Shatterverse Panfandom RP

In another world, several beings have gathered. In one corner, his face buried in a  bottle, is what to all appearences seems to be a bum, a hobo, a street person. He's dressed in ragged clothes, in multiple layers, and doesn't seem to have washed in years. Hid name is Bob, and he is God of Travel. Towards the center of the room three other gods argue. A rather dapper looking young man, maybe all of twenty one, seems to be doing most of the talking. They call him Mikell, God of Luck. His sister Clarice has been dressed, against her will, in some form of white flowing garment, that does more to emphasize her generous curves then to hide them. Upon her has been bestowed the title, God of Good. And finally, we have a man who has become half machine, the creator of the God Wave and God of Technology, Victor.

As the argument escalates, a  dry voice interupts from a nearby window. "As fascinating as this conversation is, it has little bearing on the issues at hand. Whether or not you believe in free will, we must decide whether we are actually creating a"  the face in the window, rarely emotional, manages to make the word sound distasteful "Pantheon, or not. As beings of power, it will, eventually, fall upon our shoulders to make this world a better place, and save the remnants of humanity from themselves."

Mikell rolls his eyes, following it up with a glare for the dull little man in the reflection. "Well, if it isn't an opinion from the god of all things bright and shiny! Why the hell didn't you tell us about the minotaur? That thing damn near ripped my head off!"

Mort doesn't smile. He might smirk, from time to time, but smiling is right out. However something in his voice does convey amusement. "I knew you would be able to handle it. If I simply tell you everything, where is the fun? Seriously Mikell, you must-" Mort, tapping into his powers at random, sees nothing in his future but a giant blackness. He finds himself, for once, at a loss for words. Then he is gone.

"Mort?" Mikell peers into the reflection. "This isn't funny man, come back here!"




Worlds away, in the same building, in the same window, Mort finds himself staring out on a  new world. In his mind, he can see the branching paths of the future, and quite a bit that seems to be hidden from him.
This is different. This is new.

All across the world, reflections alter, a timid looking older gentleman staring forth boldly from them. Mort is everywhere there is a reflection, and he's looking for someone to talk to.