Meeting the Team
You'd settled on a flowing, blood red cloak over a black body-suit, topped with a featureless white mask. It makes you look mysterious and dangerous and, as a side effect, stops people from staring at your ass while you're in a skin-tight bodysuit. Not that you're particularly ashamed of your body (Or of anything else really. You never really got the point of shame…), but you'd be sure to get annoyed at gawkers and you're not sure how your fellow heroes would feel about you roasting the idiots.
You walk back to the kitchen in full costume, trying to walk so it looks like you're gliding across the floor, a crimson ghost. You are… only somewhat successful. You find Blood in the kitchen. He at some point while you're preoccupied managed to wake and make himself coffee.
"Today's the day," Blood says, as cheerful as you've ever seen him. "Have you packed all your belongings? You'll be staying at the Hall of Justice from now on."
You scowl at him from behind your mask. "You could at least act like you're sorry I'm leaving."
"I could," he agrees. "I'm not going to, but I could."
You flip him a gesture that you're fairly sure is impolite and he salutes you with a raised coffee mug.
A half an hour later you're sitting in an underground ritual room, carrying a bag filled with all your worldly possessions, tapping your foot impatiently as he kneels before a complex diagram on the floor, hands raised, chanting in a language you don't understand.
Ritualists take forever to get the simplest damn things done.
Finally, the laggard manages to rip open a portal in the thin air above the diagram, a savage maw filled with a maelstrom of otherworldly energies.
He gestures you through the opening with a nod of his head and you comply.
For an instant, you feel yourself step out of this world and into something else… and then you slam back to reality. Except you're not in Blood's basement anymore.
Instead, you're in a rather large room filled with comfortable looking chairs and couches and lined with bookshelves. Three people look at you: a dark skinned man with tattoos that seem mystic in nature to your practiced eyes, a small boy in a black, yellow lined cloak over a red tunic, and another boy clad in entirely in a garish combination of red and yellow, his most noticeable feature the little red lightning bolts affixed to the sides of his head…
Blood is nowhere in sight. Apparently, he's ditched you.
The people you suspect are you new comrades all look at you with varying shades of surprise, the man and the cloaked boy instinctively flinching for their weapons.
The lightning bolt boy merely tilts his head and says, "Ummm… and who are you exactly?"
"I believe she's the last member of our team, the one Batman mentioned. Correct?" the tattooed man asks.
Response?
[X] Say something cool and mysterious like… like… oh shit. Shitshitshit. You can't think of anything. And now you're just standing there like a stunned cow! Oh, nine hells, they're going to think you're addled…
[X] Luckily, you've studied this culture extensively and have a ready reply. "Whazzup, bitches? Scarlet Witch in the Hizzouse!"
[X] Minimal information. Nod in confirmation. "The Scarlet Witch."
[X] Friendly. "Yes. I am called the Scarlet Witch. Or Arrillo. Whichever you prefer. Are you my teammates? Would you like any pepper spray? It's very good."
[X] Break the ice with a question. "Scarlet Witch. So, who did you three kill to get stuck with this?"
[X] "…They expect me to work with children. Belle Reve is looking better and better."
[X]Write-in