OoC: Righto. I suddenly have an idea that should be rather fun. xD Thank you, Three Doors Down.
Hope I can pull it off decently.. Never played a character quite like this before.
Oh, and I'll probably do a post later. I should really start on my math right now..

Name: Donald Roan; Don, among his small bingo-going group of friends
Age: Seventy-two.
Gender: Male.

Appearance: Donald is pretty well describable in three words: frail old man. Despite still being somewhat round in the face, parts of him simply scream that they're made of gla-ss. And those screams aren't entirely wrong, considering how many broken bones he's gotten in recent years as results of various attempts to 'fight crime' - he usually hurts himself by falling from some high place. God knows how he got up there, says the psychiatrist who was a-ssigned to counsel him after the first several of these falls.

Even upon focusing more on Donald's features themselves, we can easily see that those same three words still apply. His hair, a thin white whisp atop his head, appears to be brittle as the boughs of a long-dead tree, unkempt and uncaring. His rather large and not quite straight nose is blotched with brown, and his dark, tired eyes almost always hold a sort of longing, seemingly lost in the past. Only whilst saving someone do Donald's eyes brighten up; his smile finally reaches them, rather than being a simple mask of happiness.

Personality: Overall, Donald's strongest joy comes from helping the innocent - bashing that thief with a woman's purse, pulling children from a flaming school.. things you can imagine the average big-city hero doing. But, having slowed up quite a bit in his old age, Donald doesn't get much of this joy. It's difficult to catch a criminal while being reliant on the permanent aid of a cane. So he's basically a shell of himself; he still goes out every week for bingo and puts on a smile for his friends, but he never really tries. True happiness has become an almost unattainable thing for him.

History: Donald used to be quite the hero where he lives. But that was twenty or thirty years ago; no seventy-year-old can truly suffice as the people's savior, right? (... I can't think of anything more to put here that I haven't already detailed in other sections. xD Gah, I always do that - I start out saying everything, then run out of things by the end.)

Power: Pretty much, despite his apparent frailness, Donald is resistant to most physical injury - flame, force, friction, you name it. All will have quite a bit more difficulty affecting him than they would a normal person, although this is not to say he's invincible to them. Only resistant. And, of course, there is the exception - Donald's kryptonite, if you will. The only thing that can easily harm him (aside from time, of course) is gravity. For some reason, any fall, be it from two feet or twenty, will result in severe injury.

Hero/Villain: Hero.

ooc; *Has flashbacks of Kryptonite music video*

I haven't seen the video in a trillion years but I remember it picture perfect now. xD Awesome character. ^^

((No don't die!D8))

  Aurora looked around. She walked until she felt a wall and let out her vapor melting it. She kept on walking blindly in the dark uintil she saw some light she walked close to it and saw some shadow guards. She snuck around the corner nearly crashing into a shadow. 

((Writers block))

OoC: Gargh, I always get all distracted and take forevers. And I didn't manage to sneak much humor into this one at all. x3 Ah, well.

It had been yet another average day, and now it seemed it would be another long night as well. The old man lying on his back, hands clasped atop his stomach, breathed a quiet, rattling sigh that seemed to echo through the small room and return, like a tiny moth attracted back to him. Not too satisfying for a sigh.

"Well," he muttered, heaving himself up with some effort and a few popping joints. He winced ever so slightly, then sighed again. "No use lyin' 'round. Maybe Jeff'll be out tonight, lemme talk to.. hm?" There was the sound of shouting outside through a cracked-open window, then a barely audible murmuring. It was so quiet, yet so very, venomously threatening. Donald couldn't help but imagine the worst - perhaps a creep carting a knife, about to end some woman's life?

But he shook his head lightly. How could he possibly help? Unless the guy wasn't too smart, he'd lose them in an instant.

Yet, still.. he couldn't simply stand aside and do nothing, right? Surely there was a chance. The old man snatched up his cane, rushing - or at least, hobbling as quickly as he could - outside. What he saw upon peeking around the corner, though, was anything but what he'd expected.