Tarot cards.
All she'd had to work with for the last eight months were tarot cards.
Funny... the wards placed on her cell and on her orange jumpsuit (locked onto her) didn't seem to affect the cards... but then again, without any magical influence at all, the results were probably random. Which meant she could probably still do decent at 'readings'... seeing as this was how the game was played by the normals.
But Samedi wasn't normal.
Seemed like every time she caught a break, something happened. First her father was killed, while she was but a baby. then when she'd been discovered as a conduit for the Loa, the Haitian government branded her a witch. Once that had gotten cleared up, there was a civil war, which resulted in her being shot, left for dead, and cursed with a metal plate over the shattered scar that was her right temple. She was expatriate... and again, when she'd barely got started getting her feet under her, she'd been busted by some 'hero' and sent to this prison. Practicing magic without a license? Coercion? Assault and battery with a deadly spell?
Nonsense.
She turned over a new card.
Death, upside down.
She blinked... and then the power went out and she heard the heavy -ka-thunk!- of her cell door unlocking.
And then the alarms started.
Fortuitous indeed.
She snuck out of her cell, and saw what appeared to be a full-scale riot going on.
This could be useful.
She looked around, and after some time, located an unconscious guard that had the keys to her shackles.
Ransacking a few lockers, she found one belonging to a female guard. She found a rather beat-up leather jacket and what appeared to be motorcycle gear - thick leather pants and... a bustier? The thigh-high boots fit, but ... well.. they'd have to do. Then she caught sight of herself in a mirror under the emergency lighting.
Wow. Imposing.
The hair needed work.. and she definitely needed makeup... but this was a prison break, deal with that once she was out.
But the outfit, although not her traditional garb, definitely gave her a "don't mess with me" look.
She snagged what she could carry, and tried to remember some of her spells.
Crap.
They'd done something. She couldn't remember but the most basic.
Fine.
She headed for the yard.
On the way she'd heard the name "Arachnos" as the ones responsible. Well.. maybe they could use a voodoo priestess... time to track one of these 'spiders' down.
"Baroness Samedi. Yes, we were hoping you would be here. Your reputation precedes you. But... you WILL have to prove yourself... by taking down those guards, and some of the more... common... prisoners that are trying to stampede our landing zone."
Samedi smiled. She expected a harder test.
An hour later, with several counts of murder added to her belt, as well as breaking and entering and sabotage of a prison security system... she was on her way to the Rogue Isles. Free once more... yet expatriate again. Well... new beginnings.
That's often what was meant when the Death card showed itself. Maybe there was something to that claptrap after all.
She drew a card... Death again. Uh uh. Not this time.
She pulled out a lighter and incinerated the card. Death had no hold on her. Not now.
((OOC: Baroness Samedi is the daughter of one Baron Samedi, an enigmatic villain in the James Bond movie "Live and Let Die." Baron Samedi had the strange habit of burning tarot cards, which I've carried over to her as well.))
"City of Heroes. April 27, 2004 - August 31, 2012. Obliterated not with a weapon of mass destruction, not by an all-powerful supervillain... but by a cold-hearted and cowardly corporate suck-up."
A.P. will remain a mystery so nothing gets spoiled 
Lets see kids, let me tell ya a story...
--------------------------------
The Forlorn Fairy:
An assortment of small crabs tip toed about the crisply hot sand sculpting abstract scenes of paradise with their tiny tracks. A frolicking breeze tickled the palms to the applause of rustling leaves. The returning silence was delayed a little more by the tick and thump of a falling coconut. A few circling seabirds gawked at the crustacians as they fled from the shade of the tree. Diving down the airborn hunters were twarted by most of the creatures as they scurried into their holes. As a rogue wave licked at the rolling coconut tempting it with the freedom of the sea, a pair of hungry wings homed in on a lost crab. Just as it closed in for the kill, a noise frightened all of the creatures and sent them fleeing for safety.
A young leaf clothen girl had run giggling from the bushes in pursuit of the hard wooden fruit as it began to drift away. Diving into the water with the grace of an arctic penguin, the woman vanished into the rolling green world with barely a ripple. The prey nut continued basking in the warm currents when it abrubly vanished under the surface with a small wake.
Several yards away her figure reappeared standing on a section of the reef that surrounded the island. Dancing up and down she hugged the prize while squealing in joyous delight. A glint in the distance interrupted the celebration.
Looking off in the distance she saw a strange black airship hovering as something lanced away from it leaving a trial off fire. She watched in curiousity as the long stick bird soared over towards the lush green foliage of her home wondering where it was going to nest. To her amazed horror, the innocent watched the newcomer scream in agony as it gave birth to a star. She could feel her eyes burst as the beautfully tanned flesh turned to ash and a wave of heat tossed its plaything off her perch and into the boiling cauldron of the ocean.
"Did you see that test Arachnos did yesterday, it was so totally cool!" an approaching voice said.
"Look man at that girl, she doesn't have anything on!"
"And she's white as snow too, awesome."
She rolled onto her side and saw the world anew. Everything looked as if on a neutron photograph; a stark black and white arrangement of outlines. A scream of pain burst free as they yanked the woman up onto her feet. Their oogles could be heard through the crooked teeth of skeletal heads, beneath which could be seen the shifting shape of a heart. Fighting against the firm grip, she just wanted to get away. Placing a hand over his ribs created a flash of green light. His bone structure shifted catastrophically as the pounding mass beneath exploded.
Letting go the other kid began to flee she launched another pulse of radiation. Seeing his form collapse too, she found the burned aroma strangly appealing. A passing stranger began screaming at the sight of two smoking bodies but was ignored. While the civilian escaped for help, the confused girl began run scaredly down the empty beach. It was not long before the sirens began searching for her.
((I guess we will make up the safehouse as we go along?))
A semi hit the brakes hard on an isolated road in a dreary town. Before it had completely stopped the passenger door opened and a man was shoved out. He hit the ground hard but got right back up screaming obsenities. The truck resumed its path.
"My bag you mother [censored]!" he shouted.
The truck responded by spitting his duffle bag out the passenger door before it slammed shut and moved on. Brett picked up a rock and threw it at the back end of the trailer. The ride had gone sour when the driver started asking about his scars. Things usually did when someone asked about them.
The ran long and deep all over his face and body. They werent the kind chicks dig exactly. He was an average sized man with a decent build. He wore normal clothes, a leather jacket, jeans, t-shirt, and winter cap. Nothing special to attract attention to him besides his scars. He snatched up his duffle bag and looked around at the ghost town he was in. It was a few buildings and houses that were very run down. The grey sky and light rain made the ground a little wet and added to the dreary, life-sucking atmosphere.
"What a hole." was his proclamation.
It was a seaside port. Across the street was a greasy spoon diner and a ferry. Either way down the road was nothing but horizon. So he went up to the ferry to see where it led. The Rogue Isles. Another dump. He went into the diner to get something to eat. When he stepped in the bell by the door gave a jangle and his boots left slight mud tracks, not that he cared. He looked around with dissapproval before dropping his bag by a booth and sitting down. An old washed up waitress with a droopy face and a cigarette dangling lazily out of her mouth threatening to just fall walked up to him.
She is about as run down as this place is.
"Whattaya want? Jeez, what happened to yer face?" She said in a hoarse voice like she had been smoking longer than she was alive.
"What happened to yours?" He snapped back, "Bacon Cheeseburger and coffee."
Normally it would be foolish to mess with the person who holds your food but she just looked so lazy she wouldnt even bother to do it. That and this diner probably didnt attract the most eloquent people very often. After eating his meal he realized he had no money. There was only one thing to do now. He got up like he was going to the bathroom, passing a table of three guys eating and joking. When one of them looked at him he initiated his plan.
"What are you looking at fatass?" He said right before punching him hard in the face.
A few moments later he was literally thrown out, tumbling once over in the damp mud. Better to get a few bruises and get thrown out than to go to jail for not paying.
He got up shaking his fist at the diner, "My bag mother [censored]s!"
Again, his bag was spit out and he snatched it up. He had less options now. Back the way he came from was Paragon City and he definitely wasnt going back there. The other way led to parts unkown, and then there was the ferry. He didnt have the money for it so he waited for a car to pass by so he could hitchhike. There was no car coming from either direction, and he could see for miles down the road. Maybe he could sneak on the ferry. At the gatehouse to the ferry was an old man and an Arachnos soldier in gleaming, pristine armor who had been watching him the whole time.
He started walking up to the ferry. They both watched him the whole way.
Damn! Look at something else so I can sneak in.
He had to play it off so he walked up to the gatehouse, "How much for a ride on your boat?" He asked.
The old man started to list off the prices to him, "$20 for tractor trailers($2 for each extra axle), $10 for trucks, $6 for cars..."
Brett was rubbing his throbbing head and wincing, "Look!... am I in a truck or car? The pedestrian fee! [censored]!"
The old man was startled but not phased by him snapping, "$3 for pedestrians."
The Arachnos soldier who had been monitoring Brett the whole time, his powers and potential shook his head at the old man, telling him "No fee for this one".
"Go right through, sir." The old man said.
Brett was surprised that he caught a break. He figured he was due so he took it quickly before they changed their minds. He took a seat on the ferry among very few other people. Halfway through the ride he got seasick and threw up over the side of the ferry, spewing obsenities as much as vomit, if not more. The sea air was cold so he put his hands in his pocket. He pulled out a small, crumpled wad of cash.
Huh! I did have money.
He thought as he stuck it back in his pocket. He arrived in Port Oakes and began to wander around until arriving very tired at the front of a building called the Blakmoore Safehouse. And he thought that first town was a hole.
Do I have enough for a motel? 12 dollars and... forty two cents. If I could find one I can afford I doubt I would want to stay in it.
So with no other choice he stepped into the building. The money could be better spent on alcohol, or maybe go towards some superadine.
The care taker of the safe house was a skinny little man. Fidgety and dirty. He was muttering to himself, watching tv behind a barred up room. Brett walked up to the window, then down at a bell. He gave a sneer before tapping the bell. The man didnt respond. He tapped it again, then again, progressively getting faster until he gave up and yelled at the man.
"Hey!" Brett shouted.
"Dont hurt me I have no money!" The man rapidly let out in a panic.
"Im not here to rob you, Im here for a room." Brett said.
"Oh, a customer. I see, right this way." The man said rubbing his hands.
He led Brett to an empty room. Yet another dissappointment.
"Do you have any rooms that have doors that shut?" He said referring to the busted frame from police ramming the door.
"They cost money."
Brett grabbed the skinny man by the shirt, "Give me a room that locks!"
The man recoiled back, putting his hands up, "Okay, okay!" He said.
Brett released him and followed him to a room that did lock, but wasnt much better. It had a bed frame and a mattress he would never sleep on, peeling wallpaper, and a kitchen he wouldnt cook in.
"Better?" The man asked, annoyed by Brett's outragous demands.
"Five stars." He said sarcastically.
"Good. My name is Jenkins. Fill this form out. If you need anything, you came to the wrong place." He said, tossing him a key before shutting the door.
"Awesome Egor. Thanks buddy." He said.
He filled out the paperwork which was mostly waivers for health and asking about powers.
----
Name: Brett Mason
If you have any special powers please list them:
Fire control/blasting
...
----
He dumped his bag and began arranging things, taking notes of various infestations and things he would have to fix. He went back down stairs to see if there were any tools to fix the broken stuff.
((For range of apartment types we could say they go from cellar hole to upper floors maintained by Arachnos to higher standards that could be achieve through various routes. Just a thought. And if nobody likes the praetorian of Mr. Green Im sure Arachnos can make him disappear with replacement in tow.))
There came the tapping of a walking cane on the hard floor as a tall shadowy figure walked down the corridors of the Blakmoore. His posture alone displayed that he was a gentlemen who held himself in high regard. The walking cane was merely for display. He walked with ease with one hand behind his back and his head held high.
His skin was pale and he was dressed from head to toe in the Victorian clothes of a gentlemen. His round wireframe glasses and neatly kept brown hair added to his appearance along with the white shirt, brown waist coat, trousers and polished black shoes. He looked some what out of place with in the walls of the run down Blakmoore.
The Victorian gentlemen slowly ran one of his finger across the surface of a table as he passed it and looked at the dust on it. He regretted coming to America. To him it was a country with out standards, not that his home country of England seemed much better these days. No one had any sense of decorum any more. Things had been much different in his day but that had been a long time ago now.
He'd had no choice in coming to America. It was were his search had brought him and it was were he hoped it would end. For now he needed a place to stay and that had brought him to the Blakmoore. It was not the standard of accommodation he would have liked or was used to but one could not be picky in times of need as much as one might not like it. He sighed and rubbed the dust off the tip of his finger. He would learn to adapted but still keep his own personal standard, that was one of his skills he prided himself on. At least he had been granted an 'apartment' (as the Americans called it) on one of the more well kept floors.
The Victorian gentlemen continued to walk the halls of the Blakmoore. He liked to get the feel for a place and tease its history. The rumors of the prison break did not interest him even though it had been said most of the escaped prisoners would be brought to the very building he now found himself living in.
He heard a rather uncouth man shouting at Mr Jenkins the doorman about some thing to do with a room and a door. It was not just the display in lack of manners that bothered him but Mr Jenkins quite amused him as well. The rather fidgety scruffy doorman had a way of trying to act posh and well educated in the way some commoners do when they are around the more influential upper class. Although Mr Jenkins did not do this very well his attempts were amazing and likable to the Victorian gentlemen. Maybe he would have a word with the young man about manners but that could wait. For now he wanted to continue exploring the building.
The tapping of Mr Book's cane could be heard as he walked the halls of the Blakmoore.
Aqualos put one the sunglasses he had gotten from the Arachnos agent. The man had been helpful in the escape, and he was quite happy to be out of the hideous orange prison uniforms orange and green did not go together that well. He looked down at his green scaly skin. It was still in good shape. The trouble at the Zigg had not damaged any of his royal skin.
Now he waited. He had managed to get his chains of office out of the Zigg, but they had done him no good here on the surface world. The heroes of Paragon City and the government of the United States had not recognized him as a Prince of Atlantis; they had claimed no such place existed, and had tried to convince him of the same, and had denied his right of diplomatic immunity.
Yes, they would pay for the affront.
But for now, he bided his time. The one-room apartment Jenkins had brought him to was small, but it was much better than the prison. It had a couch and a chair, but it had one thing that he was more thankful for than if it had a featherbed and a frisky bed-warmer.
It had a whirlpool. With silent appreciation, he filled it and submerged himself in, letting the liquid soak into his scales.
After some searching, Brett found a few tools he could use to fix the place up and put them in a cardboard box. He was going to have to get a job though to make it livable. He walked up one flight of stairs to where his room was to find a strange sight he certainly did not expect.
You have to be kidding me.
The guy was dressed for the wrong century. He didnt seem to know, so Brett made it his civic duty to inform him. Just in case. At any rate he looked like a snob.
"You okay man? You look like you fell out of a Tim Burton movie." He said with a snear as he dropped his box of tools at his door and looked for his key.
"Your a few days late for halloween. Nice getup though, and you really sell it."
Damn, Im clever.
Baroness Samedi was reminded of home.
Granted, it wasnt the home she was proud of, but it WAS similar to the squalor that many villages in Haiti had become.
Since disembarking from the rather odd Arachnos craft, shed met the seer Kalinda, as well as the arbiter named Diaz. Both had proven to be useful in getting more of her remembered abilities back. Diaz told her this was common with mages and mystics that had been placed under magical geas; they often had to relearn old material as their brain slowly threw off the effects.
In the meantime, shed been given a couple of tests to perform
and she had to find a place to stay. The heels on the boots she appropriated were making her feet hurt something fierce, not to mention they made her ample behind sashay in a decidedly wanton manner. Plus the leather pants were a size too small, as was the bustier. She felt like either she needed to break in the leather again
or her well-endowed form would burst out of it. Thankfully many of the other escapees (especially the women) were dressed in what amounted to scraps or negligees or worse
at least she was covered.
She noted a building with a crudely lettered sign on the gate: Blakmoore Rooms To Let. It was a squalid, crumbling building in a sea of squalid crumbling buildings
the entire block should have been bulldozed years before. And again, she felt a twinge of homesickness.
Might as well see what the place had to offer.
Upon entering, she noted a mousy little man with unkempt hair and a bad smoking habit, behind what barely passed for a desk, in what once was a check-in area, but now only qualified as clutter. He didnt look up.
Ah. A bell. How... quaint.
She rang it.
He didnt respond.
She rang it again. Again, not so much as a batted eyelash.
She was about to swat the bell off the counter when he spoke.
Yes, the bell works. Welcome-to-the-Blakmoore-how-may-I-be-of-service? The question portion of his statement came out in a nasally rapid-fire singsong that indicated he had no more a concept of service than he did sincerity about wanting to help her.
Zis place
you rent rooms, non?
Yeah. By the week, by the month. Jenkins looked her up and down, by the night or the hour too.
She reached forth and, casting a bit of eldritch magicks with her hand, caused the mans heart to skip a beat.. Then two. Insect. I could kill you now. Show me a room that is
decently clean
and has plumbing facilities. Quickly.
Shaken, Jenkins produced a ring of keys and, after several flights of rickety stairs, opened the door to an apartment that bordered between tenement and flophouse. But, the toilet was merely dirty, not clogged, the cold water worked, and there was a bed in the corner with a mattress that didnt have TOO many questionable stains on it.
A hundred up front, twenty a week.
Samedi shook her head. I am jus off ze transport. Arachnos
Jenkins was instantly servile. Arachnos? Oh well thats a different matter. There is no charge.
Samedi smiled. Finally, she was reclaiming her rightful place in the world
one step at a time.
----------------------
Baroness Samedi is a 6' black woman, dressed in black and red leather and thigh-high boots, with a flattop afro and bronze-anodized stainless steel plate across her right temple. She is a Dark/Dark Corruptor, magical origin. She speaks with a French Creole accent.
"City of Heroes. April 27, 2004 - August 31, 2012. Obliterated not with a weapon of mass destruction, not by an all-powerful supervillain... but by a cold-hearted and cowardly corporate suck-up."
Marcus Kirke stood in the doorway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he watched Jenkins lead the black woman to her room. He made a quick note of her accent and attitude, his eyes looking out from the pulled up hood of his dull blue military coat. Another 'super' thoroughly convinced of their sovereignty over everything. His eyes narrowed a little before he pushed the feeling aside and headed for his own room.
Like many other rooms in the building it was rather rundown, but it suited him fine. There wasn't much furniture in the room; a couple wooden chairs and a couch with a beat-up coffee table in front of it. Kirke's laptop sat on the coffee table; the only expensive looking thing in the room. A beeping told him he had a call. Dropping the duffel bag on the couch he sat down, hitting the answer button on the screen.
"Kirke," he said simply.
"Marcus! My dear friend," a jovial voice with a thick Russian accent answered him. "I heard you had escaped that awful prison they put you in. The Zigganut, yes?"
"Ziggeraut," Kirke corrected absently. "What do you want Aleksei?"
"Well," the Russian man continued, getting to the point, "I also heard you were working for this Arachnos group now. You know my curiousity, my friend. I had to find if it was true."
"Not your concern," Kirke answered firmly. "Let's just say I'm still taking jobs if you've got something for me."
"Ah, nothing at the moment my friend," Aleksei sighed in mock despair. "Perhaps later. Goodbye Marcus."
Kirke ended the transmission without replying. Typing in another number he waited until it was answered by a rather youngish sounding girl.
"Geez, it's about time," she growled irritably. "I was startin' to think they'd dragged you back to the Zigg. Too bad I was wrong."
"You're lucky I got out when I did," Kirke replied in his usual monotone. "You only had a weeks worth of antidote left by the time I got back."
"I think it just might be worth it," she almost shouted back, his bland demeanor once again getting under her skin. "Just as long as I get to see your sorry a$$ get what's coming to you."
"You're losing your temper again," he chided, dropping his tone even more toward his 'dangerous' voice. "Control yourself." He could almost hear her teeth grinding over the phone, but she managed to reign it in.
"So what did you want," she finally asked, still ticked but a little more controlled.
"I want you to bring some of the equipment to my location," he said, all buisiness again. "I'm setting up a second base. Sending the address now." There was a moment of silence as the girl read what he had sent.
"But... this is in the Rogue Islands," her voice was apprehensive. "This doesn't have anything to do with those Arachnos guys, right?"
"It's an Arachnos safehouse," he answered calmly.
"Sh*t!" she cursed loudly. "Are you TRYING to get us killed?"
"I'll be waiting," Kirke ignored her question, cutting the call off before she could reply. But for a moment he sat silently, pondering what she'd said. He had his own doubts about getting involved with Arachnos. Kirke had no intention of permenantly joining the organization of course; world domination held no interest for him. He had carefully worked out a plan to use his temporary alliance in a very profitable way. The kid was right though; it was still playing with fire. Kirke's eyes drifted over to the lone tarot card laying near his laptop.
The Hanged Man
The plan seemed perfectly sound, but he himself had said often enough that no plan was perfect. There was always the danger of his imfamous bad luck surfacing and sending everything to hell. Still, it was no use worrying about it now. He had already started and was now committed to seeing it through. Turning to unpack his duffel bag, Kirke did his best to push aside the feeling that he may have bit off more than he could chew.
((Even managed to work in a referance to the Tarot card thing from the dearly departed villain thread from awhile ago. Hee, hee.))
(musical tones... "makes you break down and cry.... say live and let die!")
The woman snached up the phone from the flimsy table she'd placed it on.
"Allo, ici Samedi."
"Ah! My old friend and cellmate, the Dirty Blonde! You are well, non?"
"Oh.. well that will heal in time, cher'... I would offer to help you with it.. but zere is ze requirement of an unwilling third party..."
"Hrmmm?"
"Oh c'est vrai! You have skill with such things too. Although those concoctions you always had me drink tasted like poison..."
"What? They were? and what is so funny?"
"Non. I am in zis place, um, ze Blakmoore Safehouse... it is a shambles... but, better a shambles than our old cell, non?"
"Oui. What have you got?"
"Snakes? Surely a few snakes is not a worthy test."
"But... you always had someone around to help with the tough battles. Even in ze prison, you always were good at picking up on ze legionnaire types... no no... mercenaire..."
"You can only afford one? Tant pis."
"D'accord. I will be there soon."
Samedi pressed END CALL on the phone. The room might be gratis... but the furnishings needed an upgrade. Time to go earn it.
"City of Heroes. April 27, 2004 - August 31, 2012. Obliterated not with a weapon of mass destruction, not by an all-powerful supervillain... but by a cold-hearted and cowardly corporate suck-up."
((Do I have to be a part of the Whitemoore rp to rp here too?))
(( don't think so. Just that your villain is holed up here. ))
"City of Heroes. April 27, 2004 - August 31, 2012. Obliterated not with a weapon of mass destruction, not by an all-powerful supervillain... but by a cold-hearted and cowardly corporate suck-up."
In well-lit, although confined cell sat a light skinned man with long dark hair, neatly tied back in a ponytail. A deep scar ran diagonally across his face, a second scar ran horizontally across his cheek, intersecting the diagonal one. His arms and legs were shackled and he was dressed in what could be described as an orange jumpsuit. The man sat listening to various tracks of classical Spanish music emitting from a small stereo placed outside of his cell.
A rattling sound was echoing down the hallway. It was grew louder until finally the prisoner, Victor Jaramillo de Vivar, 'The Terror of Paragon,' saw a small metal cart come into view in front of his cell. On the cart were several silver trays. The smell of specially prepared food filled the cell. Two heavily armed and armored security officers were pushing the cart.
"I hope you enjoy your meal..." one officer said.
"Your LAST meal..." the other followed, saying it almost mockingly.
"I fear not my death, heretics. For what I have done is good. I have punished the wicked, and for it I shall be rewarded." Victor said, waving his fingers in the air to the music.
"Psycho..." an officer muttered to himself. Just as he said so, alarms throughout the building began going off. "What the hell is that?" the officer screamed.
"I don't know. Calm down, rookie, it's probably nothing." his companion said, raising his assault rifle slightly. "I'll check it out. Keep your eyes on this nutjob." He walked down the hall towards the heavily armored down. It suddenly blew off of it's hinges, crushing the officer.
"What the hell?!?" the 'rookie' screamed. He raised his assault rifle, but before he could fire several red blasts shot through the smoke of the explosion and hit the rookie, blowing him back into the wall. The 'rookie' officer collapsed to the ground, never to get up again.
Men dressed in all black, shiny armor and full-helms marched into the hallway, toting strange, yet advanced looking, clubs. Behind them was a similar, albeit much taller and bulkier man that had eight metal 'arms' extending from his back. ((not Recluse, those one big minion guys)). They all approached Victor's cell, with the large man stepping forward and gripping the bars. With one swift motion he pulled back and literally ripped the bars and their frame from the door and tossed it to the side, crushing the floored 'rookie.'
One of these black clad men stepped forward. "You Victor Jaramillo?"
Victor smiled, looking towards the crushed rookie. "As you can see, God protects me, even now. He has freed me from your chains." He looked back towards the black clad man. "Yes, indeed I am."
Another one of the black clad men stepped forward holding a small bag. He tossed it to Victor, who emptied its contents onto his bunk. It was all his old 'mastermind' clothes...yes, that's what the media loved to call him...'The mericless mercenary mastermind, Victor Jaramillo.'
Victor laid the contents out. A red dress shirt, gold tie, a black leather belt, a pair of baggy red pants that tucked into a pair of long, shiny, black jackboots, shiny black leather gloves, a shiny black leather vest with an Arachnos symbol...
"Wait, Arachnos symbol?!?" Victor thought to himself, confused. He looked at all the black clad men...they all had the symbol. Somehow he didn't notice before, the big, obvious, red spider symbols. This would be the price of his freedom, service to Lord Recluse? Well, from what Victor read, Arachnos was once a fascist organization, meaning they enforce order to the highest degree. That's one thing Victor could really agree with.
"God does work in mysterious ways. Perhaps He wishes me to help Recluse restore order to this world? Perhaps he wishes to teach me humility by having me serve another?" Victor questioned to himself.
Several of the Arachnos men leaned over to each other and whispered:
"What the bloody hell is he talking about?"
"Hell if I know...this man's crazy, I swear."
"Why does Lord Recluse want this nutcase?"
"I heard he once made a soup of live puppies and babies and claimed God told him to as he ate it."
"Shut up, Jenkins...you moron. Go set the explosives."
"Fine fine..."
Victor finished suiting up. His hand darted upwards and pointed towards the man known as 'Jenkins.' "You! Give me a gun!"
"Hey, hey, hey! You're not even out yet, you can't give me orders!" Jenkins replied.
"Jenkins, goddammit give him your gun and go set the damn explosives!" his apparent commander screamed.
"FINE!" Jenkins said as he reluctantly handed the sub-machinegun over to Victor.
Victor checked everything on the gun then quickly said in a commanding voice "Alright, move out." The Arachnos men looked at each other, confused, as if questioning his orders. Victor saw this and stepped up to one of them "I said move out! What part of that did you not understand?!" They straighted up and gave a fascist salute instinctively and marched out. Victor followed them to an open area, an apparent gathering of villainy. He hated every one of them.
Victor shoved his way to a rather important looking prisoner, who directed him to gather some pain killers for him. Fine, easy enough...but upon doing so, he was only directed to a hispanic prisoner...who directed him to get some superadine from a troll, 'Mr. Verde.' Again...easy enough...but he was only redirected again. Eventually, Victor was directed into the sewer lines which he followed out into the yard. There, he put down several prisoners that got a tad bit too insolent and managed to contact an Arachnos pilot.
"Jenkins [censored] up." The pilot said bluntly.
Victor shook his head and ran over to the bunker where Jenkins was last seen.
"You'll never get me to spill the name of Victor Jaramillo that easily!"
"Moron." Victor dispatched the strangely dressed troopers in the bunker, slew the security officers and set the explosives himself. Afterwards he was flown to Mercy Island where he was directed to a place known as 'Blakmoore Safehouse.'
"Stay there until you receive further orders from Arachnos." He was told.
Victor, toting nothing more than his SMG, walked into the rathole known as "Blakmoore" and found a small lobby bell. He rang the bell once...no response...rang it again...no response...began ringing furiously...no response. Victor noticed a man sitting slothfully in the back watching a TV.
"Impotent pig," Victor said, raising his submachinegun. He squeezed the trigger and completely shot up the TV. The man jumped up in fright.
"Please!!! I have no money!" The man screamed, hiding behind a chair.
"Fool! I have been sent by Arachnos! Give me a damn room!" Victor looked around at all the squalor. "A lesson in humility for sure," he said to himself.
The sound of a machine gun being fired reverberated through the water. It wasnt close, but Aqualos could still hear it. It had been a short burst, but in a safe house with the so-called villains it was not that odd a thing. There was no follow up sound of guns or running feet, so it probably was not a raid.
Aqualos rose up out of the water, when and wrapped the chains of office around his shoulders and neck. Still dripping water, the scaly green man exited the room. The water had refreshed him, but he now sought sustenance.
He hoped they had some decent seafood. As he walked up the stairs towards the lobby and looked at the yellowing walls and peeling paint with the graffiti saying Statesman was from Nantucket he realized that the chances of a decent meal in this pit was unlikely.
((I apologize for the long absence. I'll spare you the details, but I also know I have fallen horribly behind in the Whitmore... I'll do my damndest to catch up in a day or so. Until then, I'm movin' in HERE! Heh...))
"Why the hell does Lord Recluse have us crackin' some of these nutters out? I mean come on man, it's not like half these guys even know their [censored] from a hole in the ground."
"Shut it Perkins. We have orders and we follow them. I'll bite and say that I don't like it but its what we do. Now come on... we have to hit the Arcane Confinement wing."
Russel looked over his checklist of inmates to be sprung again. Each name had a checkmark next to it except one. He knew at least 30 other Arachnos soldiers were in the Zig doing the same thing at the moment, but he prided himself on being fast and efficient. He was going to show just HOW efficient when he reported Perkins to the Arbiters upon their return. The man obviously did not have his training instilled deeply enough by the Lord.
The two ran through the dark corridors lit by the emergency lights before coming to a heavy steel door. Perkins grabbed his access-code card he "Liberated" from one of the guards earlier and slid it into the slot. The door chimed before opening wide.
"Well hell... Looks like we have the last guy here." Perkins grumbled. All the other doors stood open. Their hollow rooms, dark and haunting, taunted the younger agent.
"If someone else was here, why didn't they just spring our guy as well so we didn't waste our time?"
Russel sighed and shook his head. "Because our target requires a... special touch. I have orders and instructions on HOW to release this one from Ghost Widow and Kalinda." Perkins snorted and stormed off towards the only closed door. Before he could enter his card and grab the handle Russel knocked his hand away.
"Are you stupid as well as a jackass? We are in the ARCANE containment area, these prisoners are sealed in by spells, your key won't work and would likely set off more alarms."
"SO? It's not like the tights don't know we are here already! Lets just open the damn door and be done with it."
Russel added insubordination to the already growing list of faults he had marked on this young recruit. Perkins jammed his card in the slot and threw the door open. There was a scent of Ozone and a hiss before another alarm went off in the chamber. Russel sighed and drew a knife from his belt and quickly drug it down the etchings of runes laced upon the door-frame. He had hoped to disarm them, not mar them.
Perkins strode into the tiny cell and looked at the far corner before spitting and sputtering in anger. "Is this some kind of damn joke?"
The cell was like just about any other, with two major exceptions. First was that the floor seemed to be covered in vines. Pumpkin vines to be exact, and the heady odor of mold and rot hung in the air. The second exception was the "inmate" they had come to free.
"A SCARECROW? Lord Recluse sends us in here for a damn SCARECROW?!?" Perkins was raging now. He brutally kicked the leg of the thing sitting hap-hazardly in the corner.
It did indeed appear to be a scarecrow. The black-pinstripe pants and work boots had patches, and straw and corn husks stuck out between the loose seams. The torso was a black dress shirt with orange tie covered by a rich royal purple jacket. White magician gloves were attached to the sleeves, but the twigs for fingers had ripped some of the digits giving the palms a claw-like appearance. The head was... well a head-shaped pumpkin with no visible mouth. Eyes and a nose were carved in the classic jack-o-lantern shapes, but any mouth was absent at the moment. An oversized top-hat in the same rich royal purple sat on the "Head" and seemed to cover a partial attempt at hair make of weeds and vines... somehow still green.
"Damn him! We risk our [censored] for a damned JOKE!" Perkins was raging now, but Russel was dead calm. He had read the notes sent on this target by Kalinda and Ghost Widow. Perkins had botched the opening of the door, messing up the occult seals. The seals were there just FOR that reason; if someone tried to break this thing out without opening the seals correctly it would be hurt by the runes and bound to the room. Russel's marring of some of the runes would abate the pain, but not the binding.
He flipped the knife in his hand, stepped up behind Perkins and without a thought, grabbed the young recruit's head and drew the blade of the knife across Perkin's throat.
There was a strangled gargle and sputter as the bubbles of blood oozed out of the wound. The spatter hit the scarecrow and the vines on the floor. Russel stood back and shook his head.
"I would have reported your offences to the Arbiters anyway Perkins. This is quicker. In fact if you had not been a jackass we could have roused him with only three drops of blood, but because you activated the seals without thinking I needed more. Your death, I think, will be more than enough to remove the remaining binding."
The vines on the floor began to shudder and twitch as Perkins fell forward almost into the lap of the scarecrow. Like hungry eels the vines began to twist and flow towards the blood. Russel could see roots branch in the liquid crimson pools and suck hungrily. Barely a drop was wasted as the vines mummified the body of his former partner and left a desiccated husk behind.
The scarecrow shuddered, and where no mouth had been previously, a manic and disturbing rictus split the sheen of the gourd resembling a head. The teeth were large, white, and square. There were far more than in a normal humans head, and the smile gave the wicked gleam missing from the blank jack-o-lanterns face.
Russel quickly looked at his notes and began reading the words given to him by Kalinda.
Tá sibh saor ó tromluí. Arachnos tairiscint tú aoi a bhfuil fáilte roimhe.
Tá sibh saor ó tromluí. Arachnos tairiscint tú aoi a bhfuil fáilte roimhe.
Tá sibh saor ó tromluí. Arachnos tairiscint tú aoi a bhfuil fáilte roimhe.
Russel stepped back then as the scarecrow looked up at him. Those hollow eyes glaring while the smile never wavered.
I am free
but where is the child? The voice was hollow and cold. Not empty of emotion, but more of a faint restraint against a creature willing to tear ones head off. It was the low growl of a feral dog, or a faint hiss of an angry cat. It was the whisper before the storm. Russel was prepared for the things response but not for its voice.
Arachnos has her, and she is waiting for you. We are to take you from here.
The scarecrow stood and then suddenly bowed as if he was the finest gentleman.
I accept your offer of freedom then. I like it when a caller knows the rules. Do you know my name?
Russel nodded. The thing was well over seven feet in height, lanky, and reeked of mold and age, but it still carried a presence about it. It was far more than some animate scarecrow from a childrens book. This was something else entirely.
Youre Hollow-Jack.
The scarecrow nodded and patted Russel gently on the cheek. The must of moldy straw assaulted his nose, and the feel of the bony twigs pinched his skin, but he did not flinch.
I am impressed. You speak the words, you show respect, and you have what I need. Lead on then soldier, and show me away from this place.
Russel looked back at the husk of Perkins. He shrugged once, not even caring where all the vines had vanished to before he slammed the door shut.
************************************************** **********************
Hollow-Jack liked the helicopter ride. The wind smelled of ozone and fire when he left the walls of wire, stone, and steel behind. Others were crammed into the copter as well, but they seemed to be willing to move out of his way. The fact that a rude gentleman was now encased in a web of vines and whimpering in agony as the thorns tore into his flesh probably helped.
Or perhaps it was when Hollow-Jack held a flaming index finger a hairs breath from the mans iris before patiently explaining that he should never call people like Hollow-Jack Pumpkin-Head, Pumpkin-Pie, Scarecrow, or Firewood.
Education can be a wonderful thing, especially when others learn from a persons mistakes. This was a fast learning group indeed.
They landed in a place called Mercy Island. More stone, wire, and steel greeted Hollow-Jack, but at least he was not caged IN such structures anymore. Russel hopped out of the cap of their copter and quickly ran up to him.
Hollow-Jack, after you find your footing here and speak with Kalinda, you can find a spot of your own here. He pressed a card into the white gloved palm of the towering entity.
Hollow-Jack paused and looked at his human friend.
This Kalinda knows where my child is correct? I would be most upset at you both if I was lied to and lured here.
Tá sibh saor ó tromluí. Arachnos tairiscint tú aoi a bhfuil fáilte roimhe. Russel repeated. Hollow-Jack nodded and bowed again.
I only said upset, you have freed me and I know that is a debt I have to pay. You have abided by the rules, so shall I. I will speak with this Kalinda, but if your end of the pact is not held I will speak with you again as well.
A dull thump was heard as well as a yelp of pain as the man who had offended Hollow-Jack was cut down.
You may not like that talk Russel, keep that in mind.
Hollow-Jack bowed and strode up to the woman in crimson named Kalinda. It was a brief meeting as many others were vying for her attention. He ran her tests, but her demeanor showed that she knew full well he was who he claimed to be.
After cleaning up a final mess and passing his final test Kalinda took a moment and pulled him aside.
I know what you seek ó tromluí. I can show you to her, but not now. We will speak again. The pact will be held, do not fear about that.
She swept away quickly leaving Hollow-Jack amid a sea of her petitioners. Nodding, he took the only option available at the moment.
The walk was swift and it was good to get away from the rabble and mobs. The building was easy enough to find as well.
Hollow-Jack entered the decrepit foyer and approached the desk. He placed the card Russel had given him down in front of the man at the desk. He was oblivious to the man shooting up the place with his gun or the wet man walking down the stairs.
He did however bow to the other, obvious gentleman in the lobby.
I shall take the roof if you please. No need to trouble yourself, I can see the key. Attend to the others first by all means.
A vine erupted from the floor behind the desk and wrapped about a set of keys before tossing them to Hollow-Jacks waiting hand. Touching the brim of his hat he grinned to the cowering man, the gun toting individual, and the wet gentleman.
He turned on his heel and walked to the stairwell before tipping his hat once more to the finely dressed gentleman and ascending the stairs.
He emerged out on the roof amid the bubbling tar-paper and rank old pigeon-coop. A rotting water-tank was here as well, but what was important was the glorious amount of sun he could be exposed to. He would have to begin his garden here. A temporary situation until he was re-united with the child of course, but it would be something to do until he had found her again.
Hollow-Jack smiled and thought of all he was now able to do. He was free, and he only had to get food for his garden now. Food to start it and make it grow. Food like his first true meal in a long time.
Food like Perkins.
Oh this was going to be fun again.
Kirke was taking another look over the blueprints of the building when he heard the van pull up outside. He set the papers aside and headed downstairs to meet Jack. The blueprints hadn't been too hard to get ahold of and he pretty much had them memorized by now. He ignored the activity in the lobby as he pushed through the doors, catching sight of Jack as she was opening the van.
"Is this everything," he asked as he walked up behind her. Jack was a rather short girl, about 5'3", with short shaggy brown hair and crooked teeth. Her face was rather ordinary which let her pass for 18, which is what she told everyone she was, even though she was actually a bit younger than that.
"Yeah, that's it," she answered irritably as she pulled duffel bags from the van with a strength that seemed more than her wirey frame was capable of. Kirke took four of them, two in each hand, while Jack managed to haul the last three herself. As soon as they were back in his room with the door shut, Kirke went straight to unpacking the bags.
"This place is a dump," Jack stated after a little, absently unpacking one of the bags herself. She paused suddenly, putting a hand to her stomach as it lurched painfully.
"Nausious," Kirke asked without looking up from what he was doing.
"It took me longer to get over here than I thought," she replied, rubbing her stomach gingerly. Reaching into one of his coat's many pockets, Kirke pulled out a small canister full of blue pills. He handed a couple to Jack who took them as disinterestedly as she could, but downed them quickly as soon as his back was turned. She let out a faint sigh as her stomach started to quiet down.
"So," she said, going back to unpacking the bag. "You gotta be goin' nuts about now, huh? I mean, all these supers in the building and you having to be right in the middle of 'em..." she trailed off, sounding a little too cheerful about his situation.
"It's business kid," Kirke replied calmly as he pulled out another of the many weapons from the duffel bag. It was rather large looking and the clip in the handle only held 10 large shells, but it was enough. After all, the Malto scientists who came up with the design hadn't nicknamed it the 'Cape Killer' for nothing.
"It's all just business."
Aqualos watched the vegetable man go by. He felt a little offended by the disdain the creature had shown him a Prince of Atlantis but he would ignore it for now. The excessively dressed man with who moved with a grace that matched his outdated clothing.
The scaly green man moved forward to the desk, waiting patiently as the irritating gunman threatened the small doorman.
As the gunman moved away, Aqualos moved forward. Jenkins was still eying the gunman with a little fear. I wish for sustenance, he said.
What? Im sorry, Prince Aqualos, what was that? Jenkins asked, leaning in. You need to speak up a bit.
Aqualos sighed. Sound traveled so much more effective underwater. He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. He didnt like to speak louder; it added an uncouth growl undertone to his voice. He sounded like he had two voices talking at one one tenor, one bass. I wish for sustenance. Where can I go for food?
Jenkins had jumped at Aqualoss double voice. Oh, food. We have a fine dining on the second floor, the doorman said. One thing Lord Arachnos realized fairly early is that people who are fed regularly are less likely try to kill each other under the same roof. Jenkins chuckled.
Aqualos grunted. Thank you, Jenkins, the green man said. He walked up the stairs and followed the signs.
The dinning room was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. This room is where Arachnos had spent time and money. The walls were dark wood, the tables all had table clothes and candles, the menus had fancy lettering, and the wait staff were dressed in suitcoats. Each had a spider image embroidered on the, and bulges under the coats showed that they were equipped to deal with any problems.
A pretty young woman with a nametag he could not read showed Aqualos to his table. She handed him a menu. I cannot read your language, Diana, he said after she introduced herself. Just bring me lobster or crab. I wish for seafood. And water.
She nodded and walked off.
Aqualos looked around the large dining room. This was a location where the excessively dressed man would look in place, and he, green, bare-chested except for his chains of office, looked definitely odd.
Victor was extremely confused by this point. Sure, he had wrangled with many strange looking heroes in Paragon, but these people were particularly odd. He had just witness a large, green, scale-covered 'man' and a walking scarecrow pass him by.
"Surely the devil's work, these...these 'creatures.'" Victor said to himself, albeit out loud. Victor took the key Jenkins fearfully extended to him and headed upstairs, passing by a rather luxurious second floor dining room. "Odd, such lavish accomodations buried in such squalid surroundings. Perhaps I shall check out this room later," he said as he continued walking.
After about a minute or so, Victor reached his floor and walked with dignity, almost arrogantly, to his room, despite his surroundings. This may have been his 'lesson in humility,' but as far as he was concerned he was far more dignified and worthy of respect than the 'common dregs of society' that were certainly holed up here. Victor unlocked and opened the door.
"Hm, not too bad...I guess." He said as he gazed upon the rather (more than) shabby surroundings. A stained bed, a dusty, torn up couch, rust and mold stained bathroom and kitchen...
Victor made the sign of the cross, "Well, I must still be thankful...it's nowhere near my old hacienda, but it's still better than living in a cardboard box...or being caged in that cell." He tossed his SMG onto a small coffee table that sat in front of the couch. It immediately broke apart and collapsed. "Hmph...perhaps some food will help me settle down," he grumbled. Victor re-entered the hallway, locking the door behind him, and walked down to the second floor dining facility.
Upon entering the room, he was greeted by the staff, and returning the courteous greetings, he was sat at a table across from the large green man and handed a menu. He glanced at the green man out of curiosity several times, but decided to just leave it be and order. "My dear," he said to the waitress, "I'll just have something simple. Steak, potatoes, whatever soup is hot right now...surprise me." He handed her the menu and she was off. He resumed gazing at the green creature, fascinated by it's somewhat beastly appearance, yet very regal demeanor.
The clerk didn't see the small spheres rolling across the floor, just the tapping of them hitting the wall behind him. Standing up he turned around curiously as two figures darted in and took cover on the other side of his desk. Looking back towards the door he watched an eight foot tall woman in black military BDU's and a visored half helf with rose tinted glass walk in. She was engulfed in flames and carried a scoped submachine gun. Behind her was a petite girl completely white, her eyes had patches over them and wore a slick asian robe with long bloomed sleeves and thigh high stilletos. As the amazon surveyed the scene the pale figure leaned against the doorframe and rubbed it with her hands.
"What kind of material is this Dorothy?" she asked the other.
"Dirty." the tall one replied.
Standing up the clerk found a weapon brandished in his face by a flaming soldier hunched over the desk. Slowly walking around his desk, he noticed another fire shielded soldier kneeling down there on guard.
"Hi I'm Jenkins am I to guess you umm four? need a room?"
"Behind me is The Forlorn Fairy, I'm Commander Powers; those two will sleep somewhere. I need a place with a balconey, preferably one that can support a few sandbags."
"Umm, ok not that big a problem, third floor?" he checked
"Good, and umm a few extra fire extinguishers for the lil lady.."
He looked over at the blind girl who was still feeling out the texture of the walls and nodded acceptingly. With one soldier on point and the other covering the back he led them upstairs to the room. Opening it up he waited for a snide remark over it's emptiness. He jumped as giggle erupted behind him, glancing back it was Fairy groping about trying to disentangle a spider web from her face.
"Sir, room is clear." the point man annnounced.
Jenkins watched Powers go inside and examine the room. A few spitting huffs distracted him as the last strands got shaken off then she too darted in as if knowing the way.
"This is defensible enough, thank you Mr. Jenkins." Powers commented.
He saw one of the men dart out to the balconey as the other stepped outside and closed the door. Waving at the guard, he returned downstairs.
Samedi strolled back in, or rather sashayed *hrm, I could get used to this outfit* ... turned out that Dirty Blonde and her two paid soldiers weren't in any world of hurt, the girl just wanted 'moral support'... as if there was an iota of morality on this entire island.
But now she was hungry. And she hadn't seen a decent eatery anywhere... unless you counted the groups of Stricken barbecuing rats over fire-barrels.
"You!"
Jenkins started. Oh no. Not Heart-Attack Woman again.
"Ou est la Boulangerie??"
His fearful look got a trace of incomprehension.
"Zut! J'ai oublie... l'Anglais seulment... d'accord... Where.. is .. a... grocery?"
Jenkins shook his head. "None for miles. But.... second floor has a restaurant..."
Samedi laughed. Surely this was the best joke she'd heard in weeks. But then she did a double take. Jenkins was serious.
"Vous avez un restaurant ... ici?? Vraiment?"
She climbed the stairs and opened the door at the landing.
------------------------
Moments later, she was seated at a linen-covered table, and was handed a menu. She was also rather amazed at the selection.... but settled for something simple, half a roasted chicken, potatoes, gravy, and vegetables. The waiter went to fill her wineglass, but she simply reached for the bottle and set it on the table.
This was definitely a LOT better than she was used to.
"City of Heroes. April 27, 2004 - August 31, 2012. Obliterated not with a weapon of mass destruction, not by an all-powerful supervillain... but by a cold-hearted and cowardly corporate suck-up."
(OOC: I am creating this thread for my fellow Whitmoore writers and I to post villain bios and stories (either stand-alone, narrative, or RP) that do no fit in our main thread. Kudo's to Tick-Tok for the idea of "The Blakmoore" as counterpart to "The Whitmoore", and to American_Valor for the "Safehouse" part of it. I feel like my head just exploded from the epiphany of putting the two together... and here it is.)
Together we entered a city of strangers, we made it a city of friends, and we leave it a City of Heroes. - Sweet_Sarah
BOYCOTT NCSoft (on Facebook)
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