Aceline "Ace" Enyll Maskless
|Civilian name||Aceline "Ace" Enyll|
|Bombshell C? | Rockstar AA|
>Not much is known about Bombshell other than a series of PHO postings (with pictures for verification!), possible rumors of an OnlyCapes account, and a small string of robberies, assaults, and low-profile cape enforcer work. Anything that she’s done in costume has had enough plausible deniability that she could just be an accessory to several crimes. There’s a low-key website, a few ads, and an internet presence that seems to suggest a “for hire” sort of attitude without actually saying anything at all. Her public persona is easier to find information about. She does amateur modeling, is in several small advertisements, has an online magazine interview about “girl power” in the work space, and is very vocal about the issues she finds important. It’s easy to find artistic, semi-risqué photos of her if you search hard enough. She knows that you’ve looked. She doesn’t mind.
Equipment and Resources
Aceline current holds an exorbitantly paying secretary job within the business district in one of those chrome and steel buildings that has a doorman, a valet, a metal detector, and the security needed to keep the average folk out and on the street. She has a considerably nice apartment, a current-year mid-luxury sedan, and all of the little perks that her lifestyle affords her. A room of her apartment is solely dedicated to her computer, streaming, and amateur photography. (Which is of course, all of her.)
Skills and Specializations
In the field Aceline carries her costume, a concealed knife, an extendable baton, pepper spray, a small leather bag filled with ball bearings, several small and flat pieces of metal, zip ties, chapstick, a burner phone, business cards, and several other small odds and ends for quality of life.
For Aceline, it’s all about, me, me, me. She was her parent’s spoiled little princess, a ruthless playground bully and tyrant, prom queen twice, ruler of the clique’s, and an all around Regina George. She knows that she’s pretty, she knows that she’s hot, and she knows that she can bat her eyelashes or wiggle her fingers at whoever she needs to in order to get the job done. If that fails? Gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss. Aceline is entirely aware of who she is, why she does what she does, and the steps that she needs to take in order to stay at the top of the social food chain. She thinks that “hard work,” “perseverance,” and, “inner beauty,” are all just silly little buzzwords and cliches to make people feel better about themselves when their lives suck. She knows that she’s never been an ugly duckling, knows that she’s never done much hard work, and is well aware that she’s taking the easy road. She doesn’t care. Empathy is for people that weren’t born pretty. Be it manipulation, nepotism, flirtation, or implied favors of a certain nature, Aceline will get where she wants to go in life, and you will help her whether you like it or not. She’d like if you liked it, though.
Bombshell has the ability to imbue any non-living material (she cannot affect anything "living." No changers, plant or animal material, ETC. She cannot affect something 'living' with Synthetic biology.) with diffuse multicolored light, an increased amount of durability, telekinetic control within a visual range, and the ability to detonate these objects in a flash of concussive energy and disorienting patterns/flashes/sparkles of light.
She can only effect objects that are individual things- not segments of something greater. She can imbue clothing with her power- but only loose outerwear and non-piercing jewelry. Effects and control decreases the further away from her the object goes. Larger objects are slower and have less control, but generally hit harder.
The largest object she is able to imbue with her power is, roughly, the size of a standard box truck. The objects that she imbues with her power become, typically, twice to three times as durable as the base material. She has precise telekinetic control of these objects within roughly 45-60 feet of her, after which the control of her power turns from a scalpel, to a mallet, to a sledgehammer, so on and so forth until her range has been reached.
The explosions that her power creates are capable to be changed at Bombshell’s whim, but typically the larger the object is- the bigger the boom. The blasts themselves are a combination of concussive force, overpressure, light, and sound that is relative to the size of the object. Bombshell cannot modify or change these effects, however she can increase or decrease the strength of explosions slightly in each direction. She is more than capable of creating more than lethal detonations due to this, and typically constrains herself to smaller objects and smaller explosive charges to minimize chance of accidental death or dismemberment.
The lights that her explosions create are in every color of the rainbow (and then some, it’s weird cape colors that don’t ‘exist’ too!) simultaneously. They provoke a flashbang, disorienting effect upon detonation. Depending on the material composition of the object, they can survive multiple detonations of her power before they either become inert, or are destroyed. Metals and other alloys work the best with her power, and channel it the best.
She is able to stand and float/fly on objects under the effects of her own power, and is simultaneously immune to the objects she imbues and the detonations she causes, but not immune to physics. For example, if she manages to touch something before it hits her, she can negate the damage done to herself. She can not do this to something she feasibly couldn’t stop with her body normally, such as bullets or incorporeal materials.
With bigger objects that could crush her entirely- it’s a risky game of cat and mouse. However, it’s entirely possible for her power to blow her across the room, slam her into walls, and otherwise move her in response to the kinetic forces. She is immune to the kinetic repercussions of her blast, and will often ‘bounce’ herself around and away using coordinated explosions to knock her body around.
Please see the following chart for example detonations:
Marble: A little less than a flashbang, more than a a cherry bomb. Using a metal ball bearing would be a little more than a flashbang.
Cellphone: More than a flashbang, less than a hand grenade. However, not by much.
Baseball: About as effective as a flashbang. However, an equally sized piece of metal, or composites containing metal would be about as powerful as a modern-day hand grenade.
Cinderblock A little less than a hand grenade. Will be more powerful if that size of an object is metal.
Blacksmithing anvil: Significantly more powerful than a hand grenade. About land-mine, anti-vehicle explosive, or small man-portable surface to air missile. However, something of this size not made out of metal will do significantly less damage.
Motorcycle: Again, about as much as an anvil would do. A little bit more than a land mine, but less than a mortar shell.
Box Truck: A box truck-sized object of roughly the same material composition (metal) would yield an explosion about the size of an artillery shell, or demolition-grade explosives. Seriously massive and destructive explosion.
The car stopped. The door opened. A leg swung out first, planting itself on the ground before the rest of the figure sinuously emerged from the vehicle. A woman, wearing a heavy, long, jacket, exited and stood, closing the door behind herself with a soft whump. A blonde figure patted the car a few times before she turned around and walked towards the building in front of her. It was a nondescript building, a warehouse built sometime between 30-50 years ago. A bit old, a bit crumbling, entirely unnoticeable. The woman stepped forward, and soon found herself inside. It wasn’t long before she found where she was going, the small studio that a friend of her had recommended. An opportunity to get a bit more out of her modeling “career” and maybe break off more into the artistic world. Paintings, maybe? Photography as a medium for the expression of the human body was underrated. Budoir pictures were essential. Plus they were fun.
Aceline enjoyed doing them.
She shook hands with the crew and host and photographer before she slid her jacket off and hung it up on a hook. The shoot was pretty average, even if the location was a bit odd. The background was all brick and mortar stuff, red hues and concrete and old. Very 1920’s pin-up. Aceline looked the area over, ignoring one of the crew members as he talked at her. He was flirting, or trying to. Bless him. He thought he had a shot.
She undressed to dress, folding her clothes neatly and standing there, barely clothed. The cold air prickled her skin. She got used to it. At the direction of the photographer, she slowly slid onto the couch at the edge of set, allowing her body to settle into a lithe, relaxed position. The flashbulbs clicked. Aceline kept her eyes open, a playful smirk as real as could be on her face. All the eyes on her. They really couldn’t help themselves if they wanted to. She shifted poses a few more times, light blurring her eyes with each click of the camera, the flashes irritating in their abundance.
“Take off your clothes.”
“Excuse me? I wasn’t aware this was a nude shoot. That wasn’t in the contract, in the paperwork I signed, or in the pay scale.”
“Yeah, that’s the fault of our management, this was supposed to be a nude shoot after the first few pin-ups. Do you have an issue with that?”
“I mean, I do. If I’m not getting paid for it, I don’t think I really want to do that.”
Aceline kept her figure calm, cool, smooth, collected. She couldn’t show any sort of discomfort, or any sort of weakness. This wasn’t the first time that a photographer had been a bit of a sleaze. It wouldn’t be the last.
“Okay, well, I’ll throw in the additional pay for it, then. Just do it, alright? You signed the dotted line, we’ve got copies of your forms in the office.”
“I think I have the right to refuse something that wasn’t directly outlined to me.”
“I think you have the right to shut the fuck up, get undressed, and pose.”
Aceline blanched. She was acutely aware of just how outnumbered she was. The tone of the photographer wasn’t just assertive, it was downright dangerous.
“I.. Alright, alright. That’s fine.”
The photographer muttered something under his breath. She heard it. It was just as degrading as she thought it would be.
The camera clicked a few more times as her hands moved to her back, beginning to unhook the first piece.
“Alright. Bill? It’s about that time.”
Aceline paused, some sort of prey instinct shooting through her spine. A figure shifted from behind the curtain of the set. Someone big. The mood of the shoot had shifted dramatically, she could feel it in the air.
“People know I’m here.”
“And? That doesn’t seem pertinent.”
“People would know if I went missing.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s good. Pays to keep yourself safe after all.”
The camera flashed.
The camera flashed.
The camera flashed.
One minute it was calm. Aceline felt her breath catch, all of her hair suddenly stand on end as if static was running through her. Here. Now.
She stood up quickly, attempting to move for the door.
The camera flashed.
The figure behind the curtain moved faster.
The camera flashed.
The struggle was swift, she thought she screamed.
The camera flashed.
A punch to the gut, the sensation of being thrown, of falling.
The camera flashed.
Someone speaking to her, she couldn’t hear past the sound of rushing blood in her ears. Could barely even see. Black, tunnel vision. She thought she had ended up back on the couch. A figure standing above her, something glinting in hand. She felt fear, real, true, raw fear. The sound of laughter was ice in her ears, in her veins freezing her up. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t fucking *do* anything!
Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash.
The knife came down.
The camera flashed.
Her hand reached out and she screamed.
Something flashed before her eyes, utterly alien, utterly awe inspiring and awesome and washing away everything that she was. She felt small, pathetic, useless. A form, a figure, something indescribable twisting and flowing and shifting in ways that things weren’t meant to shift and move and-
Pieces of it flaked off infinitely, a dodecahedron spiraling tower of light. O’ god, what have I done to deserve this? The pieces flaked down, spinning infinitely in a dance that took her breath away. One of them floating down, down, down.
- The knife came down as her hands went up to meet it, a furious, awful scream bubbling out of her throat as if her entire soul had been imbued into it. As soon as the knife touched her hand it shone like a star, gleaming with light. “What the fu-“ The knife flashed. So did everything else in the room. - Aceline eventually staggered out of the room, blood staining her, hands curled into claws, a vicious look on her face, hair tussled and fussed and ruined out of the work she’d put into it. She stepped out of the building, leaving a wake of destruction behind her. Red in tooth and claw. Her mind a mess, the sensation of (P O W E R) something in the back of her mind now, a vision like something she’d heard on the radio in the midst of a dream. The memory fled as she tried to grasp it. She steeled herself. Aceline left, leaving the flashing lights behind her.