Rhea Hartman
Feb 8, 2014 23:01:34 GMT -5
Post by Rhea Hartman on Feb 8, 2014 23:01:34 GMT -5
The easy S T U F F . . .
Name: Rhea Andrea Hartman
Nickname: Rockslide, from her boxing days (she hates it). Dee, to her family.
Age: 35
Member Group: Local: police officer, volunteer firefighter
Power(s): Power suppression. Rhea can temporarily weaken or remove another meta's abilities. Any side-effects of a meta's powers are suppressed for the duration as well. Rhea can suppress a single person or everyone in an area of effect. Any degree of suppression causes fatigue, but the more people she is affecting and the longer she sustains a suppression the more quickly she tires, to the point where extended or wide-spread use may cause her to pass out.
Rhea's extensive physical training means that she is able to stave off the fatigue caused by her ability for a period of time, but eventually she must rest and recharge after suppression. To work around this, Rhea often uses her powers in short bursts, suppressing her target's powers for only a few seconds and using the time and their disorientation to get in close for a physical confrontation. Having your powers suppressed is a jarring experience, and her targets often feel a tightening in their chest or forehead while under her effect.
Play By: Laila Ali
Let it F L O W . . .
"It is October 2, 2004 and Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen to the main event of the evening! Here in the Copper Box Arena in Reno, Nevada, you are about witness a bout for The International Boxing Association Women's Heavyweight Belt. And now, to introduce tonight's contenders!
In the red corner, weighing in at 193 pounds and 6' 1”, with a professional record of 9 wins, 4 by way of KO, 2 loses, and 1 draw, she is the current US Heavyweight Champion of the Women's IBA, here defending her title tonight, from the Newport Naval Base, Rhode Island, living in New York, New York, please welcome Rhea, 'Rockslide,' HARTMAAAAN!”
“Munroe, if you call me Rockslide one more time I'm gonna make you eat your own balls.”
The squeaking of sneakers and the thud of a basketball echoed around the gym at the New York Police Department 30th Precinct Station. Rhea stood low to the ground, dribbling a basketball between her legs and watching for her teammate out of the corner of her eye. She grinned at her defender, one Officer Teddy Munroe. Teddy Munroe had been a bouncer before he started with the NYPD, and he and Rhea usually ended up defending each other during pickup games. “For the last time, I was like twenty years old when I came up with it, and after the first pro match I couldn't change it.”
“Can't imagine why it bothers you,” Munroe smirked at her. “Rockslide Hartman, maybe they can get that printed on your ba—”
Rhea made a break for the basket. She rammed hard into him with her shoulder, he shoved back, she jumped, and in the split second of forearms and elbows he tipped the ball out of her hands. It bounced to the floor, where Rhea's teammate Jordie scooped it up and darted back to the free throw line. “Bound to get lucky once in a while, champ,” Rhea said with a smile as she knocked into Munroe on her way up the court. “Nice recovery, Jordie!”
“It's six already?” Tom, the fourth player in the game, paused and mopped off his forehead. “Crap, my patrol starts in ten minutes.”
Several other players made noises of assent. Rhea slapped Munroe's hand with a 'good game' as the group began to make its way towards the locker rooms. Jordie brought up the rear, still dribbling the basketball. “Nobody likes the night shift. Are either of you scheduled today?”
“I already got off,” Rhea said as she squatted down next to her enormous gym bag. In less than an hour, half the contents of the overstuffed bag had managed to colonize several feet of the floor. Jordie watched idly as she began shoving sweaty towels, weights, a knee brace, and a hairdryer back inside. Make that two hairdryers.
“Oh, hey, I've been meaning to ask you.” Jordie snapped his fingers. “The big football match against Precinct 17 is on Wednesday, and Kyle bailed on us. We need another player, just for the one night.” He tossed the basketball to her. “Could you make it?”
Rhea caught the basketball. “Sorry, I can't. My nephew and sister-in-law are coming to visit next week.” She tossed the ball back. “Why don't you ask Rachel? I've seen her do some amazing stuff at soccer practice, and I know she's free on Wednesdays. We go to ladies night together down at the Meck sometimes.”
“I don't know if she'd be—ladies night?” Jordie blinked. “Really? At the Meck?”
“Yes, at the Meck, no, not at the Wild Rose, to answer your unspoken question.” Rhea rolled her eyes and turned back to her bag. “C'mon, not every woman who boxes and plays on rec leagues is a lesbian. We had a great time, you should ask her to play.”
Jordie didn't respond. His brain had deadlocked on the image of Rhea in a crop top and six-inch heels. There was a reason he had asked her to join their football team and not, say, the annual charity calendar. It wasn't that she was unattractive; she had beautiful, sleepy black eyes and a dainty smile. Even the various scars and tattoos had a certain appeal, if you liked that sort of thing. She was just...well, there was a lot of her. The woman was six feet tall, broad-shouldered, long-legged, flat-chested, with arms like a blacksmith and hips that probably required specially tailored jeans.
“Stop thinking about me naked, Jordie, or you're going to be standing there all day.” He was jerked back to reality with a squirt from Rhea's water bottle. She laughed and hoisted her gym bag onto her shoulder as he sputtered water off of his face. “I've got to get going. Don't forget to talk to Rachel. See you tomorrow, all right?” And with that, she turned for the locker room and left the man flushing red on the three-point line.
~~~
“And in the blue corner, her opponent! Hailing from Lynwood, California, weighing in at 196 pounds with a professional record of 11 wins, 5 knockouts and 3 loses, the Stinger from the West Coast, please welcome, Christina, 'Striker,' MAAAAARTINEZ!"
Rhea's brother didn't like her working in law enforcement. Just because she was a suppressor didn't mean she should be personally responsible for every ill-behaved meta in New York City, Daniel said. Her hours were too long, the work too dangerous, and they didn't pay her enough. There were plenty of other careers that would suit her just as well and wouldn't require getting fireballs thrown at her head.
To which Rhea always replied, I stop them from throwing fireballs. Which meant that one more drug dealer, murderer, or serial rapist ended up rotting for the rest of their lives in a prison cell where they belonged.
Rhea's foot landed a few inches below the handle of the flaking apartment door. The crash was barely audible over the screaming coming from inside. “This is the NYPD!” Her partner Nathan shouted again. A final kick splintered the latch free from the doorframe.
With a step, Rhea glided into the familiar slow motion of adrenaline. Shabby apartment, hallway, living room. Two people fighting in the kitchen. No sign of weapons. A woman, facing them, struggling with another figure that seemed to be choking her. Just as they entered, the woman collapsed onto the table with a clatter of silverware. The other figure started clambering on top of her, and something about its movements was horribly wrong. It lurched to the side as the screaming woman tried to throw it off, and Rhea got her first good look at the figure's face.
An inflated, sagging head, protuberant eyes, lips sucked back over fused teeth. The bulging neck slumped at an impossible angle, and little puckered noises escaped its mouth as it clung to the woman on the table. It's arms ended not in hands, but in pulpy tendrils wrapped around the woman's chest.
Putting a full-force suppression on a shifter could be dangerous. They were forced immediately back to their human form, and such a rapid, involuntary transition greatly increased the chance of injury.
Rhea didn't care. She smashed a field onto the pulpy thing in the kitchen, and the effect was instantaneous. The thing on the table squealed and snapped upright as if it had been electrocuted. A series of snaps rippled down the thing's back, and it collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Rhea reached it before it even had a chance to roll over. One knee landed in between its shoulder blades and she twisted its arms behind its back. Nathan rushed forward to help the gasping woman on the table. “You are under arrest for domestic assault,” Rhea said coldly. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be—”
“Stop! Stop!”
The woman on the table threw herself nearly on top of Rhea. “He's my son!” she cried. “My son, my son! He needs a doctor, please! He just started swelling up, I don't know what happened, I panicked, please don't hurt him!”
Rhea looked down. The thing on the table had crumpled into a teenage boy. He was dressed all in black, with a wilted mohawk, chains on his pants, and eyeliner running down his cheeks. His skin shone with sweat, and tufts of his mohawk had fallen out. He was gulping for air and sobbing in pain.
Something in Rhea's chest went cold. “...used...against you...”
~~~
“This is looking like a tough match for Hartman. After her no-show forfeit to Alysha Jones in 2002, many thought her boxing career was finished for good. Hartman did not surface again for more than a year, but the sabbatical and her new manager have been serving her well. This is her second defense of the heavyweight title, but Martinez is a more experienced boxer and I think we can see the strain on Hartman showing.”
“Hey Daniel.”
“Dee? It's two o'clock in the—ugh, never mind. I have to get up in a few hours to take care of the horses anyway.” Rustling, the creak of a door, a long yawn. “What's up?”
Rhea sat on the edge of her kitchen table with a phone propped against her ear, rolling a dumbbell back and forth with her toe. “Eh, I can't sleep. Long day at work, went to the gym, beat the shit out of my punching bag, but I'm just not feeling it. I dunno. Maybe too many night shifts. How're Haden and Miriam doing? Did you get the package I sent?”
Rhea heard more rustling on the other end of the line. “Which one? The one filled with baby socks or the one with all the organic baby food?”
“Both.” Rhea smiled. “Is Haden asleep? Miriam told me he's started making it to 10 or 11 hours at night.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Rhea breathed a sigh into the mouthpiece and rubbed her forehead. “I wish I could see him. When's the next time I can come visit you guys?”
There was a brief pause on the other line. “Seriously Rhea, what's wrong?” Her brother's voice grew tense. “Did anything happen? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I'm fine,” she said shortly.
Words passed between them in the heavy silence of the line.
Rhea was the one who broke it. “Just, ever since that octopus shifter kid, it hasn't been...I don't know. It's not the same anymore.” She leaned back on the kitchen table, knocking free several plates and a bridesmaid dress in the process. “And they're making budget cuts to my department, and I want to be able to spend more time with Haden...I just don't know.”
“Why don't you move?” More rustling as Daniel adjusted the phone. “It might do you good to get out of the city for a while. Where else do people need suppressors?”
“Mostly security stuff.” Rhea stared at her ceiling. Security stuff, escorts. Her memory flicked back to the octopus kid. They had taken him directly to the hospital, and a recruiter from Hammel appeared a few hours later. Rhea had attended Hammel herself, years ago. Started at 14, graduated at 18 with a 2.3 GPA. It was quite a school. Poor kiddo. If the recruiter hadn't shown up when she did, she didn't know what would have happened.
A light clicked on in her head.
~~~
“A hard right by Martinez, another right by Martinez, Hartman comes in with a combination, Martinez—oh! And a perfect cross from Hartman, and Martinez is down! The ref comes in for a count...and Martinez is out! Hartman wins in the ninth round with an amazing knockout blow! What a fight! This is what boxing is all about, ladies and gentlemen! It looks like Hartman will stand to defend her title another day!”
In the last several years, an unofficial hazing tradition had cropped up at the Pilot Ridge Fire Department. Rhea thought the whole thing was ridiculous, and wished that the other firefighters would stop blabbing about the IBA. Once a new volunteer found out about it, every bicep-curling, protein-shake-chugging, gym rabbit recruit fresh out of Hammel suddenly saw Rhea not as another firefighter, but an obstacle in the path of their manhood.
“You've got a good arm,” Rhea said as she helped one slightly dazed Dylan Okypete to his feet. “But there's a lot more to boxing than just punching hard. You left your flanks wide open.”
“B-but you did that thing—you turned my reflexes off!” Dylan sputtered. “That's not fair!”
“It's completely fair,” Rhea laughed. “If you're allowed to use your abilities in a fight, so am I.” She began unlacing her gloves with her teeth. “Keep working on it, and maybe I'll let you win in a couple years.”
After changing out of her gym clothes and taking a rest, Rhea jogged out of the locker room and into the administrative office to check in for her shift. The fire chief glanced up as she entered. “Okypete finally got you to fight him? Was he one of yours?”
“Nah, I was only at the Institute for two years.” Rhea bent over to sign her name into the on-duty list. “Recruiting was fine, but all I really did was travel and talk to parents.” She put down the pen and stretched. “I was volunteering down here every spare minute just to keep from going stir crazy. But I like the town, and it's only an hour's drive to visit my brother from here. So I decided to go back to police work full-time instead.”
“Well, policing up here must be a walk in the park after the NYPD.”
Rhea chuckled. “You'd be surprised. Less murder-suicides, yeah, but we stay busy. I'm technically with the county, too, so there's a lot of area. Between the police and the fire department emergency calls, sometimes it takes me a minute to remember if I'm supposed to check the person's breathing or arrest them.”
“I'd default to checking their breathing.”
“Where's the fun in that?” Rhea grinned and held out a hand. “I can get a pulse while I'm putting on the handcuffs. Do you have the key to the equipment locker?”
“Right here.” The fire chief reached under his desk and tossed her a keyring. “But if you're going to be using the sledgehammers again, please make sure to clean up after yourself.”
“Will do.” Rhea turned on her heel and strode out of the office with keys jingling in her pocket. Okypete wasn't nearly finished with his training yet.
The match on October 2 was Rhea “Rockslide” Hartman's last appearance as a professional boxer. With a final record of 10 wins, 2 losses and 1 draw, and a 55% knockout rate, Hartman withdrew from the sport professionally to start her career with the NYPD. She expressed a desire to impact crime in the city, as well as put her meta-human abilities to use. The IBA wishes Hartman good luck, and we are confident that her work ethic, sportsmanship, and exceptional right uppercut will serve her well in whatever field she chooses to pursue.
Behind the M A S K . . .
Name: Elsinore! Or Ellie.
Age: Early twenties
RP Experience: Since I was but a wee tot
How did you find us?: Sarasarasara
Show your S K I L L S . . .
By now, the land that they had reached had no real towns, just stakes of family territory with a circle of tents and huts in the middle. Three days after they left the story of Jaws behind, they finally reached their destination.
They were traveling alone by this time, and the land had turned hilly and was covered with dry, scrubby brush. It was bad land for farming, passable for grazing, and they hadn't passed anything but wild goats for at least a day. Finally, a man appeared around a turn in the road. He was sitting against a low rock wall, and a child at his side was scratching a stick around in the dirt.
"Hey, I think that's them!" Adrea started to jog, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, "Eyla, Damies! Damies!"
The man looked up, then stood, waved, and shouted back. The boy dropped his stick and ran towards them. Adrea began running too, and halfway down the road she caught him up in her arms and gave him what must of been a bone-crushing hug. His limbs stuck awkwardly out to the sides as she kissed his forehead, then blew a raspberry into the top of his head.
By this point the man had approached as well. He was even taller than Adrea but not as thickset, and a mane of black, braided and dreadlocked hair fell almost to his waist. He was grinning broadly with a smile identical to Adrea's.
Adrea put the boy down to embrace her brother, and the two exchanged heartfelt greetings. While they did so, the boy, who was about ten and wearing a knee-length, dust-stained tunic and vest, turned to Ash and asked, "Who are you?"
