Jill was excited. She'd anxiously been looking forward to the opening of Nocturne Crossing for the past few months. The club was being hyped as the place to be for swing music and genuine 40s atmosphere. Fliers were everywhere promoting the opening and music by Milk Money Bandits, a big band group. This might turn out to be the event of the year! The grand opening bash was being thrown by the owners of the club, a group of detectives called Shades of something or other. She didn't know much about them, despite being familiar with their lead private eye.
She'd been following the career of Matthew Crowe for a while now. After being introduced to him recently, she really thought they hit it off. She hoped that he'd notice her tonight. That'd really make the night special. He left quite an impression on her. Hopefully Gale wouldn't upstage her like she usually does.
Gale was the pretty one and Jill knew it. She didn't mind, Gale was good company and had a good sense of humor. She wished her other friends could have come as well. Unfortunately, they were all locked into commitments they couldn't break. There was no way she'd be missing out on this night. I'm going to have a great time, she thought to herself just as some maniac blares a horn at her, which brought less positive thoughts to mind. Gale makes a wretched face at him.
Without enough time to dry it, Jill's hair was still damp. The night was warm outside so she figured it'd dry off in no time. She rolled down the car window in order to speed up the process.
The AC's on stupid, Gale points out.
I need to dry my hair. Besides you stink.
It's called perfume, buy some.
Oh, Jill sniffs the air, is that Eau de Skank?
You ho!, Gale screams at Jill. They both laugh.
The guy at the door informs Jill of the 10 dollar cover charge. She smiles. Her hand slips into her purse, fingers pass all the junk she carries searching for the roll of cash. She hands him a twenty. Psiker, a detective for Shades of Grey currently moonlighting as bouncer, grabs a bill for her change, notices she's already gone. He shrugs and puts the money back into the till.
Jill notices a cut on her finger. She gives it a small suck. Her forehead is dripping with sweat, she wipes some from her brow.
You're overdressed, Gale notices.
It was the only jacket with enough pockets.
Oh, Gale winks.
It is a hot night.
It was about to get hotter. If the place had been better lit and much quieter the clubbers might have noticed the girl talking to herself; the one with knife in her purse and a dead body rotting in her car.
The next day , while helping the police fill out a report, Matt Crowe would chastise himself for the poor security.
((What happens on the night of the Nocturne Crossing grand opening is up to you.
Here's some things to think about:
What are Jill's motives?
What does she have against Matt Crowe, the club owner/detective? Infatuation or revenge?
What's has she got in her pocketses?
Who's the dead person in her back seat? Is it Gale?
There are clues in this post. Either run with them or make up your own reasons.
Feel free to pursue other goings on in the club. Enjoy the kickin' swing music and the club's noirish old-school atmosphere. Everyone should be having a good time. Make new friends, laugh with old ones , stop a lunatic))
((I have a decent idea of why... Jill i believe killed.. Gale right? but i wont try to solve it yet. Ill have some fun in the club))
Tribal Steel felt like a night on the town not in costume for once. So for a night he could be himself Al Papavich, he put on a hat and a nice casual tuxedo. He made his way downtown. He heard about a good club about to open. He figured it would be a nice way to spend a crime fighting less night.
Later that night he walked down the street alone felling good. He covered his metal hands with false flesh gloves to cover up his secret most couldnt handle to see. The moon reflected off of the wet city street after a light drizzle of rain. The image of the moon on the street was broken as was his train of thought this night. He placed his hands in his jacket pockets *sigh* "Just dosent feel right not beating any body up" as he smirked. "Well 113 Calvin Street. This must be it." The clubs sign glew in the dark enlighting the area in a faded red shade. "Damn a line... I hate lines." Al Papavich said. About twenty minutes later he got to the bouncer, he paid the man noticing that he lacked a bouncer steriotype but other than that he thought nothing of it. He entered the club, the music filling the house. The dance floor just nearly packed to its limit as more people flowed in. He loosened his jacket and went to the bar to "wet his wistle". He finished his drink noticing a beutiful girl. No matter how much he wanted to talk to her his self consiousness made him shy and nervous. The woman was not alone, may it have been her friend or a stranger just meeting each other. No matter it made it even harder for him to approach the two.
He spent awhile in the club, dancing and drinking. The music was good, The Milk Money Bandits were indeed good. He was swinging with a girl... Yes the girl he had his eye on. Her name was Gale. She was here with her friend Jill. They went to a booth and talked for awhile. Jill was no where to be found. "You know I never thought I'd meet someone like you... ever." Al Papavich said. Gale blushed and replied rather bubbly "The same I suppose, but theres always someone for any body, it just takes time." "Yea we've all heard the fate line, I just never believed it until know." Al said gently putting his hand over Gales. Her face changed as he gazed into her eyes, he was almost lost in them as they staired at each other. He kne wsomething was wrong then. "Sorry Al, I have to go for a second, I'll be right back." Gale said concernd. SHe walked away quickly, Al Papavich realized what he was, that he wasent human anymore. He felt his hands knowing under the fake, simulated flesh there were metal contraptions capable of destruction. He turned his head hopeing to see a friendly face, her face. "Always, why does it have to be like this." Al Papavich went to the bar.
He had a few more drinks. Not in the best condition he turned around in the stool seeing Gales friend Jill moving her mouth almost like she was talking to herself. He sat there and wondered where Gale had gone,His dream girl. For the remainder of the night he sat stairing at Jill confused and concerned.
((hope I didnt mess anything up man, just sounded cool))
Al Papavich noticed Jill kept digging into her pockets. He was sobering up at the time and the club died down just a bit, so that you could walk around easily. He wasent sure what to make of Jill, and Gale had been gone for over two and a half hours. Al went to the dance floor and just danced for awhile
Overlooking the club is a room built just below the ceiling. It's huge windows allowed a view of every inch of Nocturne Crossing. Behind the glass, bullet-proofed, is the desk of Matthew Crowe, sometimes known as the hero Aether, currently known as some detective guy who owns this club.
The team joked that Matt had the room built so he could sit in it and watch over his new kingdom. That was partly true. Things could get out of hand real quick in a place like this, in a town like this. Whenever possible he wanted a bird's eye view of an entire situation. Vision was an important thing to Matt Crowe.
So far the night had been going well. Everyone was having a good time. The music was great, the drinks were well stocked. The place was close to full, it had been fluctiating throughout the night. He'd have to stop letting folk in in a bit.
There were a number of familiar faces around. Some heroes he had fought with, a striking girl in a suede jacket whose face was familiar... Oh there was Swingin' Stewart, dance champion of Paragon and club reviewer. That should bring some buzz to the grand opening. As long as everything goes off without a hitch.
A knock at the door. Matt smelled a hitch. Matt begins to say Come in, as the door slams open and Vic looks at him with a pretty worried face. There's a fight going on in the back alley
Have Noirbot, Psiker and Lib show him the street...
It's a Family enforcer. He's beating the other guy pretty badly.
Dammit. Matthew hated when the Cosa Nostra showed up uninvited. Call the police. Tell them to get a room ready for an unlucky goomba.
She had to turn off Strange Fruit in the car on the way over; it was a little too much while she was preparing for a long evening of making nice for the opening of Nocturne Crossing. Rose was one of the Shades of Grey, but tonight she would do her share of moonlighting along the lines of her other talents. She had lately been teaching jazz classes to primary school kids, and practicing step with the PCU chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha, but now it was time to get back into swing.
For the first hour or so she just floated through the crowd to make sure everything was going smoothly and people were having fun. The dress she had picked out was a little formal for dance lessons, but she couldnt resist
it was a delicious early 40's evening gown in chocolate velvet, and it reminded her of the one Ingrid Bergman had worn to the opening of Casablanca. Well, except she was dark where Bergman was fair, but that was ok. 1940s hairstyles, with the fake curls and sculpted waves, were a total pain but a lot of fun, and, being Rose, she slipped in the fragrant and very Southern gardenia just because.
It looked just about right when she gave the band, except for the pianist, a brief break by joining them on stage. Years of hanging around clubs with her best friend Nick had made her comfortable with singing in front of people, but she still tired of it pretty fast. Smoldering through a couple of old standards would do it for this evening. She enjoyed watching the crowd enjoying themselves as she sang Porters In the still of the night and Gershwins Nice work if you can get it.
Afterward she prevailed upon Noirbot to give her a glass of water with lime and no ice before she changed into something more comfortable. As she reentered the club proper, she saw Vic making a beeline for Matts office, and Swingin' Stewart hanging out at the edge of the dance floor.
Figuring they could always find her if they needed her, she approached the dance champion of Paragon to express her delight that there was at least one good lead in the house tonight. She planned on getting at least one good lesson before she turned around and started giving them. They were quickly lost among the crowd on the floor.
Nobody appreciated the alleyways of Paragon City. They were what alleyways were supposed to be; narrow, dark, smelling of garbage and urine. The Cowman always appreciated it when things were done right.
The fist slamming into the side of his head interupted his thoughts. The fist had been doing that for awhile now. He had been enjoying the over-all "rightness" of the alley when he noticed someone being hassled by some thugs. Stepping into the scuffle, he tried to intervene on the side of non-violence. The others respectfully declined this option by ripping away his katana, and proceeding to practice bongo drum lessons on his face.
The man that currently was rearranging his skull's bone structure, obviously had super-strength, and the Cowman had already broken his foot trying to kick the guy's nuts. Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going anywhere right away, his mind had drifted back to the alley.
Yes, the alleys in Paragon were everything that alleys should be. Dark stretches of shadow, swallowing up light and goodness. Their black depths cold enough to freeze your soul if you dared to enter. Rat eyes peering out from cracks in walls and from underneath dumpsters, like demons' eyes, watching and waiting for you to step close enough to grab. A place where time stood still and everyth **BAM**
That fist was starting to annoy him.
Charlotte was woefully underdressed. She'd been patrolling the streets as usual, trying to do what little good she could as the Elysienne, when the Company began to bother her.
A Fourties bar! Whispered Ginge into her mind. Me 'an the lads'd really appreciate it if yuh could jus' pop in fer a while... take us back, like.
It had taken some convincing, but when a regiment or two of old war heroes ask you to do something, you don't hesitate long. And now she was inside the elegant, smoky club with her face turning a shade of red as she stood in her patrol clothes.
The Company were enjoying the atmosphere, spreading out through the club leaving swirling grey trails that only Charlotte, and possibly heroes gifted with certain powers, could see. Ginge, however, lingered at her side rolling himself a spectral cigarette.
'Ey, they done this place up real nice... Opening day, I see.
Charlotte cursed under her breath. No wonder everyone was so dressed up. She ordered herself a drink and hovered near the bar, staring out along the booths and across the dance floor and looking at the swirling grey Company disperse and mingle, literally, with the crowd and each other.
Ginge had been trying to attract her attention, but now she was inside she could at least have a peaceful night.
"Not now, Ginge. We're off duty..."
Ginge shrugged, and stopped trying to bring Charlotte's attention to the woman who was sitting alone with someone else.
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
Raymond Wilkins walked into the club wearing a thick winter coat and long pants, he had an awkward lump on his back. He walked up to the bar and said "Do you have root beer?"
The bar-keep replied "Why yes we do sir, I'll fix one right up for ya." The tender turned away to tend to the drinks which had been ordered and a man sitting to Raymond's right said obnoxiously, "Whatsa matta with you, don't want a real man's drink?" He was clearly drunk.
Raymond replied "I just don't like alchohol"
The man laughed and said "You talk funny, where you from?"
Raymond "I'm from England."
"Well then what brings a lousy Brit like yourself to Paragon City?"
"I was chased out of England by the Royal Family, and to think I was royalty."
"Probably chased ya out for being a pansy root beer drinking weeny!" the drunk man sneered, "Then again the whole bunch of you royal folks are just a bunch of tee-toddling, helpless cry babies, espceially the Queen and her sorry exscuse of a man Kin..."
But before the drunken man could finish his sentence Raymond had thrown off his coat,removed his axe from his back and smacked the man with the broad side of the axe, sending him sliding onto the dance floor on the otherside of the room.
"Never insult my family!" said Lord Raymond while everyone in the room had turned to look. "My apologies for the disturbence, carry on with your merry-making."
The bartender handed him his root beer and Raymond guzzled it and turned to the woman called Charlotte. "Well, what's your story, miss?"
Shadow Marshal sat at the bar thinking about the dumb mistake he had almost made. When he went to sign the guest book he almost signed it with his real name.
That would have been so stupid. Imagine it, the signature of the Paragon Stalker Serial Killers 12th victim shows up in a night club guest book. Then his whole secret would be out. Come to think of it they probably would have thought it was just a sick joke.
He turned away from the bar and looked around the room. He could feel there was a lot of history in this place. Ever since his murder he could feel and sometimes even see a lot of things like that.
He watched a strange looking girl wearing a jacket with a lot of pockets walk into the club. She seemed to be talking to herself. He turned back to the bar to pick up his drink. When he turned back he could suddenly see she was talking to someone. That was strange, there was no one there before. Must have been imagining it but there was something strange about the girl she was now talking to. He couldn't put his finger on it. It was almost like...........
He was distracted by the fact his drink had run out and decided to order another.
A little later Shadow Marshal was starting to get a little drunk when the girl with the pockets sat next to him. Her friend was sitting in a booth talking to some guy that he sensed was not fully human. But the girl, there was still something strange about the girl he was talking to.
The girl with the pockets ordered a drink. As she reached for it he could see she had cut her hand. The girl looked at him and gave him a nervous smile. Suddenly he sensed something was wrong, very wrong. He received a flash of memory, not his own and it hit him like a train. He couldn't make out what it was but it was strong.
The girl with the pockets must have seen the look on his face because she suddenly looked worried and left, heading for the toilets. Shadow looked over at the booth again and could see this time the man was chatting to himself. He blinked and suddenly the girl he was talking to was there again.
What the hell was going on.
Charlotte watched the Englishman lay out the drunken oaf with his axe, and decided that this wasn't the kind of company she was accustomed to, nor the type she would actively seek.
Better put on an accent, then. warned Ginge. If 'e twigs yer from the ole country y'won't be able to get shot've 'im.
Ginge was right, but damnit, the only accent she could think of now was cockney... Forcing herself to smile in a rictus grin and said in a worried Scottish brogue,
"Me? No story herra, big yan... Jest ca' awa' in oot the cauld fer a wee dram o' whiskey." Her eyes rolled madly to the bartending robot who had placed a whiskey next to her with inhuman efficiency. Trying to keep a manic note out of her voice, she raised the glass. "Herra's health ta ye..." She swallowed some of the whiskey, which stuck in her throat and burned with alcoholic content. She was proud that she didn't choke on it, and then put the drink down.
"If'n ye'll excuse me a wee bittie..." Charlotte mumbled, and made her way to the women's toilets to drink some water... and maybe find a back exit.
What the 'ell accent was THAT?
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
The man who only lives for making money
Lives a life that isn't necessarily sunny
Likewise the man who works for fame
There's no guarantee that time won't erase his name.
...
Holding hands at midnight
'Neath a starry sky
Nice work if you can get it
And you can get it if you try.*
Today had been another long day. The 9-5 was brutal, especially since it turned into a 5-9. He was never good with hostages, and he was even less fond of bombs. All the boy scout liasons over at GIFT had ever told him and other 'hero trainees' about defusing bombs was that 'it's never the blue wire'.
Well, today had been a red and a green wire day. Cut the wrong one, and boom, Merry Christmas, here are four dead hostages and a Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect Hazard Pay card to the nearest infirmary.
And to top it all off, a certain back-stabbing contact of his wife's actually had the gall to close down his favorite restaurant for a 'Mandatory Health Inspection'. "After all the sewers we trudged through for that woman," grumbled the older member of the plainclothed couple dipping in and out of street lamps on their walk. He was the taller and significantly hairier one of the bunch, a six-footer in lightly tinted sunglasses and a tank top in the dead chill of nightfall. "How's she expecting us to do her dirty work if we can't even feed ourselves?"
The blonde woman at his side stopped short in the middle of the quiet street. "Are you saying that... you don't like my cooking?"
There was a pointed silence before a grin quirked and she laughed, some of the stress of the day dissolving. "I'm not sure what's eating at her, hon, but you can bet it might be Mrs. Po's szechuan chicken. -That woman looked as pale as a sheet." No one really ate Mrs. Po's szechuan chicken except Brendt, Mr. Po, and those with a death wish. Grace picked up the pace, now bothering to look around for a restaurant that'd still be open at this hour.
And there it was- ... salvation for the starving. It looked like a club of some sort though and she could already hear Brendt's complaints in the back of her mind. Opening night too, from the look of things. She tugged the hand of her larger companion in that direction, slipping around a car parked along the sidewalk. "Hey, this place should work-"
Brendt wasn't a groaner, really. But he would've groaned then were it not for his wife's sudden pause as they rounded that car. Before any of his other senses kicked in, the older man somehow got it in his mind to take a sniff at the air. There were all the usual city smells: refuse, wet pavement, fast food... but something else coming from the car. He knew Grace felt something odd too, so all he spared her was an infamous "Huh."
"Maybe we should bring this to the attention of the manager. It... smells funny. I can't imagine that'll be good for opening night." She took a few very broad steps away from the car with the 'bad mojo' and up to the man in attendance at the front of the club. Ten dollar cover charge, so she fished around for her wallet and handed him the cash. Much despite the fact that she could feel her husband turning as green as the money that changed hands. Something about her paying her way never sat well with that man. Of course, being a normal American girl... she was totally used to going dutch. Ah well. "And, hey, we can get something to eat while we're there."
There were many things that didn't sit well with him tonight, and Grace handing off her own cover charge to that club bouncer was only the tip of the iceberg. The moment he filed the memory of that smell from the car away, he was able to relax some--and that's where another unsettling thing hit him. He suddenly became aware of a foot tapping a very unfamiliar tune on the pavement. A few seconds later, he realized it was his foot. That's kinda catchy. Kinda classy... And then the years of military anti-psychic training came back to mind and he started thinking of something else. Kung Pao chicken... egg rolls... General Tso's chicken... He shook his head and decided not to be too alarmed about it. He'd squared off with enough Aberrants lately to know a full-bore psychic assault when he was hit in the face with one, and for all he knew, they could've simply had a telepathic performer on stage. "Darlin', honey, sweetie..." He made a half-hearted effort at stopping her. "This is a club. ...There are people in clubs." She didn't look too convinced. A little amused, maybe. But not the least bit convinced. "Okay, okay." Brendt didn't like it when there were people around him when he was hungry, but he fished out a ten and handed it rather grumpily to the bouncer as he followed his wife inside. "Hope your little health inspector friend didn't close down their bar, too..."
(By- Jet Blue and Bulletproof) *-A few lines from Gershwin's 'Nice Work If You Can Get It'.
The woman that entered the bar didn't fit the scene of the 40's much more than the one that'd walked in straight off of a patrol route. If anything, she looked vaguely like MacGuyver sans mullet: Faded blue jeans, t-shirt with a light brown leather jacket, sneakers and a mop of blonde hair. She didn't seem entirely bothered by it either. She was still smiling over her husband's grudging acceptance of the idea. Turning to him and motioning to a bank of tables near the wall she said, "Get us a seat and I'll go talk to the manager if I can find 'em."
"Er, sure." The place was crowded, but rather classy-retro-chic for a 'modern' establishment. Truth be told, Brendt hadn't been in a club since he was eighteen, and it wasn't because he held any animosity towards drinking. He shrugged though and picked out a seat.
For a minute, Grace's attention was on the woman at the microphone. She had a lovely, clear voice and the song was at a charming climax. But her husband was second to draw her golden-eyed gaze. "Brendt, no!" She shrieked over the music and general chatter, racing to stop him before he took the seat. The look went from alert to scolding, "And to a veteran... how could you!" She leaned around the bulk of her husband and met the gaze of the decidedly phantasmal being occupying the chair. "I'm so sorry, Sir. It won't happen again." So saying, she took Brendt's hand and led him to a seat at the bar.
"I'm sorry," she added quietly, "I should've warned you about them." And then she just pranced off across the dance floor as though she was fully expecting to be allowed to speak with the manager. Or, at least, knew remotely where to find him.
He blinked twice at his wife's sudden chastising, but was left at the bar to wonder who exactly she'd been apologizing to. He squinted a bit at the seat, but thought it was too dark to see anything since he'd forgotten where he'd put his sunglasses. "Them?" But she'd already traipsed off to get herself into trouble, and he was left to address the robotic bartender. Robotic bartender? Well, it didn't look like a clock. But then, after a few drinks, probably nobody would care. "Hey, gizmo. I'll have a tall Red one and a Diet 7-Up on ice for my invisible lady friend." As the robot delivered his order as though it'd been spat out from some indeed inhumanly efficient assembly line, he'd just become aware of the glint of steel coming from another corner of the bar. Drink in hand, Brendt turned to witness a very loudly-accented woman fleeing the side of a man with an axe. So much for checking your heavy-duty surgical equipment at the door? Maybe he was security, but Brendt kind of doubted it. He shrugged it off for the moment, though, enjoying his Red Beast and the Greatest Empathic Hits of the '40's from the only woman in the club that seemed dressed to fit in with the atmosphere. As much as anyone could dress to 'fit in' anywhere in Paragon City...
(By- Jet Blue and Bulletproof)
There was something suspicious about that girl
"Oh well, I probably needn't worry."
Lord Raymond got up to walk around the club again, he passed the man he had smacked earlier, the man screamed like a child on a roller coaster. He then dedided to he should look in to the Shades of Grey Investigations to see if they had anything worth looking in to.
"Does anyone know where the owner of Shades of Grey is?"
Shadow Marshal found himself distracted by the scream of a small child coming from the dance floor. However he was suppressed to see it was in fact a very scared looking man.
The man holding the battle axe that he seemed to be afraid of was scanning the room as if looking for some one.
"Does anyone know where the owner of Shades of Grey is?"
"That might be him up there." Shadow said pointing up at the man behind the large windows over looking the club. "I think I would like to talk to him myself as well."
"Well then, please sir, lead on."
While they began walking towards the managers location Lord Raymond turned to the man and said refering to the scared man, "I don't really want to come off as a bad guy, in fact the whole reason I am here is to be a hero so that I might be accepteable by my family again. But sometimes my anger gets out and well... I am certain you saw what I did to the drunken oaf. The last person I spoke to at the bar didn't want to tell me what had brought her to Paragon, perhaps you'd like to tell me your story before we reach the owner."
"Well, I came here from England a few years back myself."
He was not sure what to say. He was trying to think as he spoke.
"I came here to study. I was just a normal person....before."
He knew he could not lie. Anyone with basic mind powers would see through it. He had not been a hero long enough to shield his thoughts that well.
"But...well...you know how these things go."
He decided a half truth was safer then a lie and not as dangerous as the truth.
"I was jumped by a Skull gang member one night and killed."
He wasn't sure if he was talking too casually.
"I was trapped for a while as a ghost but soon became stronge enough to take over his body and well....here I am now."
Yes, way too casual. No one should talk about there death and afterlife as lightly. He'd only lied about one fact. Two if he was truthful with himself. Then there was the stuff he left out and........
"So what's your story. Why did your family drive you out?.....If its alright me asking."
This fellow isn't telling me something, I'd better watch him carefully
"You may have heard this before but I find your story a little hard to believe, but no matter. My story begins when I was at a demonstartion of Crey Industries new Technology to the British Military Leaders. An explosion went off during one of the demos and killed everyone present, except for me. However the explosion did have some bizarre effects on me, giving me the ability to fly, and powers to control the Earth. Anyways I escaped the wreckage of the building and went home to my family, The Royal Family, and was chased out of my home because they were frightened by my bizzare new abilities. They said having a freak in the Family was not good for polotics and ran me out of England. Although I am certain my family really does miss me, they had to come up with a way to make up for my absence so they Proclaimed that I had died in the Explosion and that my body was never found. As you would imagine this makes it difficult to return home as Lord Raymond Wilkins, but maybe if I become a famous hero here in the US then I can return home as a hero of all England. Well at least that is what I would like to happen."
Before they reached the door to the manager's office Raymond turned to his suspicious friend and said "Before we disturb the manager, do you know of any current investigations they have going on?"
Matt runs down the hall, takes a careful leap over the railing to get on the stairs leading to the back door. Two men are walking up the stairs. They're startled by Matt leaping onto the stairway, as startled as he is to see one of them has an axe strapped to his back. Matthew didn't get the impression that he was a threat. At least not an immediate one. The second man appears to look a little worried. They were looking for some... looking for him. Before he could brush past them the man with the axe asks Pardon, are you the owner of this establishment?
Yes I ... Trying to not be rude despite the urgency Matt says, Listen, there's a situation I need to take care of. Have a seat in the office down the hall. He decides to add, Make yourselves comfortable, this could be a while.
The men courteously agree and make their way to the glass office.
Opening the door that leads to an alley on the eastern side of the club, Matt sizes up the situation. The alley was looking noticeably smaller thanks to the girth of the the two Family muscle men. They were beating on a third man pretty badly. The bleeding man was in a white jacket with a name tag. A doctor? The heavier of the two thugs punctuates a kick to the face with "Now you'll remember to leave her alone."
Matt needs to announce his presence, if only to distract them from murdering the man. Alright boys, it looks like he's had enough.The two gangsters turn around. The smaller of the two picks up their victim and hold his limp body in front of him.
Mind your own business pretty boy. The big man wasn't meaning to compliment. Not that a compliment from an obese man who had what was either blood, tomato sauce or both staining his shirt would've counted for much.
I'm looking out for my business. And you happen to be disrupting it.
This? Disrup'in'? If we wanted to disrup' ya business, you'd notice it by the place bein' on fire Little, well littler, guy retorts.
Maybe you two think you're tough when you're double-teaming a doctor. How about you try yourselves against.. A strong punch to Matt's gut follows. He wasn't ready for it and it hurts. Bad. Big Man didn't need for him to finish the sentence.The verbal sparring was over.
Matt takes a moment to catch his breath, hoping another punch doesn't follow. Fortunately, Big Man thinks Matt's down for the count and ceases the assault. He squints as a bright ball of oddly colored light moves quickly towards his chest. The detective has just hit him with a burn ball leaving the thug's skin in agony, a sensation similar to a burn. No permanent damage is done. Of that Matt was sure; having practiced the power, including a few tests on himself. Big Man screams and drops to the ground, smacking it with a hefty thud. Seconds later his body is teleported to the nearest PPD precinct.
Little(r) Thug stares on in disbelief for a brief moment before his instincts kick back. He drops the man in the white coat and reaches for his gun. A cold metal coil constricts around his hefty midsection and begins to squeeze. He quickly turns blue.
Enough ... Let him ... go, Noirbot Matthew manages to squeeze between breathes. He puts himself back upright hoping the robot listens.
You owe me Crowe, the black hulking automaton hissed. His electronic voice, a cross between Orson Welles and pennies tossed into a blender, added, I expect a baby in the morning.
No babes for you Nori. I owe you, but not much. You did almost eat me once ... Wait, who's tending the bar?
Left a toaster there five minutes ago, figured fleshbags couldn't tell the difference. I heard a man screaming and your vicious reprogramming forced me here. It is time for me to return. Heroes are generous with the tips. I will make enough money to hire a pimpled adolescent to restore me to my original objectives.
Yea, good luck on that. Focusing his attention on the victim Matt tries to keep him from going into shock. You'll be okay. An ambulance is on the way. Listen, I just want to ask you something. They don't send out their big guns on simple robberies or shakedowns. What was this about?
There is a girl... in your club... she is very sick. Dangerous.
Shadow Marshal looked out the large window of the office onto the crowd in the night club below. All manner of Super Heroes filled the place. Some had better dress sense then others. He was trying to figure out why there was a toastier on the bar when he spotted the girl again, walking out of the toilets. She was still wearing her coat with all the pockets.
Raymond, can you take a look at something here for a sec.
He waited for Raymond to walk over.
Do you know who that girl is? He said pointing at her. There is something very strange about her. I saw her come in with someone
.I think. This is going to sound strange but I think the person she is with is not real.
At that moment the girl looked up at the office window, looking right at Shadow and Raymond.
The two heavies, after dribbling his head against the pavement a few times, had finally lost interest and tossed him away, returning to beating the man in the white coat. The Cowman sailed through the air, vaguely wondering if it always hurt this much to fly.
"Have to remember to ask that Iron Stinger guy," he mumbled, as he fell into a dumpster. Luckily a swarm of large rats broke his fall. The sounds of the beating filled the musty air of the alleyway, almost matching the soft thump of the music from inside the club. Lying in a broken heap inside the dumpster, his face fixed on the starry sky above him.
He always liked the nightime. Not because he was "dark and brooding" or anything like that. It just seemed to be quieter than the day. The black sky with it's tiny pinpoints of light seemed more forgiving than the bright blue of the daytime. Ironic really, he thought, since nightime was when most crime happened.
He was saved from feeling TOO guilty about the bruised and battered victim, when he heard the back door to the building open and someone confronting the thugs. "Watch out," he rasped hoarsley (his windpipe being slightly crushed by the big man's grip) "they've got fists." After a brief sounding scuffle and the flash of a teleporter, things were suddenly quiet.
He heard someone talking and a metallic voice asking for a baby. "Don't do it," he croaked, inaudibly again, "they're all bones." The mechanical voice seemed to depart while the other started talking to the man in the white coat. The Cowman decided it was time to leave, especially since a couple of the rats were making a determined effort to have a face to face confrontation with his spleen.
Dragging himself out of the dumpster, he crawled to the nearest door leading into the building. He pulled himself up the small set of steps inside the door that led to the backstage area of the club. Unzipping his jacket a little and pulling back the hood, he made his way past a couple startled performers out to the main area.
He startled a few more people as he walked/stumbled across the club floor, his blue hooded jacket and brown baggy pants dropping bits of garbage on the floor as he went. Finally reaching the bar, he leaned against it heavily, grinning at the black robot behind it. The gas mask he usually wore now hung from a broken strap around his neck and the heavy goggles covering his eyes reflected the lights as he addressed the bar-bot, adopting a particularly bad spanish accent.
"How much, senor," he slurred, pointing to a toaster sitting on the bar, "for your sister." He chuckled a couple times before falling to the floor and demanding band-aids and a "brewski".
There was a loud thump from the direction of the bar area.
'Ere's a man who's down on 'is luck. Ginge noted, and Charlotte turned. There was a man who looked to be semi-conscious.
"Oh, dear." She murmered to herself and thought to the Company,
Get the Chaplain. I need him again. A chorus of ghostly whispers followed, rustling like cloth, and suddenly the Chaplain was present in her mind.
Chaplain Thomas Hardy had been a feild medic and parson for the 95th light infantry in life. In death he found that he could get closer to the roots of the problems, sewing cells themselves together with thin strands of ghostly energy.
I don't know why I bother taking a break sometimes. his kindly voice sounded like the turning of ancient pages, crackling around the edges. Who is it this time, Charlotte?
Charlotte was already making her way through the crowd that had begun to gather around the prone man, and she slipped to the front and knelt.
"Sir, are you alright? Where does it hu-" But the Chaplain's job had been to rapidly assess the injured.
There... he urged, and Charlotte held her hands over the tender areas, willing Chaplain Hardy to go to work. In seconds, Cowman felt less pain and a soothing numbness where aches had been before.
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
"Whoa," Cowman muttered as he felt his ribs snap back into place, "head rush." Squinting a little he looked at the woman in front of him, though he kept seeing flashes of some older guy now and then.
"Hey, thanks," he said, pulling himself up to the bar, "let me buy you a drink." He turned toward the black robot again. "Barkeep, bring me my brewski, and get this lady and her father a tall, refreshing..." he paused, digging around in his pocket for a little before pulling out a couple crumpled dollar bills. He looked a little nervously back at the girl as he leaned a little closer to the robot. "She'll, umm... she'll have a water."
He turned back, smiling a little guiltily. "Uh, water and... um... PRETZELS." He grabbed one of the nearby pretzel bowls. "And peanuts," he continued, grabbing a bowl from a nearby man who let out a string of curses at having his food stolen. "And..." the Cowman pressed on, convinced water, pretzels, and peanuts weren't sufficient. He reached into his jacket, rummaging around before pulling out a wriggling ball of fur. "And a rat."
After about a minute of holding the thing by it's tail, it seemed to dawn on him that this might not be an appropriate contribution, and quickly stuffed the animal in his pocket, where it squirmed around until finding a piece of refuse from the dumpster to chew on.
And so he stood there, with "dumpster funk" radiating outward from his body in what he could swear were visible waves. There was a slight wet sound from his garbage soiled pants as he sat on one of the barstools.
"So, is this some kind of charity meet or something," he asked calmly, popping a couple pretzels in his mouth, seemingly oblivious to the patrons who inched away from his newly acquired, pungent aura.
Heh... sniggered Ginge, You sure know how to pick 'em, eh Charley? Charlotte hissed at him in thought to be quiet.
"Um," She began nervously,her nose wrinkling at the unpleasant odour that hung around the man. "I don't know to be sure. I-I think I heard someone mention it being the club's open night." She crossed one arm over her chest to hold onto the bicep of her other arm as people passed by her, shrinking back to take up as little space as possible. She thought she saw the rat scuttle across the floor towards the main entrance. It was then that something that had been registered at the back of her mind waved a little flag.
"Um...My father? Sir, you must have been mistaken. My father isn't even in the country."
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
"Ah, sorry," Cowman said, absentmindedly as he took a swig of his beer, "thought I say some guy standing with ya. Brain wasn't workin' too well still." He went back to his drink, finally noticing the other people's discomfort when a man next to him had a violent gagging fit.
The Cowman had always found a slight irony in people's hatred of garbage. He wasn't too fond of it himself, but it still seemed slightly amusing. Garbage was the parts of people's lives that they threw away, tossed out, swept under the carpet. The parts no one else was supposed to have to look at and naturally they would be repulsed by these dirty parts of their lives showing up.
It sort of mimiced humanity itself. The parts of itself that humanity didn't like where usually not spoken of or ignored. Slavery, the holocaust, genocide of native peoples; all these topics are normally taboo in "polite society".
Of course, this philosophy, like all others, was full of holes and contradictions and the Cowman never really pursued it beyond a passing thought. He didn't really pursue much beyond a passing thought. He didn't see the point. He DID see the other customers holding their noses and despartely breathing through their mouths, however.
He started rooting around in his pockets again. He KNEW he had one. He had bought it just recently since he had started thinking about getting a car. Finally finding what he was looking for, he pulled out a pinetree shaped air freshner and hung it around his neck; a satisfied look on his face as if he had just solved some world threatening problem.
The bartender set a glass of water on the counter and he turned to hand it to Charlotte. He considered finding a bathroom and washing in the sink, but this place was too classy for that. At least not with the generic brand of shampoo he used.
Nocturne Crossing
Shades of Grey Investigations, Paragon's team of super powered detectives, has decided to do something with the extra space of the stuffy old building they call their office. Their boss, Matthew Crowe (aka Aether), has decided to turn the first floor of the building into Paragon's newest nightclub, Nocturne Crossing (Noc X)
See our Grand Opening flier!
Shades of Grey Investigations hopes that the club can pay their bills, allowing them to solve cases at minimal cost to their clients.
It's also keeping with their film-noir theme.What's more noir than detectives and night club owners? Now the team finds themselves having to be both. It's not going to be easy, so they hired out some more folks to help with the club running.
Use this thread (and the club) as a place for heroes to hang out and listen to some great swing and jazz music.
There's a bar tended by Noirbot, the team's resident evil robot. Don't worry, he doesn't eat people.... anymore.
Meet new people, dance, have a few drinks.
Get to know the Shades of Grey. And if you have a mystery, maybe they can give you a hand.
Above all, have a good time RPing your hero.
Now here's something to throw a small wrench into the festivities....