"Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. 'Silas is back.'" Beth spoke slowly, methodically, in meter. Smiling, she finished and tipped her glass to the hero.
"I didn't expect it, but Frost suits you. If you rectie some of the passages, I might know the book." She shrugged, blushing, "Poetry is good for you."
"Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.
Warren returned-- too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited." She finished, hoping that some of the meaning would be heard.
[ QUOTE ]
"Well then, what shall I call you? Dave or just D.B.?"
[/ QUOTE ]
Basilisk paused for a moment before answering the woman.
"I suppose either would work. Most of my friends call me either Dark or Bas, so I suppose you could call me one of those, too."
[ QUOTE ]
"Clockwork's just my particular...uh... pet peeve. What about you? You hold a particular grudge toward any of these baddies or are you just out for all of 'em?"
[/ QUOTE ]
His expression darkened at the question.
"I'll go after anyone who I'm asked to. Anytime I get to stick it to Crey though, I'll do it without a second thought. Bastards think they're above the law. Trouble is, they're mostly right. Every time I think I've finally gotten the evidence to put them away, some weasel-faced lawyer pops up with some technicality or loophole, and they get out of it. Sons of [censored] deserve to pay..."
Basilisk interrupted himself, seemingly noticing that he was ranting. As if nothing had happened, he diverted Betty's questioning.
"What 'bout you? What did the tin-toys do to earn your ire?"
My story arcs: #2370- Noah Reborn, #18672- The Clockwork War, #31490- Easy Money
Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." What does that make an MMO?
He was brought out of his thoughts by her words. He couldn't help but smile. "The Death of the Hired Man" was one he read often. Plus the last bit she said reminded him of their first walk to her home, holding hands and admiring the beautiful moon that night.
"Ok, well here's one that's been in my head for a while."
"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."
He wasn't sure why he chose that one in particular, but it was the first that came to mind. "That one holds the most meaning for me, but you could probably find it in any book that has his poems in it."
He traced the edge of his wine glass with his finger, suddenly worried that maybe he had chosen one that was a little to sad for the moment.
((OOC: For those interested, Jack Zodiac started a thread about how your main character would die. I submitted my entry, which obviously takes place much farther in the future than his adventures here. All the stories so far are really good, but if you want, take a look at the death of Manion and tell me what you think.))
"Wow, getting all philosophical on me." A hint of sadness in her voice. "Nothing lasts forever, but you have to live the good times while they do." A melancholy set in, the wine was a little less sweet, the fire a little less warm. She stared into the glass, watching the crushed grapes swirl as her hand slowly moved the crystal.
"Manion," she said after a moment, "I really appreciate these minutes you find for me. I can forget that there's more to life than work and laundry, and it feels good to know somebody enjoys my company, too."
She leaned back in the chair, head slightly down and thinking to herself. She didn't want to ruin the evening, so she pinned a smile on, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was an internal conflict, trying to actually believe in this happiness and being wary of it at the same time.
((OOC: Nice death Manion, but it must be hard to kill your character. I am considering it with Sibling, but man, that will be tough.))
((OOC - we share the same favorite SF author! "Ordinary people will teach you the truest, most sane things in the world. Thank God for them." - Ariane Emory
New Festi installment soon...))
"And in this moment, I will not run.
It is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands."
Sensing her mood had changed, Manion wished he could take the verse back. *That was exactly what I hoped wouldn't happen* he thought. He stuggled to find a way to turn things back around, and realized that simply brushing this off with a witty comment might do more harm than good.
"I know that it may be a jaded way of looking at life, but you have to realize something. My parents died when I was very young. The building we lived in caught fire, and a lot of people didn't make it. I was on my way home from a martial arts class that evening when it happened. A few heroes managed to save a few folks, but my parents weren't that lucky. Then, just recently a good friend of mine was lost. I dont know if she is alive or dead, just that I probably wont be seeing her again. So you can see why that poem sticks in my head. Its just the way my life has gone so far." He stopped for a moment, hoping she would see what he was trying to say.
"Moments like this... just seem to good to be true. I can't help but worry that something is going to happen and it won't last. We may not have known each other for very long, but I really enjoy our time together too. It helps me forget about the mess my life has been. I don't want to do anything to scare you away, but I worry that I might. That's all really. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
It was his turn to look at the glass in his hands. Unsure of what else to say, he sat and kicked himself for ruining such a perfectly good night.
((OOC: It wasn't easy, but everyone dies eventually, even Superman. 
And as much as I would have liked to go down in a blaze of glory saving hundreds of lives, it didn't really seem Manion's style. Oh, and no one said you had to kill them. If you cant then dont. 
))
((OOC: Dollhouse, who would have thought? What can I say, great women think alike? And I refer to CJ and yourself, not myself 
))
((OOC: Manion, a sensitive hero, wonder of wonders! No wonder Lady Liberty and Azuria go on about you so!))
Beth looked up quickly, expecting some grin or insincere expression. To her surprise, Manion's face held a simple honesty. That in itself was enough to make her smile, not a happy grin, but a satisfied smile.
"I think we both know that life is hard, at least I found someone that cares," she finished, then realized how that sounded, and sputtered out, "Gal, I mean I found Gal and she cares."
*Sure,* she thought to herself, embarrassed, *go ahead and make him think you're a leech*.
"I know someone who would say things last as long as they should. She'd also tell me to know when to shut up and just be content. No more heavy talk. Have you seen that whole Colliseum thing they're building downtown? Haven't been in, looks like it might cost a little, but it must be something to see."
((OOC: Manion, you're my hero...swooon. 
))
"Hard Liquor? We have all types," the tiny woman motioned behind the bar to the well-lighted stock. "With taste or without." She smiled impishly.
"Perhaps something unique? Absynth or Grappa, served ice cold would surprise you."
"Bah, Absynth, brandy, diesel fuel. Suprise me." Buck said with a grin, yet a tone of seriousness fell behind his words.
Buck Glanced around the room, many colorfull figures filled the bar. Buck wasn't colorfull, and he wasn't a man of tights and capes. He didn't really concider himself a superhero for that matter. Buck was a hard man who had done a lot of crazy things, and that was that. He drove a hummer naimed daisey, was raised by a man named Old Man Brambles and faught a secret nazi uprising in Africa. But then, Buck always was under pressure to be grow up and eat steel. After all, you don't have a name like Buck Lawhorn and go into accounting.
Manion looked up and laughed, more than a little relieved.
"Fair enough, no more heavy talk." He lifted his glass to her, and took another sip of his wine.
"The Colliseum? Yeah I saw the one in Galaxy City. Well, the huge hole that will end up being the Colliseum anyway. I was on my way through there one day, and misjudged a jump. Came down right in the middle of the thing. I hadn't been through Galaxy in a while, so the hole was a surprise to me. Almost broke my ankle." he said with a sheepish grin. "I did some asking around later and found out they will be holding competitions in there. Heroes fighting Heroes or something like that. I don't see myself getting into any of those fights. I figure the villains deserve that kind of attention more than other heroes do. Im sure it will make for good entertainment though, seeing all those heroes put their best powers to the test. I may go once to see what its all about. Tell ya what, when it opens up, if you want to go see it I'd like to take you. It's up to you though."
He had caught the comment about "someone that cares" and almost said that he cared too, but she wanted to keep the talk light, so he let it go with a smile.
((OOC: Didn't anyone tell you it's not nice to tease? Swoon indeed. ))
*Surprise?* she thought, *Odd that a man would come into a bar full of people who looked like a Star Wars convention and ask for surprise.* Star Wars had been her first movie, and that in re-runs at the small Bijou near Extech in Talos Island.
She pulled four bottles from the shelf, and a tall glass used for Long Island Ice Tea, then a glass pipette, similar to a large straw. She liked to try new things, and had been practicing this one.
1 oz. White Rum
1/2 oz. Creme de Noyeaux
1 1/2 oz. Sweet and Sour Mix
1/2 oz. Triple Sec
1 1/2 oz. Orange Juice
1/2 oz. Bacardi 151 Proof Rum
First the 151, poured in, then she pulled some OJ into the straw, carefully draining it onto the surface of the liquor and freezing it at the same time, until it made a visible layer, then the Creme, again freezing it with her hand placed around the glass. That was three layers, followed by the white rum, more OJ and freezing, Triple sec and then the sour mix. When she was finished, the drink looked like a sandwich of various colors, all separated by frozen creme or OJ, since the liquors would not freeze. In a moment, it would thaw, but surface tension would keep the liquors separated until he either hoisted it or stirred it.
She ended with a flourish, a slight bow of her head to him, as Gertrude delivered a menu. Her smile was incredulous, no bartender without frozen hands could do that on the spot.
"No diesel fuel, but this should start you out."
((OOC: Never seen one of these? The real bartenders use LN2 to freeze the OJ in the glass, and it costs a pretty penny, but The Heathman in Portland can do it.))
"Heroes pounding other heroes? What's up with that? I didn't know you guys had feuds, I mean, professional wrestling and all, that's all show. One of those guys with like laser breath or like Gemini with a sword...couldn't somebody get killed?
"There aren't enough freaking thugs to fight in town now?" She wasn't agitated with Manion, and quickly added, "I didn't mean you, but what about all the others. Kids look up to heroes, shouldn't they? I guess there's a lot we don't know about some people, and I'm glad to hear you say you don't want to do it."
((OOC: Heroes vs Heroes...Grrr. Don't get me started. Oh, I started it....Thanks for playing to my tune, Manion. ))
Relating these tales had made Lili homesick. Not homesick for the Praetorian-dominated world she had fled, but for the rural France of her childhood. It was a gentle, sweetly sad sort of homesickness, for she realized that world was long gone, existing in precious memory and nowhere else. She didn't seek to return to it, but merely to taste it again, to hold it close to her heart.
Taste it. Yes...
"I think I'd like to finish with the custard, please. A simple vanilla custard seems unassuming, but few cooks truly get it right. Somehow, I have a feeling one of them is back there in your kitchen."
"And in this moment, I will not run.
It is my place to stand.
We few shall carry hope
Within our bloodied hands."
"Feuds? I guess maybe some have a few, mostly I think there are just so many heroes out there now that some of them don't know what to do with themselves. They feel the need for these arenas so they can prance around like peacocks, showing off their bright feathers, then beat the tar out of each other to prove who has the biggest..." He stopped suddenly and turned bright red.
"Errr, I mean... Your right. There is more than enough crime to go around, some heroes just need a little focus. Maybe once they are all done working off the steam they will get back to what matters." He recovered quickly, and hoped she wasn't offended by what he almost said.
"As far as heroes getting killed? I doubt it. Hurt, for sure, but not killed. I don't know how it will work in there, but I know out here heroes are given a type of tracker. If we get beat up real bad, a signal goes out to the closest hospital. If we arent healed or revived soon enough, they activate an emergency teleporter and *poof* we wake up in a warm bed eating pudding until we are done healing. Had to use that little feature myself a few times. I imagine they will have something similar installed to keep those heroes from really doing damage. Although I dont see how one hero could take it that far against another." He shrugged a little.
The concept baffled him as well, but no one said he had to fight. So he wouldn't.
"So I take it this is something your not interested in then?" He asked playfully.
((OOC: Hey, its a tune I'll gladly help you play. I feel the same way. ))
"If I wanted to see someone fight, I'd wait for payday and watch Gal try to give Martin his check." A laugh told Manion this was not something the stodgy Maitre 'D took willingly. "She may be big, but Marty has a tongue and wits you won't see unless you irk him. Never enough to be rude, but after about five minutes, you realize he just whipped you."
"Nah, no interest in this hero fighting nonsense. You want to go out to something, talk to me about a good concert, or that big movie they are hyping all over town." She thought for a moment, looking into space, "Fifth Column something. I could ask Gertrude if she wanted to come, too, she doesn't get much time to go out." There was a quirk to her eyebrow, a look from the corner of one eye, almost like she was waiting for an answer.
((OOC: You play the tune, all I know how to do is dance ))
"Thanks." Buck said, taking the drink in his hand. He took a good look at it. It was strange. It didn't look like anything he had put down before, but hell, it was alchohal.
He wasn't to thrilled about waiting for the ice to melt to empty the glass, but he had a menue in front of him now, so that eased his tension a bit. He didn't have to look at it to long though.
"Steak, biggest one you've got. Make it rare." He said, handing the menue back.
Buck looked back at his drink. Damn, that didn't take long enough. Buck thought to himself, then proceded to start flicking the side of the glass, hoping the frozed liquids would hurry up and brake apart.
"Ok, how about this. You and Gertrude get together and decide the what, when, and where. Once that's decided I can make some calls and make sure no ones comes looking for me that day. BUT, there is one condition. I actually get to pay this time. If we go out, I treat, end of story." Even though he meant this, he had a smile in his eyes that let her know he wasn't upset.
"If that's not asking too much, and Gertrude is ok with it, then I'm all for it."
Normally the thought of bringing anyone else out would have made Manion think twice, but since Beth brought it up, he didn't think too much on it. He hoped no one would end up feeling like the odd man out so to speak. Then again, things weren't even set yet, so worrying about it now made no sense, and Manion put it out of his head for the time being.
Jack whipped the restaurant front door open not really realizing how hard he pulled and just barely missed hitting himself in the face with it. He stumbled past the curtain and froze. A quizical look came across his face as he looked around, then he saw Martin and realized he had used the wrong door. "My apologies Martin... wrong door... I uh had something on my mind."
He also then realized that he still had his cape on, and seeing that noone else was wearing one he quickly attempted to undo the two clasps. Masterfully fumbling away he finally managed to get them undone with only smashing his fingers twice. He quickly folded the cape just as his father had taught him to fold a flag and stuffed it under his arm like a newspaper. He gave a sigh of relief as he realized he was wearing one of his more casual costumes.
"I'll just show myself to the bar Martin. Once again sorry about the intrusion." He wound his way through the tables trying to avoid the occupied ones. He ended up noticing most of the people in there and did a double take when he realized who Beth was. "Wow" he muttered under his breath. Somehow he ended up passing near the kitchen trying to avoid people and sent a smile towards its imhabitants. Once out of the restaurant he saddled up to the bar and hailed Narshawn with a wave of his hand. It just struck him that he didn't have his hat and his hand went quickly up to the spikey blue hair that stood on his head. "Well that is a relief, for a minute there I thought I was having a good day." he thought to himself.
The brass door to the bar opened slowly, the light from Paragon's questionably clear skies not shining through its glass. The obstruction was clear in a moment as a giant of a man ducked slightly under the doorway and let the door come to a close. The hilt of a large broadsword dinged the top of the doorway, but it stayed securely strapped to his back. It had been a close fit, but President Black had managed to get through it without going sideways. Being muscular was not always a good thing, a damn nuisance in his own opinion.
His dark African skin almost appeared purple in the light of the bar. His eyes were two glowing orbs of light, the true color of his eyes too hard to guess at. His greying eyebrows lifted as he eyed the place, taking in details and noting the exits as was his habit. He had been told this was a good place to get a drink... It reminded him of some of the pubs his son Jamael had made him go into London.
A gust of white looking flame leapt up from his body as he made a move to the bar, several thousand nanites disintigrating from his supply. Soon he would have to visit the scientists again. He was using them up too quickly these days.
The elegant, shining bar gained a smudge from President Black's hand as he eased himself slowly into a stool. Not many chairs could easily handle 700 pounds of pure muscle added with the weight of a 120 pound broadsword. A smile shot across his face, covered in a not so trim beard. The stool didn't even give a creak at his weight. His facial hair grew even more grey as gunpowder was added to it, his gloved hand running through it.
"Bartender, I'd like whatever is your strongest proof alcohol and bring me a litre of it," he said. His voice was strong but kept at an even level, his clipped, precise language that of a foreigner.
"Any specials?" he asked as an afterthought.
"I hear you there about the lawyers. I wonder if we shouldn't be busting them and just forget about all these arch-villains. Seems like you could play six degrees of Paragon City's legal defense system with most of them anyway. As a matter of fact, if it hadn't been for a shifty lawyer, I wouldn't have ever got my first upgrade."
Her head cocked to the side when she overheard the bartender mention something about absinthe.
"Absinthe?" she called down the bar, "if you've got some of that back there, make my next drink some Death in the Afternoon." She turned back to face Dark Basilisk. "I suppose I may as well go Hemingway if I'm going to go ahead and relate this story to you," she said in a half whisper with an almost satirical imitation of confidentiality.
"Anyway, the first thing that the Clockwork did to get on my bad side was that hey just happened to be one of the last in a long stream of people, things, places... you name it, that seemed to have no other reason for existence than to make me miserable in one way or the other." She paused and took somewhat of a larger pull on the gimlet before continuing.
"I actually used to run a shop just east of Agrosey.... I don't know if you'd remember it or not, it was really just some spare space in a warehouse that I managed to rent primarily as a workshop and to house my collection of mechanical and electrical ephemera. I use to actually make some nifty superhero devices for a friend of mine," her grin was suddenly replaced by a sour expression and she downed the rest of the drink. "I only did it out of kindness, mostly, and because I always enjoyed experimenting with pieces and parts of stuff other people often found useless. Most of the income I got out of the business was modest, rebuilding people's computers and what not, selling spare parts and whatever other junk I would either find around or people would just leave with me.
After the Rikti pretty much turned me out of my home, I started staying at the shop. The landlord didn't like that much... he was always going on about residential versus commercial zoning permits, and I don't guess he really liked me as a renter either because I think he figured I just delt in trash anyway. Not long after that I was diagnosed with something I can't even remember how to pronounce, but basically they said I had a weak heart, and by that point I couldn't really afford to do anything about it. So one night I'm crashed out in the store, and next thing I know, here comes a mob of Clockwork, and they ransack the place and run off with most of what's worth taking. And this wasn't just grab stuff and go. I guess since I was there and attempted to stop them, I dunno why, they trashed the place. The roof was falling in by the time they left. I did manage to partially disable an oscillator with a gadget I had been working on for my... uh... friend, and then I smacked it several times with this big sword somebody had dumped in the shop until the little screwball just quit.
Now, I had seen Clockwork around before that, and always found them a little bit interesting, considering my attraction to machines and such, but I'd never seen one up close, so of course I took the first opportunity I got so dissect the thing. I soon found out what an amazing little work of art the thing was, but what really ticked me off was that every connection, every part worked so perfectly and efficiently together, but I just couldn't figure out exactly how it worked. You have to understand, I became obsessed with the thing. I prodded and poked at it for almost a week, didn't eat, didn't sleep, let the rain come through the busted roof on me, couldn't quit 'til I figured it out. That's how the insurance guy the landlord sent over found me, and I told him it was over my dead body that they'd get me to leave until I finished my project. Then the guy throws up his hands and gives me this lecture on how it takes one to know one and somesuch which gives me the idea to replace my malfunctioning parts with some unexplainably functioning ones... and what I needed was just a tiny little valve, didn't seem like so much of a thing. Like I said before, I didn't really care about much anymore than figuring out what made that little sucker run, so all of this made perfect sense to me at the time, and I said as much to Mr. Liability just to shut him up. So insurance guy tells me he has a friend in the legal field, who has a friend who was blacklisted from the medical field. To make a long story at least somewhat shorter, I was able to use the parts in my possession to fix my ticker, and all it cost me, and don't ask me what that quack wanted with 'em 'cause when you're dealing with that sort even I know well enough not to ask questions, was a functioning pair of baby blues." She gestured to the optical implants. What I found out was that after the first upgrade, it was hard to stop... I deal with the daily urge to do more, and sometimes it gets the better of me... She stopped talking for a moment and lifted the corner of the towel to get a look at the severed arm, then quickly replaced the towel and briefly drummed nervously on the bar with her fingers. She remembered that the bar was alive so she stopped herself by sitting on her hands, then she looked back up, the sour expression suddenly replaced with the grin again.
But I suppose I should shut my trap now before I go all twelve step on you, and you seem like too much of the straightforward sort to put up with that kind of nonsense for too terribly long."
She looked embarrassed again, wondering if she hadnt rambled for too long as it was. She turned expectantly to the bartender, hoping the next drink would arrive soon.
((OOC: Sorry, had an early shift last night. Board Maint this morning, so I will have to answer after the boards come back up. Great posts, welcome back Jack!))
Basilisk looked thoughtful for a moment, then, as if the words came of their own accord, began to speak in his rich baritone.
"A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear."
He looked up and quirked his lip in a strange sort of half-smile.
"Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I imagine he was talking about opium addiction, the guy was usually baked on the stuff, but it seems to apply here too. Don't worry, I'm not one to judge. I used to be just as bad, but my vice was alcohol. I'd stay up most of the night, drink until my face hit the floor, then wake up, hea to work, and start again when I got home. Not much of a problem anymore. I can't absorb the stuff, so it just passes through." He chuckled softly, "I imagine they probably saved my life when they changed me, not that I'm thankful. Now I have more problems than ever, and can't even properly drown my sorrows."
((OOC: With everyone else jumping on the poetry bandwagon, seemed I should too. ))
My story arcs: #2370- Noah Reborn, #18672- The Clockwork War, #31490- Easy Money
Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." What does that make an MMO?
Finally! Buck thought to himself as the ice melted away, leaving the various beverages to remain seperate on their own. Buck wouldn't let them wait for long though. In a quick snatch and chug, the drink was gone. Buck raised an eyebrow. It was tastefull, but then again taste didn't matter that much to him. He thought back to the most potent drink he had ever had.
It was in a little town in mexico, just outside of mexico city. The place was called El Diablos. The bar itself was located on the second story of the building, the bottum floor was a seperate strip club.
The bartender had taken a beer mug and added tequila, 90 proof liquer, a shot of jack daniels, a shot of a mysterious beverage (Most thought it to be paint thinner), squeezed a habinaro pepper into the mix and dropped it at the bottum.
The last man that had tried to put it down started choking, then lept out of the window and into the streets, breaking his neck on impact. It was for this reason that they called it "La muerte líquida" (The Liquid Death).
Buck had taken one look at the drink, then grabbed the handle and swiftly swallowed it down. He slammed the mug down empty, even the habinaro pepper was gone.
The men in the bar stared at Buck in awe as he munched down on the pepper, then spit the seeds out in a spitoon near by.
If your ever in Mexico, you wont find El Diablos anymore. After that day, it was renamed "Buck's Hoyo de Infierno" (Buck's Hell Hole)
"Yeah, a drink. What's a good hard liquer here?" Buck asked, resting his arms on the bar.