Isn't it amazing, now I have princess wings!
"Alright, lock up when you're done", Mike said to no one in particular. There was no one in his area of Braeburn's corporate offices just yet. At this point, the occult department consisted of just him, but he liked to pretend that he was a boss and had people to manage. It was a fun delusion. The door locked automatically with a click when it closed. Alone in the hallway, Mike donned his work clothes and pulled out a grimoire from a satchel slung over his shoulder. It was leather, done in the old Eastern European style favored by the pretentious and the insane, inked in silvery designs running from cover to cover and even along the spine.
He pulled open the Arc Codex. Page 117. Although he had not gotten around to creating an index for the book yet, it was the one page he always remembered. Muttering a few words, he felt a snap, like the feeling of a rubber glove being pulled tightly around his skin. Then it was gone and the glamor was in place. Satisfied, Mike Saxena walked through the door and Dr. Hassan - the Doctor - stepped out of the corporate offices of Braeburn Risk Suppression. He walked down to his car and yanked the driver door, hard. It came open only reluctantly and groaned. Hassan stepped inside and keyed the ignition as he reached behind him for a box with a half-eaten pizza. He was already running an energy deficit and tonight he had a field call to make.
Down in Old Town, an uncomfortably thick fog rolled in. An ill wind followed, punctuated occasionally by the shrieks of the damned as the Ghetto Ghost rushed through.
Wise Papa Smurf, corrupted by his own power. CAN NO LEADER GO UNTAINTED?!
King of Lame-Style
Ah, the city at night, the breeze against her face, power flowing through her body, her legs pumping away as she leaped from building to building. Alice liked this feeling of invulnerability that overcame her whenever she went out on patrol. Her life had truly turned into a new chapter. Look out bad guys! Apex is here, and here to stay.
The graceless warrior, wielder of the edgeless blade, prophet of the old religions, writer of fluent nonsense, saviour of soul and song.
Detective Kane unhooked the cable from his neck's input port, and then shut the faceplate on his suit. He had always hated paperwork, so being able to get it out of the way quickly was his fourth favorite perk of his current situation. He got up from his desk and opened the door to his office, stepping out into the main building of the RCPD.
He walked into the garage and stepped up to his car. His third favorite aspect of his situation was the car. The SUV might not be as covert as his old Charger, which had not been as fortunate, but it came with the job, so he wasn't one to complain. Besides, it had certain qualities to it. He looked it over for a few seconds to see if he could detect if anyone had tampered with it, and got in.
He prepared himself for another sleepless night spent patrolling the city, instead of what he wanted to do, which was investigate one of his many open cases. Most witnesses apparently didn't want to talk talk in the dead of night - the chief had made that part pretty clear from early on- but hadn't specified what else he could do with all this time he had on his hands, so of course, he had to improvise for these last few years.
With that, he started the engine, and like usual, began to drive around the city.
John Sanderssen, curator of the Radio City Museum, slid a CD into a player hooked directly into the PA system.
George Washington came first and he was Perfect...
He locked up all the display cases, set the stanchions around the exhibits and shuttered up most of the major wings, save one, where they stored their new exhibits. Such as the Eye of Horus, a shining purple gem straight out of Egypt. John personally disliked the New Exhibits wing, with its multiple entrances and glass skylight, but also acknowledged that it was necessary to let Supervillains in from an area that would force Superheroes to catch them, as opposed to the police, because jailing would just be unproductive. He locked a few more display cases, then disappeared into the labyrinth of storage backrooms, where they put the Armor of Stalwart after about 7 PM weekdays, 9 PM Friday and Saturday.
Minutes later, all the doors in the museum would be recorded as locked; Sanderssen lived a few blocks away, so he never drove. He could be assumed to be gone, which is a damn shame, because Stalwart, the Knight in Shining Armor, resplendent in steel platemail and shining light through any gaps in his armor and the visor of his sallet, emerged from the storage where his armor was kept, as always, and stood next to the Eye of Horus. He knew something was up tonight, he just did. The tracks changed.
" Alas, my love, you do me wrong... " Stalwart sang along, lyrics memorized long ago in some other life. He gripped his weapons tighter, set the sallet's visor lower on his head.
In a significantly less emotional and serious part of town, Jeff Sanderssen, Professor Holocaust, was walking down the street in full supervillain regalia. That is, an ill-fitting trenchcoat covered in fire and covering a bulletproof vest, a pair of cheap mirrored shades, also orange and white, and a pair of massive, yellow, tubular weapons, mounted loosely on his arms. In left hand, a walkman blasting music. In his right, a chocolate milkshake bought from the DQ down the street. Tonight was an Antipatrol Night, where he simply walked the quiet streets in search of a superhero to kill, or another villain's operation to join.
"YOU CAN DANCE IF YOU WANT TO! YOU CAN LEAVE YOUR FRIENDS BEHIND!" he declared, then took a hearty SSHHUUURRRKRKKKKKHHHHHH of his milkshake and set off down the street.
And in a third part of town, Rick Johansen put on some smooth jazz,
sat back in his apartment, turned on the TV, and waited for the news to talk about him. Not him specifically, more the six clones placed strategically around the city. Three by the docks, waiting for work of some kind to some douche whose name he forgot; the other three were located outside various locations of interest: a car just asking to be stolen, a backalley where people were known to get lost, and a jewelry store with an invitingly smashable window. All of these clones wore masks and had taken knives to their faces to mutilate themselves to prevent a trace on their identity, knives that they now possessed in sheathes on their belts. They felt no resentment for having to harm themselves in this way, of course; it was like ironing off fingerprints on a disposable hand, really. The real, recognizable Rick was at home. The perfect alibi. Supposedly.
edited 5th Aug '12 6:04:26 PM by Taco
The Maid
Jordan walked alone through the night streets of radio city, a bag of groceries being held by their slender arms. It was a little bit far away from the Church... and they had sneaked out without telling that person... But still, this was the only way to find all they needed for groceries before he woke up and had to do them himself. It was a little childish, but Jordan couldn't wait to see his face light up as he saw the groceries right on the kitchen saving him some very precious time. Though they hoped that he would not get very mad with Jordan for going outside at night without telling...
Jordan Sam Micaiah was a small figure in the night, slender and completely androgynous... with a pretty face framed by slightly long blond hair. They were wearing some simple sweatpants comfortable sweatpants, a light shirt, sneakers and a white hoodie.
On another part of the city, another young citizen of Radio City was also out of bed and wearing a hoodie... though this girl had her hood put on as a meager way to hide her identity. She was standing on a small abandoned lot that was once a parking lot but now mostly served as a dumpster. The reason for her to do so? Well, that would be the dark tiger like claws which she now used instead of hands.
For a few weeks now Rosette Bryar had been practicing her dark powers in this dumpster after getting a bit too carried away and tearing to shreds the mattress in her room once feline instincts kicked in. She needed more practice... more control over this strange power which dwelt within her.
"Now this is a beautiful night, wouldn't you say, Bruno?" says the melodious childish voice of Dorothy Mc Allister as she sat in garden of her mansion drinking tea under the light of the moon.
"Indeed, my lady. Quiet and peaceful" replied the deep voice of Bruno Carter, butler, right hand man, bodyguard and enforcer of the young looking vampiric lady which sat at his side as he poured her some more tea. He was a tall imposing man, a little over two meters tall, with broad shoulders and some noticeable musculature that not even his nicely tailored suit could hide. He was completely bald, on his late thirties with a nice dark chocolate tone to his skin.
"Now, I don't know if peaceful, dear Bruno. This is Radio City after all... though I do feel the winds of change blowing around us... the same wind carrying the scent of those wonderful roses you planted right to me. Did I mention they are lovely? You truly did a good job with those" says Dorothy as she looks at Bruno with a gentle smile on her lips... though her bright red eyes looked further forward into the distance...
Bruno knew that look... the same one that his employer had on her face when they decided to suddenly move to Radio City "Will you go out for some sport, my lady?"
"Oh no, Bruno... it's far too early for that. Not tonight... This night I'm far too appeased. The warmth of your chamomile tea... the soft scent of the roses... this beautiful moon... You should know I'm a sleepy beast. It takes more to make me move... but still... It will be soon" said the girl in the light black dress, her naked pale feet kicking softly at the rhythm of a tune only she heard, her dark black hair framing sleepy scarlet eyes full of mischief "Soon..."
Bruno nodded his head, knowing full well the implications on her words. He did a checklist in his mind of the things he would need to prepare. And prepare he would need to if he and his client were to survive the later's fanciful moods.
Lycoris was not a name that was entirely unknown to the police department of Radio City. She had played around the city, killing at first and lately contenting herself with merely doing small time robberies... on all she would leave her signature, one Lycoris flower place where her stolen item was or right over the corpse of the victim. She was a gun for hire and a thief by pleasure. However, tonight her job was one not requiring much of her theatrics. She was scaling a tall skyscraper... her client required her to steal some valuable data from a rival's personal computer. Normally she would infiltrate the staff of such a rival as a house keeper... however this one target was apparently paranoid of such tactics and mistrustful of just about everyone so they cleaned after themselves.
Thus she climbed, high and higher to slip into their home and take the data directly.
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
"You're lying."
Beneath the flickering light of a lamp post, the nameless woman stood next to the raven haired detective, eyes glaring at the bizarre figure in the alleyway. Though hunched over, the man felt like he loomed over the pair, his broad shoulders carrying a brown, ragged coat to cover his body. There was nothing about this that wasn't suspicious, but his wooden, unnatural limbs and empty gaze only confirmed what James had felt - whoever this guy was, he wasn't human.
"You were made by me; that's why you have no memories. A perfect toy, my greatest masterpiece... Everlasting beauty, breathing, thinking, even considering itself a person. My greatest pride... An immortal, living doll. You do not belong in these sinful streets, my toy... It's time for you to come home."
"Never." The woman's hands were shaking. She didn't want to believe him. His words were too outrageous, too insane, too untrustworthy. But even then, she knew he was telling the truth. She was created by this madman for nothing but his entertainment. His amusement. His pleasure.
And she hated it. She could feel herself hate what she was, as much as she hated him, start to sink down to the very core of her being.
"Hmm. I'll need to work on her when I return," the puppet man said, as if ignoring his creation's burning eyes. Then suddenly, soundlessly, he lurched forward, arms reaching out for the girl. She stiffened and braced herself when...
BANG! The dollmaker's elbow shattered, the fake forearm dropping to the ground as he stopped and stared at where it fell... then directing his gaze forward to the barrel of a gun.
James had kept quiet up until now. He was a bit confused. Even though he was a detective, the bizarreness of the scene left him speechless. He couldn't really say he understood everything. But despite that, the man was sure of one thing: he wasn't going to let this creep touch his client.
"Run! I'll hold him off!"
The woman stared at James in surprise and nodded, quickly turning around. "Thanks, James... and sorry."
With those last words she sped off.
"This is my personal business, detective. Please leave me and my toys be."
"I'm afraid I can't do that." James gave a nervous smile, knowing well enough that in a city like this, he could very well stand no chance against this guy. But still, "It became my business when she stepped into my office asking for help."
"Very well." The dollmaker's broken arm swung forward, a thick rope lashing out and snaring the detective's arm. With a wince, James aimed his pistol at him and fired... only to find the trigger jammed.
Dammit, why now of all times?! With a sense of dread, the detective was pulled forward towards the madman, his remaining hand reaching into his coat...
The operation had been going smoothly; the barge was securely stopped at the docks of Radio City, transporting the inventory of some tech company or another. Forklifts and felons worked in tandem to carry the goods into a nearby warehouse, where the Thespian waited for inspection. Normally the crime lord would not lower himself by making a personal appearance in such a simple procedure, but tonight was special. After all, it was his first performance. The man had to make sure everything was going to be in order. And everything seemed to be.
But he knew better than that. There was a reason he was infamous as the man who knew everything; reading the script unseen by others, the Thespian had already spotted a potential problem to an otherwise easy job. Turning to the lookout standing next to him, he informed him of the soon-to-be issue.
"Three of these men aren't ours. I want you to go down there and ask anyone wearing a mask to remove it. If their faces are disfigured, shoot them. If they refuse, shoot them. If they resist, shoot them. And if someone isn't wearing a mask but is still disfigured... shoot them."
The thug stared at the perpetual laugh in utter confusion, before starting to laugh himself. With a sadistic grin, the mobster tightened the grip on his assault rifle. "Whatever you say, boss."
Watching the gunman go down the ladder of the catwalks, the Thespian mused. Perhaps I should find a place where I'm not an open target. After all, I don't need my eyes to see everything.
edited 5th Aug '12 8:30:55 PM by Starbound2
There was a knock at Cornelius's door late at night. He was a light sleeper, and everyone knew it, so it had to be important news. He went to open the door, and found one of his employees, Tony, standing outside. "Yo boss, Iggy saw dis crazy mudderfucker walkin' around, headed our way. This guy looks like real trouble - he's got these, like, guns and shit on his arms, boss. Not just normal guns, but like serious missile launchin' shit."
After a few moments of quick questions, Cornelius took off into the hall and down the elevator - he could have just jumped out the window, but the massive crater would drop business down for weeks until it got fixed. Though if he wasn't fast enough, who knew what damage this apparent nutjob could do. Hopefully he could get to him on the next street over.
A few blocks later, he turned the corner and saw the man. "Good night, sir" he called to him, making sure that the line of fire between them went down the street and not to a building. "Out for a stroll?"
The Maid
Jordan was just rounding a corner when they crashed, hard into someone who was running. Paper bag filled with groceries fell to the floor as the light teenager looking Jordan fell on the pavement, dazed but for a second.
When they opened their eyes again they saw something they could not ignore. It was not the stunning beauty of the woman before them... it was not the dropped groceries they had so happily sneaked out to buy...
It was a pair of eyes, filled with hate, fear, confusion... hurt. The young mute rose to their knees... looking straight into the eyes of that lady and stretched a single hand to help her up... their eyes filled with sympathy, getting a little watery just from seeing the pain in the soul of that woman before them.
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
Jeff pulled an earbud out of his ear, taking another suck of milkshake. He stopped. "Yeah. Sup. You, uh, you too? Is there a problem here?"
The three Dockside Ricks continued carrying boxes, masks on all of them. And then one of them was no longer wearing a head, having been discovered to be disfigured under the mask. Every other Rick simultaneously cursed and winced, and the two remaining dockside Ricks dropped their boxes next to eachother.
It may now be useful to name these Ricks. The Rick at home is Rick Alpha. The Ricks left at the docks are Ricks Alpha-2 and Alpha-3, Alpha-1 no longer in possession of a head. Alpha-4 stood in the backalley, Alpha-5 by the jewelry shop, and Alpha-6 by the car.
Anyway, Alpha-2 tore off his mask in tandem with Alpha-3, then, once again in tandem, started pulling the box open. They were totally silent as this happened, because a hivemind needn't speak. However, Alpha-2 stood and declared, "Hello! I assume that you guys know we're Multiplayer, and we're here to kick ass!"
Alpha-3 pried open the box and, without looking, yanked out a gun. A gun full of, like, Technology. Fancy and stuff. Covered in chrome and blue lights. He aimed it at the goons surrounding them. "Now." Alpha-3 said, "We won't be having any problems, will we? We're gonna take this, you write it off as a loss, and The Thespian says Multiplayer's better than him. I think."
The gods of smug assholery smiled that day, as the aura of smug permeated the air in a thick smog. Of smug. Anyway, Multiplayer said and did everything smugly.
"No, no problem at all," Gold replied, not bringing up the subject of the enormous tubes on the man's arms. "I'm simply... the neighborhood watch captain - of sorts - but I see you're merely enjoying your milkshake, probably on your way back home. Though I've not seen you around before, are you new to the area? Passing through?"
"Passing through." Jeff replied. "Name's Professor Holocaust, on account of these huge flamethrowers mounted on my arms. You know, fire. So, you look sort of... very gold. And pimping, might I add. I can assume you're the Superhero who calls this place their turf? I'm sort of looking for a fight tonight."
"I'm no hero, son", Dollar replied, glad that the other man thought this was his avenue, "just a man with a dream." What he was not glad about was that those rocket tubes were actually flamethrowers. While he could certainly take more heat than normal flesh before deforming, it was times like these when he wished he were made of aluminum. Or water. On the topic of water, if the self-titled professor didn't change his mind about fighting, he'd have to replace his fish. Good thing he owned the pet store.
"Violence is not the only way, Professor... Holocaust, you said? May I ask what's troubling you?" he said, inching his way towards a fire hydrant.
The Gods of Smugosity were looking down, and saw a challenger walking down the wharf. To them, it looked like a Priest of The Dairy Gods, but to us it looked like a travelling ice-cream salesman. He, a middle-aged man pushing a cart informatively labelled "The Radio City Travelling Ice Cream Salesman Guild Officially Sanctioned Vendor", was there. He walked into the tense situation, smiling and whistling Sweet Georgia Brown.
He stopped, looked around at the men, and waved at the two Ricks. "Hello," he said. "Would any of you feel like a fresh Ice Cream Cone? Cold and Soft as can be. Only a buck fifty!"
Far away from this sordid scene, a woman could be seen digging through a dumpster. Unlike the rest of the vagrants spread through the city and the world, she wasn't looking for food. Well, actually, yes she was. She had smelled something far away, and following a scent she had found it. Holding it up in the nascent moon light, it appeared to be...a fork. There wasn't much magic on it, and its effect could not be discerned immediately. She also wondered who the hell would enchant a fork? It didn't really matter, she guessed. Taking her scarf off and opening her mouth, she ate it. Yeah. Certain people would totally say things like "Silly you, you don't eat a fork, you eat with a fork!" The only person around who could say such things got used to these kind of things long ago, being one of this superheroic metropolis's many proud bums. He merely let her have her snack.
As Gold and Holocaust did their very nice introductions, a pigeon realized that this was one of the things that his boss would be very interested in hearing. Taking a mental note of the names, he flew off to inform a certain person...
edited 5th Aug '12 9:55:27 PM by wikkit
-♌-
Katella has signed on.
Taya grinned to herself: a sharp, catlike grin that allowed her teeth to glint dangerously in the light. Of course she wasn't really up to much- as much as any law-abiding denizen of the internet could be up to. It was time to browse her usual forums and chat in her usual internet watering holes. Beyond being her source of entertainment day to day, it was occasionally the source of a windfall: a job of epic proportions that would ruin many a person's day. After all, she was a law-abiding citizen online. Nothing about her offline activities was savory.
I'm thinking I'll sign up for this one RP...
Taya typed busily with her right hand, the other resting slightly on the land line phone sitting beside her desktop. Her room was decorated but in a way that didn't betray her large amounts of dirty money; the walls were plastered with posters from her favorite anime and other media, but her furniture was cheap and rickety. The sole exception was her phone, a very good piece of work gotten off the black market. This one allowed her to duck around most of the tapping systems that were commonplace in Radio City. As a non-superpowered villain, this was of course critical to her ability to do her job. Of course, Taya didn't like being called a villain to her face.
Kitsune girl. The usual.
A reply from whomever she was in her chatroom with.
Well it's just a fetish, alright? I'll stop wearing the ears and tail when it gets old.
Chen poured over a report: something about pollutants having been found in one of the local ponds. She suspected one of those big shot corporations, or perhaps some villain with nothing better to do. One of the hazards of being in a city full of superpowered persons was the tendency for some of those people to be rotten apples. Of course, she wasn't entirely defenseless herself. A hand reached down to smooth out her dress, which was currently no better than any ordinary sun dress. At a whim though, that would change.
The office she worked in, an environmental firm, was about to close down. Chen put down her work and decided to give herself a night's reprieve from trying to save the planet. At the window, a cat stared at her in curiosity. Chen sensed that it was hungry; her heart was responsive and she decided to give the little guy a bite. Chen looked around for something, anything that the cat might want. Her desk was bare, as Chen was a light eater. The trash cans in the office bore nothing. Then, a thought occurred to her. Her dress glowered a light blue for a moment. She almost toppled from the sudden weight that billowed around her shins, but she held firm and snatched down.
A fish that was floundering it's way out of her supernatural dress found itself in her grip. Chen spoke towards it as sweetly as she could.
"Dear child of the sea, would you mind your life ending today?"
All things have their place in the circle of life.
A rough approximation of what the fish actually said, as what it actually said could not be repeated in human context. Chen nodded, opened the window, and threw the fish to the cat. The cat was incredibly grateful. Chen, on her part, was pleased with herself. A little deed that had made her night. A minute later, The Zookeeper was out on the streets and walking home, dress still having fish splashing into and out of it.
♌
Hurr
Shit.
The museum curator was right next to the freaking Eye. Getting it would basically mean taking him out. Or maybe not. She was as stealthy as ever. She slowly lowered herself on her grapple, looking at the knight who currently had his back turned. He was listening to music. Helpful. She slowly reached out for the case of the Eye of Horus, staring into it's shiny purple body with her catty eyes.
That was her in. She was listening to the whole conversation. The Crime Boss, who went by The Thespian, was telling one of his men that three of their workers were spies, or something, and he gave them orders to kill. How did he know? She wondered why he was called The Thespian. It was probably because of the mask, and the fact that he supposedly acts dramatic, if you ever talk to him. There were rumors that he could see everything, but she thought that was a load of shit. He couldn't see her.
She silently crawled up the underside of the dock, sticky pink residue scaling up. She followed the footsteps of the armed workers, and noticed one who didn't seem to be doing his job. She flipped over the dock, landed on his shoulders and shot a blast of gum in his face, rendering him silent. Before he could even claw at his own face, she shot out another web of gum at his body, wrapped him up and swung him into the water.
The splash would alert someone for sure. She quickly opened a crate, and hide inside.
The song playing in the museum ended, followed by a short skipping noise. The CD player had problems all the time; John really needed to get that fixed. Stalwart turned to go turn off the PA systems from one of the access panels in the room, only to come face-to-face with a burglar through the glass display case. Stalwart froze. He regretfully had to admire her, the Eye of Horus refracted the beam of light from his sallet into wonderful purple kaleidoscopes all over her.
"Evening. I suppose you're here to see the Eye, but being a Supervillain you would want to come in after hours." Stalwart said, remaining calm and courteous. As he should be. "Darktail. It's fine, I understand. Why don't you just come down and we'll talk about this, okay? You can leave without anything stolen, you get to indulge in your hobby of flirting with Superheroes, and the Eye of Horus stays out of the wrong hands."
"Oh goddammit!" Alpha-3 said in exasperation as the splash echoed out. He held out a hand, and Alpha-2 tossed him the gun and picked up a second for himself. "Awesome, Thespian, turns out there's two people—" He looked at the Ice-Cream Man. "Perhaps three, based on whatever this guy has up his sleeve, who all want you done in. You can lose this and not feel inferior to me at this point, dude. Just surrender, since your luck is apparently really terrible." Alpha-3 looked at the gun. "I don't even know what this does, to be honest. It's probably pretty cool, though."
"I'm between jobs right now, if that makes sense." Jeff explained. "You aren't a hero, you say? Because normally I'm a hitman. Or a mercenary. Or whatever, basically I receive money and I fight things with these flamethrowers, you know? I'm just looking around for the inevitable Super-Brawl that's happening somewhere in this city; it's the equivalent of walking back and forth in the Tall Grass looking for a pokemon."
(Avatar by Coffee)
"I am the hand of justice. You have disturbed the balance. You will now die to restore it."
Thus the tall, black-armoured woman told the supervillain that lied in his bed, the magical dagger embedded in his throat draining his life-force bit by cruel bit. He sputtered.
"Bu-but... why?" he said.
"Because you have disturbed the balance," she told him, and threw her other dagger. It hit him between the eyes, finishing him off. She retrieved her daggers, closed the supervillain's staring eyes, and went out of the window, triggering the alarm, before vanishing into the night.
More likely than not, this unexplained murder's case would land on the metaphorical desk of one Detective Kane...
Subject 1138-b, known as 'Lutecia' to the customers of her tea shop and as 'Hawkeye' to the general public, was walking through Radio City's streets. A customer asked for a special kind of tea — Gunpowder Tea from China — and since it was well past the tea shop's usual operating hours, the kind girl took it on herself to deliver it straight to the customer's house.
So now she was enjoying the light wind as she walked, a small cloth bag swinging from her shoulder.
That is, until she chanced upon two men standing in the middle of the street; one of them said that he was a mercenary. Lutecia's mouth became a tight line. A supervillain, more likely than not. She stopped, about twenty metres away from them, and snapped her fingers, the sound echoing before being drowned by the roar of a miniature fireball; it exploded between the two men, the blast contained by Lutecia's powers so it didn't hit them, but that certainly did not exempt them from the heat.
"Hitmen are not tolerated here," she told Professor Holocaust. She sounded like a ten-year-old girl... except that no ten-year-old would be this commanding. The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
"You're looking for a purpose, is all, son," replied Dollar. "You've gotta find something constructive to do with your skills, or you're gonna find yourself so far down the path of destruction, you won't know where the man you used to be is anymore."
He gripped his cane and pointed down the street, away from where either man came from, " that said, if you're still looking for violence, there's always shit goin down at the docks."
Then he saw the fireball in front of him. "Here too, I suppose."
edited 6th Aug '12 11:00:37 AM by nman
The man with the cart stepped forward, and pulled an ice cream cone out of the cart. He looked straight into the eyes of Alpha-3, and held out the cone in offering. "I can assure you that this weapon is very cool! So cool, in fact, that the people trying to move it across the sea would assign a superhero to safeguard its grand journey!"
He did a bit of a dramatic twirl and offered the cone to the rest of the group, with a look of disappointment on his face. "You all seriously thought that an ice cream man would try to sell his goods at the dead of night, down in an area with almost no children and to armed gunmen? Most importantly, would he sell these cones at 50 cents under MSRP? Well, then," he said, now feeling a bit smug and his face reflecting it. "You will now have a bit of time to retrospect on your grave error in judgement." As if on cue, the sirens of multiple squad cars became more evident in the background. "You are under arrest, I believe!"
As the fireball impacted near them, Jeff jumped back, shouting a string of curses. He turned to look at the little girl who was threatening them!
"Oh look man, I think this bitch here's trying to step on your territory!" Jeff said. He dropped the walkman into his coat, then primed the Holocaust Cannon in that hand. Then he popped open his milkshake and tossed the lid and straw over his shoulder. "I think we should just all calm down here. Or rather, you should. I mean really, there are enough characters who have firepowers and are also angry bitches. Roy Mustang was probably the only character who pulled it off well. Now, I figure you want to fight me, merely on the grounds of a discussion? I mean, for all you know we're just some fucking World Of Darkness LAR Pers."
"So it is three people wrecking Thespian then." Alpha-3 commented. Alpha-2 nodded and fired at the Ice Cream Man, a spray of heavy adhesive coming from the barrel of the gun. "Oh. So that's what it does." Alpha-3 said, then fired his gun at the guy who shot Alpha-1.
(Avatar by Coffee)
"Here? In Radio City?" asked Lutecia. She was rather amused. "I think not. And no, I don't have anger issues. But I do disprove of self-professed mercenaries spoiling for a fight in an area where clients of mine live. It's bad for business if people die. It's also quite horrible. I'd ask you to change your profession but that rarely works with supervillains. So, the deal's simple. You go away and leave this town in peace, preferably finding an honest job — I can offer you one in my tea shop if you're so inclined, I'm in need for an assistant, or you can experience third-degree burns. I myself would prefer the former — the latter means I'll be late."
The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
Isn't it amazing, now I have princess wings!
The impression of the attack hit Hassan like a flash. He was no expert at detection, but he could at least tell when magic was being used to commit violence since the impression was strong. A murder in progress, then, and nearby. He shrugged. What the heck, he thought, the client isn't exactly expecting me to go and inspect his occult alarm system every day, right? This is just my attention to detail showing. Plus, the Museum's alterations would only detect magical intrusion attempts, since a more elaborate security system was seen as a waste of public funds.
Pulling over, the Doctor pulled out the Arc Codex and began thumbing for the ritual that he had used to ward the Radio City museum. He would, of course, have to have it transcribed and put into the client's file for future members of the department, but that was a matter for another time. After 10 minutes, he found the exact page and chanted the incantation, tracing a rune keyed specifically to the museum. The ward showed no sign of being disturbed. If there was anything going on there tonight, it would be someone else's problem.
Back on the road, he made a hard right and bee-lined for the area where his magic sense had detected the attack. The apartments looked a little seedy at first glance but, on closer inspection, they were definitely well-kept. People here appreciated the value of hard work and probably had the wealth to show for it. Pulling over near the other end of the block, he scanned the streets. No sign of the first responders yet. He reasoned that he should be able to get in and out before anyone knew he was there.
He moved quickly, down the empty sidewalk and in through the apartment lobby. He passed by the concierge's desk and the security cameras unconcerned, and keyed the elevator up to the proper floor. No one around, luckily. It seemed the concierge was waiting for the police and the other residents were out for the evening or otherwise unconcerned. Gloves on, he pressed gently on the door. Locked. He noted a window open on the side of the building as he passed it though. Probably how the killer got in. Or out. Check for traps on the door or expend more energy on a levitation spell that would bring him through the presumably cleared window? The killer could be caught in time, he decided, so he spent the extra time casting about for traps before whispering an incantation to open the lock.
Alohomora, he joked, then stepped inside.
edited 6th Aug '12 1:53:49 PM by HouraiRabbit
Wise Papa Smurf, corrupted by his own power. CAN NO LEADER GO UNTAINTED?!
"Boy, need I remind you you're talking to a lady?" Dollar said. " A local businesswoman, to boot. You'd best treat her with respect."
"Heh, I see I don't even need to do my job," he said as he looked down at the newly-formed corpse. He laughed at the group with a manic glee. "Well, I guess there's no use hiding anymore..."
With a blinding flash of light, the ice cream man burst into flames! Underneath the flames, the goo started to burn away, freeing the man underneath. At the same time, both the clothing and flesh of the man started to peel away. His new form was revealed for the world to see: Tall, with hardened armor. A long black cape and a pointed helmet. To anyone with a brain, who it was seemed obvious. A man stood before them, and jumped into the darkness of the wharf. A Batman.
edited 7th Aug '12 6:08:37 AM by wikkit
Radio City. A haven for the toughest and roughest superpowered characters you'll ever see. Radio City at night. Even worse. The city is anything but asleep. Crimes being committed. New friendships and enemies being sealed forever. Some have known each other for years, others a meeting for the first time tonight. My city.
A sticky line of pink, sugary gum shot at the corner of a shiny building, and a figure swung from that line, her cape flowing in the wind and shining off the moonlight. She flipped onto a rooftop and surveyed the city. Area peaceful. But there was crime somewhere afoot. There almost always was.
Gum-Girl had long since tapped her way into police frequencies. Technically illegal, but the law knew many superheroes employed it. But tonight was different. She wasn't concerned with what the police was doing. She had inside information. She may be a 14 year old girl, but she still knows a thing or two about the mean streets of "The Big Boom". (Radio City's famous nickname)
Darktail. The princess of thievery and seduction, was currently focusing on the former. Radio City's museum was pretty well known for attracting some pretty big exhibits. Darktail was interesting in this gem. A big shiny purple jewel that would fetch way more than a pretty penny. The mistress of crime traced her claw around the glass, carefully pulling out the circle, and crawling her way into the dark museum, searching out her target. She would like to do this without the knight's interference. But that was unlikely.