Jacob Henderson slid out from underneath an old 2020's car he was hover converting, and started to remove his oily mechanic garb.
He pulled out a chair, and slid into it, loosening the straps on his prosthetics while he was at it. He took a sip of fresh coffee, and completely removed the legs. News was there was a Super Drug Lord in town, and he planned to spend tonight getting some info on that.
He took another sip of coffee, fueling up for the night ahead.
The Broker sat recoiled in the Yingsu, and watched as the scum of the city woke up from last nights session, or stumbled in from whatever part time job they did to afford their habit. She put on some head phones to block out the sound, and began scrutiny through the eyes of the cities poppies.
Crash sat in his appartment in the Undercity. He kept activating his scrambling effect, turning off the lights in the room below his.
edited 29th Mar '13 2:02:23 PM by MusikMaestro
Grog briefly looked down, yet again, to make sure his tie was still straight, before looking back up. While he was certainly more well-adjusted to the present than a Cro-Magnon had any right to be, he still found concepts like the media and their fascinations to be rather strange. Then again, he supposed it was much like telling tales of his adventures around the fire in his cave - only in this case, anyone in the world could watch and listen.
And just like in the cave, there was always a need to have caution.
His eyes gazed out around the crowd in front of the town hall, looking for anything suspicious. "See anything, Fairchild?" he quietly asked the other law enforcement agent without looking away from the area in front of the hall.
Near the museum, a figure ran down the sidewalk, and in the moonlight looked like some otherworldly creature with a contorted back, two heads, and wings. Closer inspection, though, would show that it was merely a man dressed in the hide of a walrus, and carrying one of the said creatures on his back as he made his way through the city. An "ARF" rang out nearby.
It could only mean one thing. It was dinner time.
Hurrying to the source of sound, Waltazar saw the small Walrush had found one of the large containers of food that this city had scattered about. "You have done well, little one," he told the creature, placing a hand on its head and petting it. "You may return home now," and in a dim flash, the small animal was gone, leaving just the man and the walrus. He set down his companion, and lifted the lid off of the container.
As the homeless man and animal started digging through the dumpster, they were completely oblivious to the security camera that was facing them.
edited 29th Mar '13 3:20:50 PM by nman
In the building above Waltazar, a flower pot stood on a window ledge on the third floor. Home to the pot was a single poppy, which seemed to contort downwards, as if trying to get a better look at him.
Back in the Yingsu, The Broker opened a filing cabinet, and removed her file on Waltazar. She took out a pen, and got ready to add new information.
King of Lame-Style
Anne stood on the top of a building, overlooking the city, the nightly breeze flowing across her hair. She was out on patrol, for the first time ever. It was exciting to say the least. And odd too... she still couldn't pinpoint exactly why she was doing this. Still, she looked on, smiling, happy to continue an age old tradition of good triumphing over evil.
The graceless warrior, wielder of the edgeless blade, prophet of the old religions, writer of fluent nonsense, saviour of soul and song.
I have a plan.
Radio City's central business district was a sight to behold. Downtown was a mountain range, made up of dozens of immense monoliths of concrete and steel. The stars in the sky were hard to see over the stars of the city—all the thousands of lights and advertisements were closer to the Earth, and they might as well have outnumbered all the stars in the universe.
Inside the top of one of the city's most prominent skyscrapers, the Typhon Tower, sat a comparatively little man—with epic plans. King Corvus. Inside his hidden penthouse fortress, there were less neon colors and less lights and less steel. The feared gang leader had a quaint taste in furnishings, so his home and headquarters were a mishmash of the most expensive of modern technology and the most lush and accurate of medieval decorum. Even Corvus' office looked like a throne room, and there on his throne, he sat. King Corvus didn't tend to wear the mask while in his own home, so his fanged smile was visible as he read over some papers.
"So, The Hand of Phexus has found its new home in a Radio City museum, to be placed on exhibition. Why, that might as well be on my doorstep."
Corvus lifted a panel on his desk revealing a series of buttons, and pressed down on one of them as he spoke into a microphone. His voice was broadcast throughout the halls of his penthouse palace, on the intercom.
"Lieutenants, I want you to head into my office as soon as you can. It's a job. Hex, you ought to come in too. I've found something that will go very nice in our collection."
Corvus clasped his hands and waited. The sorceress known as Hex was usually quite fast to answer to any intercom broadcasts. Corvus' four soldiers, Brutus, Grant, Riley, and Standford, always showed up a little late for his tastes, and when they weren't, they were barging straight into his office without fanfare, usually for something unimportant. Though the burly men had the lofty title of "Lieutenant" in the operation, the lone female, Hex was the obvious second-in-command.
edited 29th Mar '13 10:57:52 PM by TailsDoll
"@[=g3,8d]&fbb=-q]/hk%fg"
Master Saboteur
The workplace was quieter than usual. The sounds of the vents could be heard as they poured out air conditioning, and printers and photocopiers were still going off. Yet, it seemed the entire place was in low spirits, and motivation as well as productivity was getting worse and worse by the second. Even the manager didn't bother coming out of the office to yell at the employees.
As everyone went about their work with frowns on their faces, the sound of an explosion would have suddenly rang throughout the room... if the computer wasn't muted. Julian groaned and put his face to his desk as he closed the Minesweeper window after hitting his 6th mine in a row. He looked up and took a look at the stack of papers to his left.
"Nobody is going to want to work today." He muttered under his breath. "Not when there's so many festivities all over town! Should have just given us the day off..."
Letting out a sigh, he sat up straight and opened up Freecell, wishing to have nothing to do with Minesweeper for the rest of the day.
edited 29th Mar '13 4:51:40 PM by TehStanman
"Why does everything have to loop back to YGO?" -Guy who ruined YGO
Some Guy Or Something
Loren walked down the street, idly flipping a coin and catching it. The self-proclaimed Tiger King was on the prowl tonight, looking for something to catch his fancy. Steam seemed to rise from his metallic leg, leaving a mark on the sidewalk wherever he took a step. As he continued his stroll, he couldn't help gazing up at the brilliant saucer in the sky. He wondered if he would find a dog howling at it tonight...
Tonight's the night... Heather paced around the mansion, trying to figure out her plan of attack. Tonight was just too perfect; emphasis on the too. With the museum getting the Hand of Phexus AND the grand gala happening tonight, Visionary had a difficult choice.
After another ten or so minutes of fussing over the details, she realized she would go for the Hand. After all, there would be more galas and Visionary wasn't exactly hurting for cash at the moment. However, if she could get her hands on the Phexus, it might allow her to begin her plan to bring true fear back to Radio City and teach them the power of the Visionary legacy.
As she suited up and prepared her weapons and gear, Visionary couldn't help but grin. After all, tonight's the night.
"Evii is right though" -Saturn "I didn't know you were a bitch Evii." -Lior Val
Wielder of the satireKind Abstratus
Iris Grey hovered over the museum holding the Hand. 'Well, even if it looks silly, at least the costume gives me good benefits,' she reflected. 'Well, at least I'm doing some good here... I hope.'
Exist, pursued by bear
The Warrior Monk of Coeurl
(Sanojutsu, Phantasm's heading your way. Tried to be more elaborate about it, took too long, got lazy.)
Detached from the usual buzz in Radio City, Phantasm wandered the back alleys of the city, casting his glance about left and right, behind him, left and right, behind him...
Finally, he just settled for groaning, a bit too loudly. "I'm positive town hall is this way...", he spoke to himself, grumbling as he continued onward.
(He's not being discrete about it, so i'm sure she would at least hear him.)
"You lost, Dio. You lost for one simple reason - you were using charcoal." - Hank Hill
BWAH-HA-HA!
"Why's it gotta be like this?"
Jon Lewis, a witch doctor otherwise known as Doc Dandy, had been ruminating on that very question as he layed against the museum wall. Not five minutes prior, he sent a small task force of mice into the museum, ordering them to return with any information of importance. To common passerby, it would only appear that the rats were congregating outside; he remained cloaked in the dark of the alley. He was ready for nearly anything now, but the question of why this kept happing still eluded him.
It wasn't as if criminals would stop trying to break in after a few weeks. It had happened before, and it'd happen again. Why couldn't they show the piece to a group of archeologists and photographers and be done with it? He could nearly feel the glove itching the back of his skull; why not bring a hologram? Wouldn't the image be good enough?
Doc Dandy fought the rising temptation to let whatever thief or robber that came by bust up the building and steal the glove, then just gank the criminal when he stepped out.
To the law and for the good of man. All I need to live by.
The Maid
"Alright then... with that my statues depicting the celestial travel of Ra are in order, my herbs and ingredients are all in place and the spirit of Hapi as been placated" mumbles a young feminine voice in one of the rooms of King Corvus' palace.
Hex had been hard at work for some time building her own nest of witchcraft inside of the luxurious accommodations of her current employer. Her work required quite a degree of preparation and ritual with the added benefit of the material components for them making any of her abodes into an awesome looking den of mystery.
The witch sat on a comfortable seat, her naked feet resting upon the edge of it as Selina hopped onto her lap for a required amount of petting. Tobby and Quinny, her other feline mooks, still resided upon her old apartment, keeping guard upon her secrets over there.
Selina and Noxus the Raven, on the other hand, were the more directly useful of her pets, and thus they went wherever Hex dwelt.
Still, just as Hex decided to celebrate her new lair by taking a well deserved nap, did the voice of her boss echo through the speakers, the mention of something nice for the collection granting her the energy she needed to quickly get on feet.
A big perk of eternal youth was the energy usually associated with such. With a big grin on her face did the witch don the raven cowl which had first inspired her to pledge her service to King Corvus. She then put on a pair of sandals and with playful incantation of "Hequat!" did a carved staff, made of pale wood with hieroglyphs carved through its length and a metal ring from which hung a pair of long raven feathers, fly to her hand.
Then, with a low whistle did Noxus fly to settle on her shoulder as she put on a belt with about four of her potions hanging from it in vials. Now ready for whatever it is that her boss might have in store for her, Hex made her way in a haste to the King's court.
It had taken Psion a great deal of time to make her way into the gala event. She had stalked out the place from quite an early time, until she finally found someone with access inside, a weak mind and not a very keen interest in security. Then it took only a light suggestion that she was indeed the help he had been waiting for to dispel the suspicions of the lazy manager event manager and she made her way in.
That had been five hours ago, and ever since did Psion stay quiet and put on a spacious supply closet. But now came the time to act. The psychic villain took her mask from within her jacket's inner pocket and then fitted it on, the display coming alive in seconds to show three eyes upon the blank features of the white material.
Psion then checked that her gun was charged and ready... and then stepped out of the closet, making a straight line for the elevator that would take her to the penthouse where the gala would be in full swing by now.
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
Henry groaned as he marched towards the elevator to the gala. Josephine, his apparent decendant had pulled some strings to get him in and act as "unnoted extra security, to ease him in this age and with nothing too big." He made sure his gun was safely in its hidden holster under his tuxedo and his knife was secured in his sleeve. He tought this age was strange, what was Secret Soviet Super Tech projects in his days seemed to be standard fare nowadays, like his pistol.
As he closed in on the elevator he noticed a woman who too seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. "Good day miss." Henry said and nodded in greeting
(Avatar by Coffee)
Camellia Sinsesis — near the museum
A brown-haired girl wearing a light blue dress was wandering around the museum, twirling around herself and humming.
“Trum-tam-tum-tam, trum-tam-tum-tatatam, oh, my love, the sun is fading; night grows cold, long shadows creep; but I hear you in the darkness; your sweet song guides me into sleep...”
The girl stopped, facing a small potted tree. She knelt before the pot, caressing the tree's leaves gently. They swayed — in the wind, more likely than not – and she nodded. Getting up, she continued to walk in dance-like steps. Until she bumped into Waltazar, that is.
“Ohwhoops,” she said and giggled. “Sorry, mister.”
Andromeda Hawkeye — in the garden on the museum's roof
A certain purple-haired woman was laying on her back in the soft grasses of Radio City Museum's rooftop garden, staring at the stars. She was breathing deeply, smelling the plants that grew there and calming herself. “Here's the Southern Cross... and the Dragon... and there's the Hunter,” she muttered to herself. But then something partially hid her view of the stars. It was probably a super – after all, an astonishing amount of them were capable of flying.
“Yo!” she called, standing up. “You up there!”
Dumpster By The Museum
"No problem, girl," Walt said to Camellia and was about to look into the dumpster again when he glanced at the walrus' mouth. "Mine, Tongu," his right hand darted towards the walrus' mouth and pulled a chicken leg from it. However, his left hand grabbed something that was lying on a box and brought it up.
"Orrrrfffff," the animal seemed to frown at having its prize taken away, but cheered up instantly as the Walrusmaster shoved a slice of cold pizza into its mouth. "Orf, orf, orf," it said as it happily continued eating.
"Here," Walt said to the young woman, holding out the chicken leg. A good walrusmaster needed to remember to be kind.
edited 29th Mar '13 5:32:11 PM by nman
Wielder of the satireKind Abstratus
Iris blinked in surprise. Well, in hindsight she probably should've seen someone on the roof, but if she was calling up, then it probably wasn't a villain breaking in... She flew down, landing softly on the roof in front of the purple-haired woman, tightening her grip on her wand and hoping she didn't look too ridiculous.
Exist, pursued by bear
(Avatar by Coffee)
Camellia — talking with Walt
The girl tilted her head. "What am I supposed to do with that?" she asked, confused. She looked at the stars, blinking. "There's no enough light to eat," she said absentmindedly. Then she sat down. "Hey, mister, what's your name? What are you doing here?"
Andromeda — talking with Iris
The purple-haired woman waved. "Good evening," she said, glancing at Iris' wand. "You're a magician, ka. Heh. My name's Hawkeye. Andromeda Hawkeye. Pleased to meet you."
The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
I have a plan.
The ornate doors of King Corvus' room of office opened automatically as Hex approached them. Four burly men in dapper wear followed closely behind her, actually on time for once.
The King himself was standing as his throne and desk both lowered into the floor, and he smiled calmly when he saw his trusted subordinates all enter.
"There you are. Yes. I've just found our next big mark."
King Corvus withdrew a remote-like device from his clothing, and used it to reveal a massive television screen that turned on. Displayed was a bulky but finely sculpted metallic glove, decorated with the most precious of gems.
"This priceless artifact is called The Hand of Phexus. The gems on it alone are worth millions, I hear the fist itself is made from solid platinum. Some archaeologists say it brims with innate magic power; Others say it's a relic from an ancient, technologically advanced nation. Such a mysterious, valuable artifact deserves no less to be in the loftiest of places. Like right here in Typhon Tower, perhaps."
King Corvus pressed a button. The television changed to display Radio City's most infamous museum.
"Unfortunately, The Hand is not in my tower, or even in a place almost as nice. Instead, it's to be put on display in the museum, where it will be property of the city and unavailable for our usage. That's unacceptable, especially after all of the business I've provided for the city."
The television screen turned off.
"We're going to take The Hand. The museum might as well be a cardboard box, and that right there is the problem. We're not going to be the only people who'll be showing up. There will be very greedy and shallow people probably out to fence it for a buck, and there will be people who just won't understand that The Hand belongs in my care. We're going to be spotted by some lucky fool no matter what, so my advice to you is to bring your favorite gear. Your favorite weapons."
Corvus stepped to a cabinet, and took out one of his masks, putting it on.
"I'll be driving the car and will keep an eye out for any interlopers. You, Hex, have the liberty of earning The Hand."
"An' what do we do, boss?" asked Brutus.
"You four are my muscle. You'll flex. Any other questions before we leave? Anything to say, Hex?"
"@[=g3,8d]&fbb=-q]/hk%fg"
Wielder of the satireKind Abstratus
Iris laughed awkwardly. "Magician is probably being too generous... Blasty magical girl, is probably more fitting. You?"
Exist, pursued by bear
Dumpster By The Museum
"I am Waltazar, son of Rusonam, and this is Tongu," Walt said to Camellia. He looked at the chicken leg for a split second and shrugged, tossing it back to the walrus.
"Orf!"
"I am here to find something to bring home to my people."
The Gala
"Jägerbomb, sir?" said a cocktail waiter, clad in black pants and a long-sleeved white jacket, to a man at the Gala.* He was much taller and well-built than the average college dropout the waiting companies loved to employ, and tufts of blonde hair stuck out from his brimless white cap.
He held out his right hand, carrying a tray that held two types of glasses. Larger pint glasses that were only filled three-quarters of the way with some of the more popular energy drink brands, and smaller shot glasses with Jägermeister in them. "It's the current trend, though if you wish for something more traditional..."
The tray wasn't some primitive 20th-century tray. It was state of the art. It resembled a four-leaf clover, and rotated along the center of gravity held in the man's hand. On the three other sections were martini glasses with an assortment of drinks.
Vinny smiled warmly as he worked. He'd play waiter for a while longer, and then he'd show these uptight rich folks how to really throw a party.
edited 29th Mar '13 9:11:32 PM by nman
(Avatar by Coffee)
Andromeda — talking with Iris
Blasty magical girl...?' Andy mentally shrugged. "Well, nothing really special, just this," she says aloud. Holding her right hand high above her head, she smiles, and it changes, the fingers flowing and merging together; the resulting member lengthens and one of its sides becomes curved and sharp. "Transform Weapon."
Andy tilted her head and smiled. "Nothing special. What's your name, deary?"
Camellia — talking with Walt
"Oh," said Camellia. So that Waltazar person needed to find something...? "What do you need to find, Waltazar son of Rusonam? Oh, by-the-way, I'm Camellia Sinsesis."
The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
Wielder of the satireKind Abstratus
Iris shrugged. "Well, I somehow ended up being called Danmaku. Not exactly sure how, but... I hope you don't mind me not using my real name out here in the open."
Exist, pursued by bear
BWAH-HA-HA!
Doc Dandy, going up
"What the........"
Doc Dandy was struck dumb at the news he received from one of the mice. It'd apparently moved to the other side of the museum in an effort to find an entrance, and found walruses and some wind of walrus-man digging through the dumpster. He questioned whether that particular mouse had eaten something nasty today, only to have the mouse bite his ankle and run off.
"What kind of power is that?" He asked himself. "The rat must have been wrong. His curiosity was overtaking his caution and frustration in leaps and bounds; you don't just spot an animal like that out of nothing, and he knew his psychedelics. He threw his illusion down and peeled himself from the wall, wrapped in a hooded fur coat. It was something to investigate, at least.
A steam vent created an upward draft further down the alley. Not quite having the handle of flight, he strode over and caught himself in the current. Almost like like a sheet of paper, he began riding the winds up onto the ceiling. It was overall more convenient than exposing himself at the front of the museum just to see what was at the other side.
edited 29th Mar '13 6:05:48 PM by goodisgood
To the law and for the good of man. All I need to live by.
Sandwich Summoner
Fairchild sighed inwardly. Inside his mind, invisible crosshairs were aimed at half of the crowd, specially some cops who were making funny faces or visiblely ignoring the Mayor's speech. He felt he kinda understood them, as he wasn't fond of big wigs himself. And yes, like many, he felt it was a good idea to riddle every politician in the world with bullets.
And then he heard the voice. He eyed up his partner. He too seemed fidgetty with having front row tickets to assasination and attack attempts. Who wouldn't be, after all, being trapped in ice for hell knows so long then being paraded like the most exceptional thing of the world. And then listening to the mayor.
"All suspicious I can see is the bosom of the blonde journalist in first row. That size and form look artificial. I bet they're implants." Fairchild said to the caveman, not even bothering to hide the boredom on his hushed voice.
"They'll come though. I can almost taste it. But it's the wait that kills, isn't it?" He added.
Dear God, I really want to use someone as sparring bag. He thought.
The Asclepian sighed as he trodded once more. The glove, the ball, both were tempting targets, but for the first there would be an usual round of freaks prowling around in a museum and he'd need to sell the device anyway, and for the second, the entire freaking police would make one hell of a fight. He disliked fighting, so he opted for a third option.
Secure a steady supply of opiates. Asclepian knew that half of medicine had to do with drugs, and opium had been a staple of it since ancient times. Plus, dealing with an opium trafficker was bound to less explosions and adulterations than new generation drugs in many cases.
And so, with this objective of mind he had set foot near the Yingsu, alongside two of his lovely assistants.
"Mary, i can't believe it, it's the third time someone asks for how much for a quickie."
"Grace, you're dressing like a slut."
"You wear the same as me, bitch!"
Well, lovely-but-right-now-annoying-as-hell-ladies. Doctor Burton rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I'll do the talking." He said as he dodged the human wrecks on his way in. If he had known, he'd have brought an assortment of medicines to counter drug abuse to make cash. But that wasn't his objective today.
He adjusted his tie, and waited politely for whoever was in charge.
Dumpster By The Museum
"I... do not know, Camellia Sinsesis," Walt replied. "But if I see it, then I will know. Why are you out here late at night, if you are not interested in dinner?"
Town Hall
"Hmmm, I think I see who you're talking about..." Grog replied, looking down at the reporter and focusing on her. "Probably, thou-ergh," he interrupted himself as he brought his left hand to cover his eyes for a moment. Despite the tight grip on his face, a dim light could still be seen coming out of the cracks of his fingers. But the whole thing was over in less than a second when Grog turned off his Firesight. The last thing they needed was him shooting a spotlight right at the cleavage of a reporter.
He acted like he was simply reacting to an eyelash in his eye and returned to looking through the crowd.
"Harumph, yes, yes, and we'll be ready for when they do come." He patted the club dangling from his belt.
The full moon shone bright in the skies of Radio City. It hadn't been cloudy all day, and this trend was apparently going to continue through the rest of the week if the weatherman could be trusted. The streets were bathed in cold white light, offering both deep shadows and starkly open spaces; light and dark was always in pretty strong contrast in this city, but tonight you could literally see it.
The sole man guarding the museum sighed in frustration. It was going to be one of those nights for certain. A massive fight between the many heroes and villains of the city, all fighting over his charge: The Hand of Phexus, an ancient artifact the museum had just shipped in. The item was a glove of some sort, built for a large ham-fisted man and glittering with gems and gilt inlays. Some said it was magic, others said it was super science.
Knowing Radio City, it could be either.
The security guard shifted slightly, gaze flicking over the notes he was desperately trying to study. He couldn't; too tired, too bored, and too in metallic armor.
See, this security guard was Stalwart. Not literally, though; that was his name. He stood seven feet tall in glittering fluted armor, glowing brightly and posed in a position far too casual and bored for his appearance, head tilted to the side and rested on a fist. It didn't help that it was a shitty folding chair with no arm rests and he had to awkwardly place one leg perpendicular to the other in order to do so. He sighed and grabbed a remote. Flicked on one of the LCD televisions, turning on the news.
A beneficiary gala was being covered, the city's wealthiest individuals donating to charity. "Riiight," he said, voice attempting to be sarcastic but forced into an intimidatingly heroic and regal voice thanks to the armor, "Nope. Nobody's crashing that. Nope. Nope."
He flipped the channel. A celebration in front of town hall, commemorating the heroes of L.E.A.S.H. and the police force. While Stalwart did appreciate them putting the cops on the same level as the guys at L.E.A.S.H. However, he sensed a small amount of lingering distrust for the real "supers." The two guys directly in the police department's employ, Jonathan K. Fairchild and Grog Nugnon, both supers but still cops, stood together on the Mayor's right side. Bodyguards. Either that, or the mayor had a sick sense of humor and wanted to watch the caveman and the badass deal with eachother. Stalwart chuckled a little bit—and by that he meant he involuntarily released a GREAT BOOMING BOISTEROUS LAUGH—at their suffering, then turned the volume down a little bit.
So. That left him guarding the Hand against all the bastards that'd be coming after it while also trying to keep the bastards trying to defend the Hand from wrecking the place further here. Across town, there was a beneficiary gala that was definitely not gonna get robbed, and on the third side of the anomalously triangular town of Radio City there was possibly three quarters of L.E.A.S.H. sitting out in the open, practically asking to be attacked.
Stalwart wished he could eat popcorn right now. It was going to be a fun night.