"Well, I said I'd go back. Tonights as good a night as any." thought Manion to himself. Besides, he had heard something in Gal's voice before he had left the night before. He wasn't an empath, so he couldnt quite put his finger on it, but he felt the need to go back. It had been a long, bad day, and he needed to talk to someone.
He stopped and saw Lauren at the Icon in Independance Port. He had noticed he was one of the few men in the restaraunt without a jacket, and had a feeling that was the reason he had gotten "the look" from the headwaiter.
Once he got back home, he laid out the oufit he had bought and picked up the phone. He would remember to make a reservation this time. He didnt like to make the same mistakes twice. He dialed the number he found on the flyer Gertrude had given him.
"Yes, I'd like to make a reservation for tonight please... 6 o'clock... just myself... Manion... oh sorry Manion Butler... Thank you..."
He hung up and started to get ready.
Shakes her head, "Oh, it happend some twen'y years ago. We were goin' t'be married but... I don't really know what happen'. All I remember..." she shakes her head, "Who was that big fella you were talkin' to earlier?" she gives a lopsided grin, "Maybe you could introduce us sometime eh? Or is he taken?" Isis is pretty old fashioned and just figures Gal is being nice and complimenting or comforting her and accepts it as that. She also decides to try and change the subject since everything that's happend to her prior to becomeing a vigilante/super hero is kind of sensitive.
((For Manion))
"Reservation, for one, at six o'clock," Martin penned the name in the book, marking a table close to the Grill. "Thank you, Mr. Butler. Please be prompt, our policy is to hold tables no longer than ten minutes." He hung up the phone, making a tsk-ing noise quietly.
*Heroes arriving alone, night after night.* He was attending to several new arrivals. *Should find themselves decent company, perhaps a lady to enjoy dinner with.* His opinions he kept to himself, unless the situation warranted it.
At least he had placed Mr. Broady with the welcome Miss Kitiara. That was certainly an improvement over the rough and tumble crowd that seemed the norm in this town. He owed his service to Mister Broady, who had an agreement with Ms. War, which had transferred his employment to her.
*Ah, the Ladies. There was a group of well mannered women,* his mind wandered while his well-trained body carried on the formalities with the group, seating and indicating who would be their server.
******
((For D Ceet))
Narshawn smiled, somewhat wickedly, at the sight of Gertrude bustling about. Tonight, it was Nar that had a pleasant conversation with the small woman named D Ceet. Curious she would chose a name so likely to cause second looks, but at least it was her name and not a constant freezing breeze. Narshawn sighed.
"I'm sorry," she said to the other woman, "What were you saying?"
*******
((For Isis))
"You mean Sweet? If you can catch his eye, you'd not have ta work a day again." She thought about it for a moment, big as he was, he could be a teddy bear. "He isn't called Sweet 'cause he likes candy. He takes care of a big part of the kids and former gangers in this part of town, deep pockets. Don' have much use for men, but him I'd think about if I weren't already married." Her sly smile exposed her brilliant white teeth.
"I could see if he has some time, maybe make up something ta get him in here. Wouldn't be no trouble, all I have ta say is that I'm makin' collards and chitlins."
((OOC: Sweet is another player's character, but he might play along. Let's see what he responds to a call from Gal...))
"Marcus Sweet, please. Tell him this is Gal, thank you." She spoke into a cell phone, far too small for her, but the largest you could get. Sweet's secretary put her on hold.
Falcon Kitiara's eyes had followed the man while he got nearer and nearer. She had smiled slightly, feeling a deep empathy with him: his eyes, his confused gaze, he was just like her when she had moved her first step in a city, at 17. Even now, sometimes, she happened to have that exact same gaze in her eyes; and when the jukebox played the Metallica song, her puzzled look spoke volumes about metal music full of bass and battery, sounds that in nature aren't found anywhere. Fortunately her table was pretty far from the juke box: for a woman trained to hear the slightest sound of leaves or bushes in the woods, to distinguish a bird from another and reproduce their singing, it's a very slow thing to get used to this kind of music.
Her enemies knew that, since she now had a reputation among villains, and often used her weakness against her using shrieking, piercing sounds, or very noisy rhytmical ones, to stun her or immobilize her; there were times when she couldn't do anything but hold her head and ears with her hands, fight against the painful noise, and avoid being hit.
Kitiara looked at her soon-to-be companion: she didn't know if the red color of his skin was due to some accident on his work, or if it was natural; she had read a lot about indians when she was little, but she didn't think that this man was one of them. His accent, however, was something of a surprise for her, she had overheard some superheroes using it amongst them while they waited for the metro to arrive, but she had never paid much attention, since it isn't polite to overhear others' conversations.
She noted their little discussion, and heard most of their words: her fine hearing wasn't just a weakness; the expression on Steve's face spoke of embarassment and feeling inadequate... his movements did the same thing, even more than his words. She smiled and waited for them to get nearer.
"Falcon Kitiara, yes, scandinavian - northern Sweden, not too far from Lapponia if you would like a more precise location, but I can't really point a city. A pleasure to meet you, mister Steve." she smiled and with her left hand she removed the right glove. She held out her hand for him to shake, and her eyes went big as plates when he kissed the back of her hand, and it wasn't for the surprising heat of his body.
Of course she had known about this custom, read about it somewhere, but she had only read about it, she had never thought that it could happen to her too, and was delighted from it. Her eyes and her smile betrayed her feelings, and when he let her hand go, she waited a bit before putting her glove on again. She gently waved her hand toward the chair in front of her, inviting him to take place.
"So, mr. Steve, you are an Engineer and a Trainsmaster? It's not much time that I am in america, so, can you tell me something more about your profession?"
[OOC she puts her glove back on neither because she is uppity nor because she's ashamed by her own calloused hands. She's too used to having them on almost constantly, and they feel comfortable; psychologically, having her gloves on gives her a feeling of being more protected as well, but these are nuances that won't emerge until way later 
of course she removes them when the situation demands it.
I've also decided to give an explanation of the times she has been immobilized, held or such (she doesn't have practised brawler so she doesn't have a particular immunity to this kind of attacks); the usual "mind attack" thing seemed a bit boring, so...]
The front double doors swung open and in walked a 9 foot man, well 9 foot with the mohawk. He wore extremely baggy brown pants, and a tight orange shirt over his heavily muscled chest. You wouldn't call him a huge man but he was pushing the limits. His orange hair stood tall and proud above his glaring eyes and hard face. A spikey beard wrapped from ear to ear and gave him quite a crazed look.
Hardly noticable next to him was a thin young lady about 5 and a half feet tall with long gold and red hair worn loosely to her waist. She had a small tiara on that kept her hair out of her face. She wore a long purple summer dress that fit tightly around her upper body, but gave her plenty of movement for her legs. It tied off at the waist with a simple blue ribbon. She has a very pretty face and bright blue eyes. Clutched in her hands was a small blue purse big enough to hold lip stick and a credit card.
"Hello, King's Gym, Leo speaking. What can I do for you?" the gravel-voiced old man asked over some rather loud rock music.
[ QUOTE ]
"Marcus Sweet, please. Tell him this is Gal, thank you."
[/ QUOTE ]
"Sure thing. Sweet....SWEET!! Hey turn that music down will ya! There's a lady on the horn. Says her name is Gal." ((He's not rude, he's just old cranky.))
"Hey there hon!!! Dinner was spectacular last night! The boys and I had a great evenin'. You really know how to make a fella feel right at home! Missus Thang is jealous now. Says I'm in trouble for not takin' her out to the most talked about restaurant in town on their grand openin' night! I smoothed things out though...so we'll be there Saturday night for sure. In the meantime...what can I do for ya hon?" he asked genuinely concerned.
Isis looks surprised as Gal calls Sweet Thang. "You umm... didn' have to call him you know. I was just wonderin' who he was." as she regains her composure, "Anyway, I was an actress, I a'ready don' work. I tol' you I went to school. Well, I learnd to invest. Anyway, nice guy like that doesn' want an old biddy like me. I could probably be his mama." she chuckles a bit.
"Punctual is still 10 minutes late in my book." He had said to the phone after he had hung up.
At 5:50 Manion walked through the doors. He wore a brand new pair of black denim pants, a brand new forest green tee shirt, and a black leather jacket. His boots were the same as he had worn the night before. Well worn, and slightly scuffed. The jacket wasnt new, but you could tell that it wasnt worn often. Its as dressed up as he ever remembered being. He hoped it was enough. If not, he would consider going in the bar entrance next time.
As he approached the podium to be seated, he took his gloves off and stuffed them in his left hip pocket. He looked tired. He walked like a man dragging a great weight behind him.
When he got to the podium he noticed several things at once. The food smelled even better than it did before, and the music coming from the bar wasn't his choice, but it could easily have been. When he looked back towards the bar to see who might have put the music on, he noticed an elegantly dressed woman talking to a rather large man, and a ... penguin playing pool? He almost laughed out loud at this last sight, and he felt a little better. He may have even stood a little straighter.
"Definitely a good idea coming out tonight." He thought to himself as he waited to be seated.
((OOC: Hes not upset with Martin, just trying to stay on everyone's good side ))
"T'will be a borin' an unsavory tale for ya', m'lady. Naht one much fer the tellin' o' stories, perhaps thi' swill say it better'n I could." The man had yet to sit, always waiting for a lady first, and he motioned to the pool room area. "Jus' learnt this trick las' week, all o' these fancy gee-gaws arun with 'lectric."
He approached the jukebox with a small silver coin, catching the sight of the giant penguin and reptile, he paused. Seeing they were occupied with the game, he started again. Deliberately, slowly, he placed the coin in the correct slot and pressed several buttons, a look of concentration on his face.
What had been heavy metal changed, though the rhythms were close to the same. A heavy bass beat, punctuated with something like a hiss and puffing sound started, then a loud steam whistle. The look on Steve's face was almost beatific, the glow dimming as he leaned against the cd-player jukebox.
"Well they gave him his orders at Monroe, Virginia,
Said: "Steve, you're way behind time,
"This is not 38, this is Ol' 97,
"Put her into Spencer on time."
Then he turned around and said to his black, greasy fireman,
"Shovel on a little more coal.
"And when we cross that White Oak mountain,
"Watch Ol' '97 roll."
And then a telegram come from Washington station,
This is how it read:
"Oh that brave engineer that run ol 97,
"Is lyin in old Danville dead."
'Cos he was going down a grade making 90 miles an hour,
The whistle broke into a scream.
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle,
Scalded to death by the steam.
One more time!
Oh, now all you ladies you'd better take a warning,
From this time on and learn.
Never speak hard words to your true-lovin' husband.
He may leave you and never return.
Poor Boy."
The music was fast paced, but behind it was a bluegrass sound, country and fast at the same time. Between choruses, the sounds of steam whistles and steel on the tracks added to the feeling of being on a locomotive. When Steve returned from the machine, he looked shaken and waited a moment before taking his seat, after Falcon sat.
"Ya see, Ms. Lady Kitiara, I was the Engineer on duty tha' night. My regular engine, Penn 38," he pronounced it three-aight, "had a boiler leak in tha forwar' cross lines, couldn' build a head," he noticed she was looking perplexed, then realized most people hadn't seen a steam train, or likely any train besides.
"Sorry bout tha, guess locomotives arent all tha popular these days, just tha lectrical carriage on trestles. A locomotive in my day, they were measured in wheels and steam horsepower. She was a four-six-oh, a ten wheeler, four wheels in tha front for guidin and six for puttin tha steam to the steel.
My job was takin care of them, Engineer of tha line. My regular, pronounced rega-lar, engine were nummer ten-three-aight, a small side-track freight. Everythin on any line gave way to Ol ninety-seven. She was the finest train, express line, an when tha lady left the station, she wouldnt stop for no man. Tha run was an honor, an I were startin almost an hour late.
With this, he pulled a well worn, shining pocket watch from a breast pocket in his shirt. A good eye would have seen that it was an original Ball Railroad approved watch, a hinged gold door on the face. His eyes were elsewhere, not even in this time.
Beautiful, she were, had a full head o steam when I walked to the tracks. They let Jimmy, my fireman, ride the line that night. Jimmy, he could fill a numba nine big knuckle wi twenny pounds of coal and go all night. Big knuckle, thats a shovel, sorry.
Her Trainmaster, Engineer, fell sick tha mornin and here was I with no engine and on the companys time. The stationmaster called ta me, he said: Steve, aint never been a day Ol 97 has been late. The run was Monroe to Spenser, Virginia, with a long grade after White Oak Mountain Pass. Trestle on tha other side, just outside Danville, bout 500 foot high.
He paused, looking across the table at the woman. Generally, the ladies in his time would not listen to a tale like this, at least not intentionally. This woman, for all her regal bearing had something feral in her eyes and a strength in her arms, she was no society Belle. He decided to continue.
I had all but made up tha time, when we hit tha three mile grade at Danville. Probly blew a line, had my steam too high an knew it, tryin ta make the time. Brakes failed and that is one far drop. Neer could tell tha speed, gage went to forty-five and tha needle showed the stops. Did only thing I could, threw everythin she had inta the reverse wheels. Last thing I knew, saw the heart of the boiler.
His hands shook, but he met her gaze, a man who had failed and was on display for all the world, famous for his error and pride. He took a slow breath, releasing it as small tendrils of steam rolled from his nostrils.
Then, two weeks ago, I woke up. I dinna know how, only that there is a deal for mah soul. I was told tha eleven souls left that night, from my arrogance and pride. I will be free to live or pass on only when mah bill has been paid ta their families. He held up one hand, a small flame sputtered to life in it.
Werent no heroes or such when I was wee, he smiled a slow, cautious smile, an now I know aught to nothin about tha world.
Gertrude had brought two large mugs, one he downed immediately, the second he carefully placed on a coaster. Some rumbling sound began, from his direction.
Pardon me, milady. A wisp of steam came from his nose as he spoke, have to keep my head up, get tired quick without some liquids.
((OOC: This is long, I know, but I couldnt resist this story. Thanks to many for writing the tune, the lyrics are Johnny Cash, but sung by many before and after. This is based on the real Wreck of Engine 97, but I took liberties. The real line was Pittsylvania, VA.))
Gal held one enormous hand over the laughably small phone. shock on her face.
"Oh no, girl, you misunderstood me! I figured if you didn' mind, Sweet would prolly think it a treat to meet you. Be willin' ta' bet he's seen all your flicks," she would have laughed, but this would have been serious if she misunderstood.
"Girl, Sweet's married, got little Thangs. I wouldn't make no big deal, not tryin' ta' embarrass ya', but Sweet is a nice guy. How could I let ya' come in here and not at least give him the chance to meet ya'?"
Sweet's voice had come on the other end, and now Gal realized she could have really nerfed the whole deal. All she wanted to do was introduce a good friend to another one, granted one probably seen in the movies. She knew it may have seemed like something else, and worried about how she would square it with the two.
She held the phone, hoping Isis was not offended and waiting to see if her new friend would accept the possible meeting.
((OOC: Gal was not trying to set them up, only get them to meet each other. Did I blow that so bad? I do try to make misunderstandings part of the deal, like real life, and Gal is more impetuous than some of my other characters.))
"Hehe, check out Mr. fancy pants Wendy." he said rather loudly while thumbing over to Martin. "I bet that guy is a huge priss."
"You are such a lout Alex. I think he is cute, very dapper. Very... James Bondish, very rarrr." Wendy replied, making a small slashing jesture with her right hand as she said it.
With a look of disgust on his face he declared, "There is something wrong with your taste in men. That man is old enough to be your grandpa." Finishing his statement he folded his arms in front of his chest.
Wendy calmly put her hand on Alex's folded arms and slowly explained, "Alex there is something seriously wrong with your manners, I suggest you go get some help." She looked over at Martin and smiled. "Please excuse my friend, if we could get a table for the two of us I would appreciate it." she inquired.
((OOC: Oops... I am so sorry. I hope I didn't seem rude. I am in fact waiting in line behind the above couple. My apologies. 
))
"Dear Lady," Martin began, unshakable and in the best manners at all times, "I will gladly take your name and see if there are any tables available," there were several empty tables, two with brass placards on them." Would the, ahem, Mister, be dining with you or would he prefer the Bar? To be closer to the door, I mean."
There was a quirk of his eyebrow as he said it. Martin would not step on a patrons toes, but he was highly skilled at innuendo and implication. Bath made a quick turn away, laughing more about Martin's being insulted than about his clever remark.
"I was young when Mr. Connery first played the gentleman, and still believe a man is judged not by his...plumage, but by his manners, sir ." He removed two menus from the podium, waiting for their response to the request for tables.
Falcon Kitiara sat down while Steve strided toward the jukebox. She listened at the music that he chose, ending her beer with a last sip from the glass, and looking at the engineer's raptured expression, turning into a shaken one as soon as he came back to their table.
She listened to his story: the song had been interesting, but his words were enthralling. His impressions, his memories, his feelings: the song couldn't express all that as well as his deep, rich voice was doing. She watched at his eyes, determined to see his emotions transpire while he was talking.
The lighting glowed on his bald head, and underlined the gold parts of Falcon's attire. Her aura of white rays danced around her fingers, and melted on the glass she was toying with.
And then Steve stopped to drink, and she decided to order another Chimay to Gertrude; her liver, working better and faster than most, quickly assimilated and processed the alcool she drank, as long as it was from something light, beer or wine. This man was used to drinking: it wouldn't have hurted to drink with him.
"Your story is fascinating. So did you woke up only 2 weeks ago?"
Was she the woman she had been 3 or 4 years before, she wouldn't have believed him, and thought him a madman. But one of things she had learned in Paragon City was that this kind of events wasn't so strange as one could think. Once she would've never believed that a man could fly with pure concentration and force of will, but.. here she was.
Plus the little tendrils of steam coming from his nostrils every now and then seemed to confirm his tale. There was no point in being skeptical.
"It seems that to be free, you have to find the descendants of the people that died that day. It's a hard task, but not impossible. Some historians are bound to have some reports and newspapers from that time... perhaps you could discover the names and whereabouts of the victims."
She looked at him with an enigmatic look on her face, and asked
"What would you choose then? Living or be able to pass?"
Alex now had a look of confusion and anger on his face. He was trying really hard to figure out if he had just been insulted. "Why would I want to sit close to the door?" he asked, "What is that supposed to mean?" His glare jumped back and forth between Wendy and Martin.
"Stop being such a mook Alex. I would never let someone insult you openly. Now hush." She turned back to face Martin. "My name is Wendy Sands and this here is Alex Cross. We will dine together. I promise he is very pleasant when he doesn't talk." Slipping her hand around Alex's forearm she pinched him sharply. "Now let me have your arm and behave. You're my only date for the night and I want it to be an enjoyable one." she scolded.
((for Manion))
"Mister Manion, it is a pleasure to see you this evening," Martin replied, having sent Beth off to seat the tall mohawked man and the slight woman. "I reserved the table as you asked, and with Ms. War's compliments. Please, follow me." Marting led Manion to a table with an excellent view of the room and a warm fire in a side-fireplace nearby.
"Specials tonight include prime rib with sauteed potatoes and baked mussels in sauce. I believe when Ms War is finished," his comments were broken by the owner's voice rising in pitch as she spoke to another woman near the grill, cell phone to one ear. Martin looked that way for a moment.
"As I was saying, when Ms. War is finished with her call, I will tell her you have arrived. Apparently there ws a matter of some," the proper man waggled his fingers, as though at something beneath notice, "money the other evening, a bill that was paid twice or some thing."
"Please, enjoy the view, this is one of the finest seats in the house." With that he made his way back to the podium, moing close to the grill and speaking quickly to Gypsy, who looked directly at Manion, and shook her head affirmative.
******
((For Alex and Wendy))
"That was great," Beth said as she seated the two beneath a spreading plant of some exotic origin. The leaves trailed out form a large main trunk, and left fragrant perfume with the motion of the vents' air.
"Martin can be so tight," she seated the lady first. "I am Beth, and your server will be Gypsy this evening. Can I start you with something to eat, or perhaps a glass of wine? We have bread from Three Miner's Bakery, and I can bring that with olive oil, balsamic vinegar from Modena, Italy or our house flavored oil/vinegar?"
*****
((For Gobb))
"Good evening sir," Narshawn paused in her converstaion with D Ceet. "Welcome to Gal's Bar, I am Narshawn. The waitress is Gertrude," she pointed to the woman heading into the pool room with a towel. "We have no Doctor Pepper, I'm afraid. Would Mr. Pibb suffice, we import it in the sixteen ounce tall bottles?"
Narshawn had a hopeful look, she hated to fail in her tasks.
****
((For Falcon))
"I am old, mi'lady," he waved around at the lights, the furniture, himself. "I know naught about this world, an the one I loved is gone, sure an away. Would be a great thing tha' could keep me from my peace."
"Though, not my place, what would keep you here, in this city? Surely you have land and a throne, outside this....circus, of a city?"
((For Rock and his crew))
Gertrude dabbed the last of the penguin from the table, it had melted away. "Can I get you all something from the bar, or kitchen? Another pitcher or some snacks?"
She still eyed the green one, he had something about him, and she wasn't sure if it was good or bad.
((OOC: Pant, Pant))
[ QUOTE ]
"Mister Manion, it is a pleasure to see you this evening," Martin replied, having sent Beth off to seat the tall mohawked man and the slight woman. "I reserved the table as you asked, and with Ms. War's compliments. Please, follow me." Marting led Manion to a table with an excellent view of the room and a warm fire in a side-fireplace nearby.
"Specials tonight include prime rib with sauteed potatoes and baked mussels in sauce. I believe when Ms War is finished," his comments were broken by the owner's voice rising in pitch as she spoke to another woman near the grill, cell phone to one ear. Martin looked that way for a moment.
"As I was saying, when Ms. War is finished with her call, I will tell her you have arrived. Apparently there ws a matter of some," the proper man waggled his fingers, as though at something beneath notice, "money the other evening, a bill that was paid twice or some thing."
"Please, enjoy the view, this is one of the finest seats in the house." With that he made his way back to the podium, moing close to the grill and speaking quickly to Gypsy, who looked directly at Manion, and shook her head affirmative.
[/ QUOTE ]
"Please, I dont mean to sound rude, but just call me Manion. That mister stuff is kinda creepy." He honestly didnt think there was a tire iron big enough to get this guy to loosen up even a little but he didnt think it would hurt to try.
He took off his jacket and placed on the back of his chair before sitting down. He was suddenly very nervous, like he had done something wrong. He was thinking about what Martin had said concerning the "matter of ... money" when he noticed the exchange between Martin and the girl behind the grill. Even odder was the look he got from the both of them. There was no mistaking he was being talked about.
He could only think that maybe he had offended Gal. He hoped this wasn't the case, he was just trying to return the nice gesture shown to him.
"Oh well, best not to get too worked up before you hear what she has to say." he thought to himself. Still, he couldnt stop himself from fiddling with the dinnerware in front of him while he waited for a server.
((OOC: Nice curve 
))
Falcon Kitiara thought for a moment about the man's words. She quietly answered:
"Outside this city... There is a reason why I told you I come from no city; my land is the great northern scandinavian forest, and I don't have a throne as nature is her own queen. I saw my first city as an almost fully growned-up woman... I left my woods, my land, seeking for revenge."
Her gloved hand tensed around the glass: she knew better than to break it, nonetheless her aura dimmed while her words hovered in the warm air of the pub. She looked at the beer that the waitress had brought her, seemingly pausing to ponderate what she was about to say.
"I wanted revenge, and I followed my enemies here. I worked hard to discover their identity, and when I managed to do it, the brakes were off."
A pause.
"They paid."
Some red rays gushed from under the white ones.
"They all paid. I killed no minions, no lieutenants; but to the leaders, I caused suffering and torment, I made them cry and beg for mercy before I turned them to the police."
A slight smile crept on her face. Her eyes, though, didn't seem to be ferocious, or dangerous, or torbid; no, that was the look of a woman that was remembering some fond moments, as another woman could've remembered a lover's embrace. She could hear again their screams. Their wailing, and supplications, pleading eyes, and the smell and color of blood flowing; even the taste of rust in her mouth, due to an archon's kick that broke her two ribs. An archon on his hands and knees trying to squirm away from her, another one almost prostrated, with tears flowing down his face mixing with blood.
Happy memories.
The red rays in her aura disappeared, and its color turned back to pure white again, even if dimmer in intensity; she took the glass of beer to her mouth and gulped down a good half of it, throwing her head behind. Her hair moved on her shoulders, and her winged headpiece sparkled reflecting the light of the pub.
"I hope I have caused you no discomfort. My story is not an happy one. In fact, now that I've had my revenge, technically nothing binds me to this city, and I could go back to my forest as quickly as I want. However..."
This time, when she recalled, her eyes came back on Steve.
"However, while I was searching for hints, and was training to enhance my powers, I did discover that in Paragon City there are lots of people in need. I really can't understand why, since it would be logical that criminals don't stay in a city so full of servants of justice. Perhaps the moment I discovered the common people behind the superheroes is the one I've heard a woman crying because someone had stolen her purse."
She shook her head.
"Such a simple thing, a purse. But for that woman, who knows? Perhaps inside that purse there was a wallet with all her life's savings. Perhaps there was a single photo of a long lost relative. Or a wedding ring. Or a love letter. Who knows? However she was quietly weeping near a phone booth, she wasn't even crying for help, she was certain that her purse was lost forever, and that no one was there to help her."
Her eyes were now proud and feral: a fire burned inside them, as it had burned that day.
"I could see the criminal. I ran behind him, subjugated him, gave back the purse to the lady. Her face... her tears changing from desperate to joyful, her thanks. She couldn't stop thanking me, the poor woman."
Now her smile was sweet. This was also a fond memory.
"And the days passed, lots of days before I could get my revenge. And I saved other women, other men, even older people, someone from a robbery, someone else from being abused, someone else again from a beating or extorsion. The light in their eyes when they see you running to their rescue, when they feel they are protected, that they can count on someone, that light is the reason I'm still here.
There are so many people I can help. My powers are developing, and perhaps some day I will be able to fly so fast I will be able to reach my woods and come back quickly to help again, but until then, and for now, my place is here."
If Steve was observant, he could've noticed behind her, and under her cape, a sheathed sword, dangling from the chair. The dull leathery colors of the sheath were difficult to notice, since the attention was easily attracted by the white light exuding from Falcon's body.
She hardly noticed that Gertrude had brought them 2 menus, since the evening was on and it was almost supper time.
[Long post this one but I hope it's appreciated. About flying to scandinavia and back, I'm thinking to the Ask Statesman's post when he said that they plan to create some european locations to visit. Woo-hoo I had forgot the sword, but Falcon is not the type to forget it around. Let's just say she had it under her cape.
And it's not too hard to understand that her enemies were of the Council. Of course Steve's bound to ignore that. ]
((OOC: I am taking a leap here...assuming Gal mentions Isis Jones' name.))
"Are you kidding me!!!! Don't be playin' with me now Gal!!
You're tellin' me you have The Isis Jones sittin' next to you!!! Isis Jones of Harlem Fury!?!?!?! Girl, I've been a fan of hers for years. I dig all of those 70's movies! Some folks think they were exploitation, but I think they had an impact on film and acting for all kinds of people." SweetThang was excited to hear Gal's invitation. "I'll be there as soon as I finish up here at the gym."
((OOC: Hope you don't mind me bringing a lil' graphics into this thread....you know me Sib, can't resist the art. Hope you like it Brainhurt 
))
((OOC: Very nice Sweet. I dunno guys, between that and the awesome story for Steve... Im starting to feel outta my league. ))
((OOC: Thanks Gilidry. Don't leave. It's a place for everyone to share. No judgement in here. You are doing fine. I am enjoying everyone's posts! I want to hear more of Manion's tale.))
((OOC: Thank you for the kind words. I wasnt thinking of leaving, and I promise, more will be coming as I find places to fit it in and still make sense. 
))
(( For Manion))
"Sir, Mr. Martin sent me for your jacket, if you care to leave it in the closet?" The woman had a thick accent, very course on the consonants, but was careful with her pronounciation. Her clothes were dark colors, and she wore a well made scarf with symbols embroidered, around her head. "I am Gypsy, both in name and race."
She gave a small smile, and held her hands out for the coat. "I will also be your server this evening. Mistress War has said if you are trying to pay, I should smite you. I believe she jests..." Her tone indicated she might believe it in jest, but she would do what she was told.
"I recommend the Goulasch, it is my own recipe, and Mistress War is very skilled."
((OOC: Manion, if you try to leave this thread, Gal will be serving your behind on a platter to Basilisk later. lol. Really, you are welcome, and very appreciated. Stay, have several beers and take your shoes off, Gal won't mind. You flatterer.))
((To Falcon))
Steve glanced over his glass at the woman, the ferocity in her eyes was no royalty, unless much had changed. There was a wild streak in her, something that he had wished for in women of his day, all the petticoats and parasols. Pink and light blue. Pshaw.
He was a man of steel, steam and the open range. His love of speed had been his downfall, his lust for duty, to be there when others failed. It had led to deaths as well, and that he had to atone for.
"Mi'lady, would that I had met you a hundred 'n more years gone. Mayhap there is somethin' in this world for a man to come to enjoy. Would you care for another of what you have?"
((OOC: OK all, I hope I have not forgotten anyone, and if I did, the beer's free If you haven't guessed, I work nights here in the PacNorWest, and won't be able to reply until early morning, EARLY! Don't think I am ignoring you, if any of you are having as much fun as I am with this, you are one contented character.
I want to applaud everyone thus far, I am impressed at your skills and very much thanking you. For you that are intimidated, or shy, there are no judges here, Thang was right. This is about fun, and getting in character, and wow, what characters. Please continue, I sit on the edge of my seat....))
Gal paid close attention to the woman, working the grill by instinct. She knew what it was like to have an important person, someone she felt comfortable with, enjoyed seeing, worried about. If it was love, that was fine, if it was not, she would take it anyway.
"I think I know what you're sayin'. Gots my power from magic, and it lets me take a lot of damage. I do that to protect my friends, haven't lost one yet. I am sorry for ya, but don't think yer ever alone, Sistah." The intensity in her gaze could not be missed, she meant what she said.
"You'd do well, you ever get back to movies. Hell, I could get ya yer own fan club, couple hundred right here in Paragon." She smiled, trying to cheer the somewhat more somber conversation. "You've finished dinner, how would ya feel for some Bread Puddin' or Mud Pie?"
((OOC: Gal would reach over and put a reassuring hand on Isis', but is a little self-conscious about being misunderstood. Just assume she is a southern type lady, and hugs or holding another woman's hand only indicates support.))