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	Rictor Perhaps one of the most underrated characters, Rictor has proven himself time and time again not only to be powerful, but also an intricate, thoughtful, yet very brash man at times. Knowing his boundaries, Rictor is someone who's willing to push himself to his limits, even though sometimes he's not willing to remember that he does indeed have limits. If anything, Rictor has always shown he's someone that'll help others that he strongly cares for, and will always do what he thinks is right, no matter if others think it's not. With his power and compassion, he has the ability to become one of the strongest X-Men to date.
Real Name:	Julio Esteban Richter
Basic Powers:	Generation and projection of vibratory waves
Current Player:	Lonk
Affiliation:	X-Men
Recent Board History:
He was there when Selene killed all the X-Men; he was there witnessing everyone die around him. And he was also there when he saw Polaris die. Before the battle, Rictor found himself attracted to the green-haired woman, despite the fact her ex-boyfriend still happened to be apart of the same team. However, to his surprise and relief, Polaris seemed to share the same sentiment and certainly showed her emotions back toward Rictor. But ultimately, fate was being fickle as Polaris and Rictor never grew close. Once everyone was resurrected, Polaris moved toward Havok, leaving Rictor all alone. Rictor stayed with the European team, mostly staying out of everyone's ways, ignoring the drama and trying to ignore what he thought was certain feelings toward Lorna. Now that he has seemed to move on, leaving the X-Team to clear his head before coming back to Xavier's Institute, Rictor was called back by Karma's message that they needed all the X-Men they could find. Apocalypse was on the rise, and Rictor was willing to help those he once considered close associates. Meeting the St. Croix twins, Karma, and Moonstar, Rictor will finally learn everything that's been transpiring without him...
Sample post by Lonk (subject to copyright):
Richter half walked, half crept through the mansion’s hallways as he mindfully balanced two plates and one drink between two hands. All the way from the kitchen his stomach growled inconsolably, taunted by the two sandwiches and the chips and salsa Richter had prepared earlier. He backtracked the path he’d followed to find the kitchen hoping he wouldn’t take a wrong turn, or otherwise misstep; the portal leading to the living room came like a light at the end of the tunnel to both of them – him and his stomach – when he noticed the room and the familiarities beyond. Much of what he could see stuck him as familiar, though he knew much of it must’ve been replaced over the years. Clearly well loved, the room showed many signs of wear and tear from the aged impressions on the chairs, to sections in the carpet that appeared thin or somewhat threadbare. He’d looked to find his favorite spot on the familiarly placed couch. It was a different couch, but the attraction to simply plop down there was the same. As he passed though the portal, he noticed Shan waiting there, laying restfully against the aforementioned green sofa placed in the center of the room. Wordlessly he moved around it to a neighboring recliner, and cautiously laid out his dishes before he too collapsed into the seat, finally letting out a long awaited sigh. He waited a moment, breathing lightly, staring straight up into the white painted ceiling tarnished with the passage of time and perhaps half a year’s worth of dust, before slightly reeling back and leaning or launching himself forward to pluck the first sandwich off his plate. Bringing it to his lips he chomped down and ate completely unselfconsciously barely managing to chew each mouthful semi-thoroughly before forcing the nearly fresh food down his throat and hungrily returning to the sandwich for more. All the while his eyes took in the second sandwich with a look somewhere between admiration, pride, and longing. Humorously he wondered how the scene would’ve looked to any observers curious enough to watch the spectacle. He looked over at Karma, recalled the comment about washing his hands and wondered if this was what she’d been worried about. Could an as messy eater as himself be trusted to wash his hands before diving into anything as delicate as food preparation? This was a special circumstance but, admittedly, he wasn’t making too good of a first impression to the Vietnamese woman sitting in the chair perpendicular to him. Yeesh, I’m probably confirming her worst fears. He stopped, nodded apologetically, and continued, only now he taking smaller bites and taking his time chewing them. After finishing the first sandwich, he reached back towards to the table to open his soft drink with one hand and grab a handful of chips with the other. Eating and drinking in regular intervals while he gazed blankly into space. Though he hadn’t noticed back in the kitchen, seeing her here made Julio realize how tired Shan must’ve been. While she probably hadn’t been getting enough sleep - who of us older than age 10 ever got a full night's rest - Richter suspected this particular bout of exhaustion was brought on by stress. The mansion appeared fine, so the source of all this strain probably wasn’t some imminent physical disaster, though one could never be certain, as frequently as troubles crashed through the front gates; but when one joined the X-Men there appeared to be no limit to things about which one could feel stressed. It should've been part of the job desciption. Indeed, if he was not stressed in one capacity or another, it was questionable as to whether or not he was even doing his job. I feel fine now. Relatively, I guess. Still he’d come here to jump back into the swing of things, get his hands dirty, and just make himself useful. During the trek over the border and the proceeding bus ride up to New York, he’d questioned his resolve, his seriousness, and his ability to stick with the rest of the team despite personal reservations and inconveniences. At the end of his string of thoughts what it all came down to was the strength of his work ethic. Now sitting next to someone whose integrity towards the job and the team was clearly being tested – someone who, despite being tired, maintained an almost exemplary facade of purpose and composure – he felt torn between the need to do or say something to prove himself equally serious, and his first impulse which told him to take her austere demeanor along with the terrible gravity of the entire situation with a grain of salt. When he listened to the latter side more closely, it also told him to whip that bottle of authentic, home brand tequila in his duffel bag out and use it to seduce some sweet thing in town into spending a night with him. At this, his conscience gave him a mean jab. That doesn’t sound right. He shoved idea aside. Right, helpful, useful, dedicated. He turned towards Karma and, at the risk of making things awkward, spoke up. ”You look beat. Are you feeling okay?” Julio had never been very good at the art of skillful conversation. The longest conversations he’d had with people as of late had been under the influence of the drink which shouldn’t really count, because the stuff had a way of speaking all on its own, hell it could be really good at it depending on how much he and his partner had drank that night. If he tried to loosen himself up like that, his intuition told him that Karma would be unimpressed at best. So he’d gone in cold turkey. It was done, no point in fretting over it now.