @ <a href="http://z10.invisionfree.com/Shadowplay/index.php?showuser=24077"> shadowplay </a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Sep 25 2017, 05:20 PM
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<center><div class="necrobox"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/r0nRz9i.jpg">
<div class="necrolyrics1">I Don't Need No Army</div>
<div class="necrolyrics2">Because this fight is my own. But either stand up and join me Or surrender the throne</div>

<div class="necrotextbox"><div class="necrotext">

<I>March 19th, 2017</I><BR><BR>

He had not given anyone notice about his plans and he had not called ahead to notify his mother that he would be arriving. After the argument he had with his father, Damian was thinking of little else except of his hurt feelings, his anger, and that he did not want to be where he was not wanted. Where he does not belong. And he could only think of one person that would take him in, take him back, and only one place where he felt like he belonged without fighting for it, all the time. There were no new rules to follow and he would not be expected to be someone he is not. His mother would understand. His mother still loves him even if his father...cannot...will not… Damian does not know which it is.<BR><BR>

Damian arrives with Kalila in tow, his large bag with the things he packed over his shoulder and balancing Ursa in his arms. The pup had fallen asleep along the way and was not riveted in the idea of waking up anytime soon. Nor does she seem all that aware of the fact that she is making things difficult for her master while her breaths puff against his face and ear, unbothered by the juggling motions that jostle her. Damian really cannot blame her, honestly. She is still a baby, babies need lots of sleep, and he could not expect her to be bright eyed and enthusiastic at this hour. Does not mean she does not get kind of heavy.<BR><BR>

What time is it anyway? It must be close to two thirty or three in the morning by now. Damian wonders if his mother is sleeping. It is plausible, he thinks, as he shifts Ursa’s weight into one arm so he can reach into his pocket for the keycard to the elevator to his mother’s penthouse apartment. When it is not there he moves the pup to his other shoulder - she yawns wide and smacks her chops before settling her muzzle near his neck - to check the other pocket. He pulls it out, swipes, and when the door opens he steps in and ushers Kalila in behind him.<BR><BR>

The elevator dings quietly as it reaches its destination and Damian stops out into her place in Metropolis. Arms full and busy with a black fuzzball that has started to snore quietly in his ear again, the boy steps inside and looks around to see the glow of a light on. Kalila’s claws clack on the tile as she follows her boy inside to where he sets his bag and Ursa down, the marshmallow looking at him with confusion, taking a few steps after him before collapsing in a sleepy pile.<BR><BR>

He follows the light into an office, placing his hand on the doorway but not entering as he speaks, careful with his voice as he guards his emotions. “Mother?” His hand grips the frame and he swallows when he has her attention. And when prompted takes a deep breath, making great efforts to keep his words even, brow creasing. “Is it too late for me to come live with you?” She had offered once and told him he had time to decide. Well, he decided.


</div></div>
<div class="necrotag">Pherla (Talia!) </div>
<div class="necronotes">xxxxx.</div></div>
<div class="necrocredits"> luna @ <a href="http://z10.invisionfree.com/Shadowplay/index.php?showuser=24077"> shadowplay </a></div></center>[/dohtml]
Aug 22 2017, 11:26 AM
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<center><div class="necrobox"><img src="http://placehold.it/400x250">
<div class="necrolyrics1">I Don't Need No Army</div>
<div class="necrolyrics2">Because this fight is my own. But either stand up and join me Or surrender the throne</div>

<div class="necrotextbox"><div class="necrotext">

March 9th, 2017<BR><BR>

Damian returns to the batcave in as fine of a mood as can be expected after his impromptu patrol with Todd, his evident, boiling anger an attempt to hide the distressed turmoil burning inside him - the fire heating that cauldron. Something went wrong out on the field, that much is certain, though what he is keeping all to himself. After the infuriating humiliation, how can he be expected to explain it? He had allowed Todd to get to him, is what it was. The vigilante took the opportunity and shoved Damian’s insecurities and inadequacies down the kid’s throat.<BR><BR>

In return, Damian had done something in retaliation that he should not be proud of, an action that would certainly be used against him. He can only hope that Todd’s own pride will prevent him from calling him out and bringing the shortcoming - his lack of self control - to Grayson’s attention. The newly fledged Robin cannot afford to lose any more points with his new...family...and should they find out his position in this said family, on this team, would surely be jeopardized.<BR><BR>

The kid hero returns to the the bat clan’s base of operations and practically tears his cape off his shoulders with a roar of frustration. He flings it away to land in a folded heap, forgotten as he turns his sights on the punching dummy several feet away. Damian nearly throws himself at the thing. It is a poor substitute for Todd, but beating the inanimate surrogate would be more acceptable than the alternative. And he does not have to listen to his elder ‘brother’s’ mouth in the meantime; save for what replays inside his head.<BR><BR>

Damian deals out a flurry of punches and kicks, pummeling the dummy until his muscles go numb and his knuckles throb, until he is gulping in greedy breaths and sweat beads on his forehead. One drop trickles down his temple as he rests his head against the training tool, closing his glaring eyes for a second. The pain in his body gives him something else to focus on rather than the fears running like poison through his blood, tainting his confidence. But it is not enough, not enough to dispel the words from his mind, the voice of Todd growing eerily similar to his own.<BR><BR>

He is very aware of Drake entering the Batcave even before the former Boy Wonder sasses at him. Damian’s eyes snap open and he straightens up, his breath nearly caught and his mind spinning. This one-sided battle was not enough to cure him of his rage and a ‘sacrifice’ had just presented itself on a silver platter. To hell with the fact that he tired himself out, that his limbs feel like jelly, and his bones ache. His will to fight, his need to release this pent up emotion.<BR><BR>

He does not even bother to make a reply to Drake’s taunt. He straightens and spins around, stalking towards his ‘brother’ like a predator. “Fight me, Drake!” he demands with a growl, looking one hundred percent serious. He is not about to give the other teen a choice or a chance to refuse as he leaps at Drake, immediately feinting a blow to the other boy’s face only to drop into a sweeping kick at Drake’s ankles, trying to knock him down.<BR><BR>


</div></div>
<div class="necrotag">Crescent (Tim!) </div>
<div class="necronotes">xxxxx.</div></div>
<div class="necrocredits"> luna @ <a href="http://z10.invisionfree.com/Shadowplay/index.php?showuser=24077"> shadowplay </a></div></center>[/dohtml]
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