Well, it serves him right for listening to his uncle.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
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[But...won't he be able to explain this to his uncle in person? Or will that be messy and not fit for viewing?]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
The sight of a college-age werewolf office nebbish explaining to his uncle (with great detail) why one doesn't go commando in tight corduroy shorts is definitely not safe even for mature audiences.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
[But the amusement factor!!!]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
I don't think we want to go there. If I do then I'll start making even worse jokes. I skated the issue closely enough, I think.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
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"Grace?"
"I told you I wouldnt let you out of my sight," the Prioress said. "As soon as the taxi turned the corner, I was out. Ive been out there listening. I put the closed-circuit camera in a continuous loop so I wouldnt be seen."
Ian smiled his charming smile, and with his brogue changed to refined English, said, "Thank you for the rescue, my lady. I am
"
"Ian Scott. Ive heard of you."
Ians smile disappeared and he simply said, "Oh."
Grace pointedly began to speak to Rosie, "I knew you were in no imminent danger as long as he kept talking that is especially true of a Frenchman. At first I wasnt sure which man to shoot, since I couldnt see through the curtain, so I waited. It soon became obvious which one was the danger."
Rosie looked at the two dead Davids and shook her head. He had been a victim of his own powers. The flaw in his counterfeit self was that it wanted to continue living.
Grace sighed and said, "Ill have to call and make arrangements to have these bodies disposed of cant have the two of us linked with this
this
debacle. It will be costly, Im afraid
"
"Madame, if you will allow me," Ian spoke up, "I have connections in this city. I will handle the cleanup. After all, it was my caper that spawned this
this
"
"Debacle," Grace finished.
Ian looked around and nodded.
Grace took Rosies hand and led her out of the store.
"Its not too late, you know," Grace said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.
"Too late for what?" Rosie asked.
"To get revenge on Mr. Scott for what he did to you those years ago."
Rosie paused and looked back at the stores entrance. It would be a simple matter to take Graces gun and go back inside and
And what? A few months ago, she would have done it. She would have put the gun to his head and silenced him even as he begged for his life. But she was different now.
"No," she said to Grace. "He put me on a path that took me to where I need to be. It wasnt all pleasant, but I might never have found you if he hadnt betrayed me."
Grace smiled and touched Rosies face. "Then let us enjoy what time we have left in Paris, my love."
With hands clasped together, they walked away; neither one looked back.
The remainder of our stay in Paris after that little "situation" was, to say the least, much more relaxing. I even managed to convince Rose to accompany me to a rather favourable rendition of "Pelleas et Melisande" at the Opera-Comique. She did so more to impress upon me, than going for her own benefit, but as it progressed, the emotion of the tale clearly overwhelmed her.
However, throughout the remainder of the trip, I couldn't help but feel a touch of depression coming from her. She so had her heart set on becoming rich off Ian's painting. She puts on a smile and does truly enjoy being here with me - she hides her disappointment well.
The day before our flight was scheduled to depart, I reluctantly decided it was time to finally take care of that bit of personal business.
Rose wanted to accompany me, but...there are still deeply buried things that I am not ready for her to know. She tells me she understands, but, I can feel differently. It saddens her that it seems I still do not trust her, but I am not willing to budge on this. I kiss her goodbye and promise her I shan't be long.
The cab ride to the Banque de France is quiet and uneventful. Roses disappointment causes me to shift our link, so that, although I can still sense her, it does not preoccupy me for the time being. The slight dreary rainfall does little for my demeanour.
I exit the cab in front of the bank and, after paying the driver his due, hesitate at the entrance, looking up at the edifice, one of the oldest in Paris. I havent been here in so long
and there is a reason for that.
Steeling my resolve, I enter the richly appointed foyer and approach the managers desk. Monsieur Bertrand is a slight, older man and his father before him ran this bank the last time I was here. He puts his pen down and looks up at me with a professional smile, folding his hands on the desk.
How may I assist you, madame?
I would like to peruse the contents of my safe, if you please. I hold up a key.
He takes the key from my hand and reads the number imprinted on it, inputting it into the computer console at his desk. His expression changes from indifferent professionalism to pure awe as he reads the screen.
Madame
zis safe
I finish his statement for him,
is one of the oldest you have in this establishment, yes. I am well aware of that.
Oui, of course. It is just that
well, this particular safe has never been opened since it was purchased. In fact
there are no official records of it actually existing. It has become, how do you say, a legend amongst the employees here.
Hes beginning to irritate me.
Youre not telling me anything I dont already know, Monsieur Betrand. Now, may I see the vault, please?
My tone sobers his enthusiasm and the air of professionalism returns. Oui. Of course, madame. My apologies. Zis way.
He gestures for me to follow him and we make our way down a carpeted hallway, toward the back of the bank.
Using a touchpad, he keys in his access code and we enter the safety deposit chamber. Hundreds of brass drawers face us, but he does not stop there. I follow him into yet another room, this one containing only three larger antique safe doors in the wall. He motions to the one on the left. Zis one is yours, madame. Ah
if you would be so kind?
He gestures to a keyboard and monitor built into the surface of the only table in the room. I remove my glove and type in my password, then place my hand on the monitor screen. A green light signifies a successful entry. Monsieur Betrand steps up to the safe door and turns the handle. A hollow metallic clank and it partially swings open. With that, he bows and respectfully leaves the room. He may be curious, but he knows better than to defy protocol.
Once alone, I stand there and stare at the half-opened door. My hands are actually shaking. The voices in my head speak in turn.
The Warrior: Go on, girl. What bedevils you? Are you such a coward to be afraid of the past?
The Ascetic: For better or worse, the past makes us who we are, child.
The Woman: Do this for her.
Silencing them, I open the door and reach in to remove the safes single contents and place it on the table before me. Taking a seat, I open the box and take out whats inside.
It is a music box, silver-chased, topped with a red velvet cushion. Standing on the cushion is a small automaton of a bear dressed in a red and gold vest, wearing a hat. The mere sight of it brings an almost childlike smile to my face. I touch the bears nose ever so gently and whisper,
Hello, my old friend.
A voice behind me responds instead, tightening my stomach into a firm knot a voice like honeyed poison a voice I have not heard in a lifetime.
Prevyet, little Nastya. It has been too long.
A pleasant but chilly morning greeted Hephaestus 1 and Fang, the Littlest Werewolf, as they walked from the SUV to the Rhode Island Circuit Courts Building in Atlas Park.
"Gee, Heph," Fang said, "What do you think that my uncle Larry is gonna have us do today?"
Hephaestus 1 looked down at his diminuitive partner. "The same thing we do every day, Fang: DELIVER SUBPOENAS FROM THE MINOR COURTS OF OUR CIVIL JUSTICE SYSTEM!"
*A montage of Heph and Fang's more amusing moments appears as a song plays in the background*
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
They are a cyborg
and a wolfman drinking Tang?
Court orders they must serve
With wit, panache and verve
Hephaestus
Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!
Before each day is done
They summon to the courts
Supers who have run
From nuisance suits and torts!
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
Hephaestus 1 and Fang
They are a cyborg
and a wolfman who's lame!
Villains get unnerved
By being filmed for SERV'D!
with Hephaestus
Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!
"Well, Fang, we'd better go see what Larry wants us to face today."
"Uh, okay..." Fang said. "How did they know I like Tang at breakfast?"
The heroes arrived at the desk of Larry McGonigle, Heph's contact for the Civil Courts. Larry was scowling as usual.
"Nice to see you again, O'Flannagan," Larry said. "Before we get into the details of today's assignment, I want you to know that you can opt out of any assignments which you might not like. It's okay to decline an assignment and take another."
"What?" Heph asked. "I've never refused an assignment, no matter how dumb. I won't start now."
Larry handed over a manila folder to Heph. "Read what's in the file. You might change your mind."
Heph opened up the folder. "Oh, God. Larry, what's the meaning of this? This is impossible!" the big blue cyborg shouted. Inside the folder was a restraining order and a picture of the hero he promised to watch when that hero's father died: the Cobalt Claymore.
"No, it's not impossible. On his last foray through Peregrine Island, the Cobalt Claymore used threats of physical violence, intimidating looks and name-calling on a particular leader within The Council."
"We do stuff like that every day, Lar," Heph said. "We're heroes. We try to distract villains from hurting regular folks as well as try to get them to surrender without a fight."
"Well, this one has some pull in his agency and sent one of their lawyers to ask for a restraining order against him. If you don't want the job, I can give it to someone else."
Heph looked at the list of offenses on the order. "Fang, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Fang looked up from his copy of 'Hai! Frilly Girly Happenstance.' "I think so, Heph, but the lyrics to the theme song don't scan perfectly now that I think about it."
Heph's shoulders slumped. "Fang, don't be a twit. I meant if you were thinking that our fellow hero is being mistreated by our justice system."
"Oh," Fang said. "I really wan't paying attention."
There was a loud clang as Heph's hand met his forehead. "Look, let's get out of here, okay?"
Fang closed his manga and put it away. "Right, boss!"
After a short commute, the two process servers arrived in front of a modest houseboat near the PCU campus in Founders Falls. Heph stepped up and knocked on the side of the boat. "Ahoy there! Permission to come aboard!"
The Cobalt Claymore popped open the door and looked out. "Heph? What's going on?"
"Uhm, I hate to tell you, CC, but an Archon Snodgrass of the Council has taken out a restraining order on you. Here's the paperwork."
The Cobalt Claymore looked over the papers. "Archon who?"
"Archon Snodgrass. You busted him and his cell of Council agents when they stole the P.L.O.T. Device."
"Oh, him. The Vampyr who's in charge of all Council sniper teams has put a restraining order on me?"
"He says you insulted him by calling him a denigrating name," Heph said.
"It was witty banter! I decided to anger him by call calling him 'Count Fragula' is all," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Witty banter is protected under the First Amendment and reinforced by the Mega Guy v. Hu Dei the Tiger Sorcerer decision of 1998. This order is bogus!"
"He also alleges that you created a hostile work environment through a campaign of intimidation and violence," Heph said. "What did you do to this guy?"
"I used psychological warfare to destroy his team's morale and then defeated them by taking a sword to a gunfight. It's standard operating procedure for swashbuckling vigilantes. When humor fails, scare the pants off of them," the Cobalt Claymore said as he stood on the deck of his houseboat.
"Uhm, speaking of pants," Fang said, "isn't it a bit cold to be out here in just a pair of gym shorts?"
"No, and what's it to you, Sergeant Yorkie?" the Cobalt Claymore snapped.
"I'm a werewolf, not a Yorkie, pal!" Fang growled. "Don't mess with me! I'm five hundred pounds of violence in a hundred-pound body! Every day is struggle to contain the Beast Within!"
"Right," the Cobalt Claymore said. "Don't shed on my boat, either. I hate getting dog hair stuck in the welcome mat."
"It's werewolf hair," Fang said. "Don't make me angry! Because I seethe like Zack De la Rocha when he doesn't get a seaweed wrap at the spa!"
The Cobalt Claymore looked at Fang, then at Heph. "Your boss hates you, doesn't he?"
Heph nodded. "Yes. Yes he does."
The shirtless hero folded up the restraining order. "They got Chris Jenkins to put his name on this. So I'll need to grab a lawyer of my own to fight this. This is a waste of taxpayer time and money."
"With an attitude like yours," Fang said, "he probably did feel uncomfortable."
Heph shook his head. "Fang."
"Yeah?"
Heph fired a tranquilizer dart into his partner's neck. "SHUT UP."
"I can feel colors Heph! I can feel colooooooorgh..." the tiny lycanthrope said as he fell unconscious.
"Well, you only have so long to respond and challenge this order so appear at the Circuit Court building at the time and date listed. I'm sure we've got a competent lawyer around here somewhere."
"Eh, I'm sure one firm or another owes me a favor. I'll see this loser in court."
Heph picked up Fang by the scruff of his neck and threw him over his shoulder. "Yeah. Sorry about the whole situation, man, but business is business."
"No problem. I'll have this fixed in no time."
Heph paused for a second. "You know this campus well, right? Where do I find the office of the Network for Advanced Rocket Fuels? I have a summon for one of the professors. Something to do with burning a hole in his apartment floor."
"NARF?" the Cobalt Claymore said. "Oh, it's in the Science and Engineering building over by Williams Square. Can't miss it."
"Hey, thanks, CC. You're a good sport about this."
"Eh, it's a hero thing."
"Yeah," Heph said. "You'll work it out. I have a feeling that thanks to countersuits Archon Snodgrass is going to find himself Serv'd!"
Hephaestus
Hephaestus 1 and Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang, Fang!
*fade to black and roll credits*
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
[Well gee, I wonder what I'll have stuck in my head tonight?]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
You're welcome? 
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
I do not turn around at first. I cannot bear to look upon his face again after
he should be dead. He has to be dead.
I try to keep my voice steady, despite the butterflies raging like carrion birds at a slaughter within my gut. The pistol strapped to my thigh seems so far away
Prevyet,Grigori.
I finally turn and face him. He is flanked by two armed men bearing the tattoos of Russian mobsters.
What I see before me is not the man I remember from so long ago. He is dressed in an exquisitely made Italian suit, and his beard has been neatly trimmed, but that is where the humanity ends. His hands are fashioned of bronze. His face is the only thing still of flesh, and it is more akin to a mannequin wearing his face the skin stretched tightly over a blank skull, looking as old as blue-veined parchment.
The years have not been kind to you, I see.
He smiles a gesture that only serves to make him appear less human than possible and he opens his arms warmly.
But the years have favored you greatly, I see, Nastya.
My eyes narrow. Do not call me that.
He clucks his tongue in disappointment. You would rather I call you by your official title? Very well, Your Imperial Highness, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova. I, your humble servant, Grigori Rasputin, am ever at your service. To further mock me, he bows deeply.
I do not answer to that name any longer. She died many years ago, along with her family. *You* saw to that, my friend.
His smile becomes one of feigned innocence and he changes the subject. I have waited a very long time to see who would come for this vault. Imagine my surprise when I was told it was you.
Bertrand. Ill have to find a way to thank him
How is it youre still alive, Grigori? The last I heard of you, you were floating down the Neva, quite dead.
His smile fades slightly. Not for the lack of trying, da? I have your father and his sympathizers to thank for that. As you can see, reports of my demise were
greatly exaggerated. An
associate with a knack for the mechanical fashioned this steam-powered bronze coffin for me. It has served well enough since. But, tell me, how is it that *you* have avoided the grasp of the ages? You look quite well for a woman of eighty nine years.
I smile thinly. We all have our secrets.
He nods solemnly. Yes, I suppose we do at that. Which brings me to the reason behind my little visit
His eyes slice through me.
I want the Romanov Cross.
Theres only one reason youd want that, old man. Its so disappointing to discover that the immortal mad monk, Rasputin, for all his posturing, has been nothing more than a common thief all along.
Its time for his eyes to narrow this time.
Besides, I dont have it.
He thrusts a metallic finger at the music box and bellows, I know that trinket is more than a mere childs toy! Its a puzzle box and it contains the Cross! Open it and give it to me or die.
I grace him with a bemused smile, regardless of how I actually feel inside.
You disappoint me, Grigori. If you kill me, youll never get the Romanov fortune. What shall you do? Torture me right here? On the table?
His rage grows and, for a moment, I tense, expecting him to launch himself bodily at me. But, a commotion in the hallway outside distracts him and, after a few moments of scuffling, two more of his men enter, dragging a struggling woman in between them.
Rose.
I set aside our link. Im a fool. And because of that slip, she is once again a captive. Aside from appearing ruffled, she is otherwise unharmed. This relieves me to some degree. The black eye and bloody lip of one of her captors relieves me even more.
Rasputins eyes flick from her to me, something dawning in them. And who do we have here? Someone close to you, Nastya?
Rose looks confused at the name. Grace? Whats going on here? I thought Rasputin interrupts her with a slap to the face. I wince at the pain that shoots through her, but she does not falter. Her eyes spell death for the man, should she get loose.
Enough! Nastya or Grace
whatever you see fit to call yourself now, it seems we have something to bargain with, da? The life of your
friend for the treasure. What say you? Shall we end this before it gets
bloody?
Roses eyes flicker at the mention of treasure, but she remains silent. I turn my attention back to Rasputin.
Should I trust the word of a molester of young girls?
His face twists in rage.
I have not forgotten the trust betrayed, Grigori. I will never forget what you did to me. An old pain, one Id thought long gone, begins to thrum dully in the very center of my being.
He flies into a rage again. That treasure is mine by right after what I have suffered! I alone protected you! I alone gave your mother the solace your father never could!
A blade arcs from his mechanical finger and slices Roses neck lightly. Give me the cross or she dies.
My mind goes to Roses, comforting her. I feel a plan forming there and a desire for me to follow along.
I feign concern not much of a stretch, really, since I truly do fear for Roses life. No! Wait! Ill give you what you want.
He nods at the music box in response.
I turn the box over and twist the silver key exactly seven times. Replacing the box on the table, the bear begins to dance. When he lifts the hat off his head, I gently pluck it from his hand, releasing a trigger that pops open the velvet cover.
Flushed with anticipation, Rasputin thrusts Rose back at this two men and seizes the box from the tabletop. He greedily removes what is contained inside a large ornate silver cross on a long silver chain.
Anticipation swiftly turns to rage again, Its not complete! Where is the crucifix?!
The mention of the crucifix triggers recognition in Roses mind.
I try to keep my voice calm. I told you. I dont have it. Kill her if you must. I cannot give you what I do not possess.
Roses eyes fly open in shock. What?! You [censored]! I thought you loved me!
Rasputins face belies a vulgar pleasure in that bit of news and he grins at Rose, It seems she does not care for you as much as she does herself, little one.
My face remains impassive.
He nods to his men. Kill her.
As the thugs begin to drag her to the corner, Rose shrieks, Wait! I know something thatll be worth more to you than any treasure!
Rasputin simply looks at her with an air of bemused indifference. And what could that possibly be, hm?
Rose glowers hatefully at me. The secret of her youth.
I try not to express shock.
And what, pray, would that be?
Let me go and Ill tell you.
He laughs. I think not, devochka. Tell me first.
Rose smirks ruefully at me. Its in her blood. Just inject it into yourself and itll make you young again.
Shes lying. Theres no such thing inside me.
His curiosity has been piqued. Perhaps not, but
A long syringe needle springs from another finger.
it cannot hurt to experiment, da?
The needle pricks the skin of my neck and I can see my blood course down into a reservoir in Rasputins arm. He keeps at it for several minutes. I do not move to stop him.
He finally removes the needle and, within seconds, his expression shifts into one of pure elation, Incredible! I can feel
I can feel my body again! It is a mirac --!
Elation turns to confusion. Then pain. Then horror.
Wha-- ?! What have you done to me?! His eyes plead with mine, but I have no answer for him. Instead, I look at Rose. He follows my gaze, only to see her grin with smug satisfaction.
Nice knowing you"
With that, she thrusts an elbow into the diaphragm of the thug with the black eye and grabs his pistol when he buckles. She tosses it to me and brings her knee up to his face, connecting with his nose with a sickening crunch.
Catching the gun, I waste no time in proceeding to place one bullet into the forehead of each of the remaining three henchmen before they have time to react.
Rasputin can do nothing, save scream and writhe on the floor of the vault, his face twisted in agony. The whites of his eyes turn dark red, and blood flows from his eyes, nose and mouth. Slowly, what remains of his skin turns grey, then black as pitch, and shrivels.
Soon, there is no flesh left and the remaining metal husk lies still. A small black cloud emerges from his open mouth and coasts toward me, merging through my pores. Curiously, I feel nothing.
Rose walks over to me and touches my cheek gently, Im sorry about that, love. You know I didnt mean any of it
right? She looks concerned.
My soft smile is reassurance enough to her and I return the gesture in kind.
I know.
Then my expression turns quizzical. But
how did you know what would happen?
She smiles in satisfaction. Actually, I didnt. It was an educated guess. You told me that the nanites were probably specifically keyed to your body. So, I made the assumption that theyd treat any other host sort of like an infection and
eliminate it.
I cannot help but be impressed by her ingenuity and she feels it. With a playful sparkle in her eye, she says, "Just remind me never to ask for a transfusion from you, okay?"
I chuckle quietly.
Then, her slender eyebrow lifts with an expression of bemusement, Now
I think you and I have something to discuss..."Anastasia"."
Tahiti 150 miles west of the Marquesas Islands Seven days later
The sun hung high above the sky blue waters as the 100 foot sailing yacht sliced through the waves, its sail billowing in the stiff breeze. Ian Scott gazed up at it, shielding his eyes with his hand and smiled, squinting. It had been a week since the little
debacle
in Paris and he desperately needed to clear his head. Nothing accomplished that for him better than an extended cruise out into the deep blue.
He began to think of Rosie again. God, she still looked magnificent, even after all these years. Meeting her there was not something he had been expecting, but it was more than a pleasant surprise, even with the sudden arrival of her
associate. There was definitely something secret shared between the two women, but whatever it was, they were both skilled at keeping it just that.
It was a pity things had to fall the way they did between them all those years ago. Interpol was hot on his trail and he needed someone to take the fall. He figured doing a stretch in prison for one crime would be better on Rosie than if she were implicated in all his other heists. She looked none the worse for wear, anyway.
He began to reminisce about all the good times theyd shared: the dancing, the parties, the sex
God, the girl had been a voracious animal in the sack. He wondered if she still was
A bemused, but polite female voice from behind him answered that question for him, surprisingly enough, Yes, Rose is quite an
energetic lover, isnt she?
He whirled around in the open bridge to see a woman dressed in a flowing white linen sundress seated at the table next to the wet bar. She held a flute of his finest Veuve Clicquot in her hand. Golden brown locks fluttered in the wind beneath a wide-brimmed sunhat. It partially hid her face, as did the oversized sunglasses, but there was no mistaking the voice. Ian composed himself, being more than slightly intrigued, and more than a little self-assured.
Hello again, madame. Its a pleasure to see you again. But, I must admit I wasnt expecting company on this voyage.
The woman smiled and raised her glass slightly, You remember me. Im flattered.
Ian smiled that smile that could charm a cobra right out of its basket, How could I forget someone as alluring as you? But, I must sate my curiosity - how did you get on my ship without my knowledge? And why are you here, if I might ask?
The womans tone was light and amused. Why, Mr. Scott, I should think that my intentions would be patently obvious to someone with your
reputation. And, as to the how
well, never underestimate a woman with determination. She flashed him a sultry look behind her raised glass.
His intrigue grew, as well as his libido. He was getting old, but he wasnt dead, and this woman screamed exotic and dangerous at the same time. It was a combination that both excited him and made him extra cautious. He walked over and picked up the bottle of champagne, pouring himself a glass of his own. He did not, however, sit down to join her., Lets pretend I dont fathom yuir intentions, shall we? What, exactly, did you have in mind?
The woman regarded him momentarily, then glanced out over the ocean. Her tone changed and became more detached.
Paul Gaugin lived most of his life in Tahiti and died there because hed been tupping too many island ewes, you know. Syphilis is a nasty disease, wouldnt you agree?
If the sudden change in her tone affected Ian Scott at all, he did not show it. Instead, he calmly sipped from his glass, Pursuing ones desires can indeed be ruinous without moderation.
She made no sign of agreement. She just kept staring out at the blasted horizon.
Rose went to prison for five years because of your betrayal. During her incarceration, she was subjected to a crude surgical procedure that would forever prevent her from bearing children. Once healed, she was whored out to the other inmates and violated brutally and repeatedly.
Her eyes sliced back and cut into him, defying him to defend his actions. This had most definitely taken a turn down a much darker road. Ians face sank at the revelation.
I
I had no idea
Grace cut him off before he could continue, her voice growing significantly colder, No, I suspect you were too busy building your little paradise with your ill-gotten gains and tupping the local ewes to be bothered with such trivialities.
Still holding to his air of calm, but visibly shaken by this news, Ian slowly began making his way back to the bridge, still sipping his champagne.
I had no choice, Grace. Interpol was too close. If theyd caught both of us, Rosie would never have seen the light of day again. I know it doesnt seem like it, but this was the best option at the time - five years or a lifetime behind bars. I had no idea shed been so cruelly treated inside. If Id known that
Again, Grace interrupted him, Youd have done nothing differently. Dont pretend otherwise. Its insulting.
If Ian didnt know better, hed have thought this woman was somehow reading his mind, but that would be
Impossible? Im a woman of many talents, Mr. Scott.
So, she was a metahuman of sorts. Intriguing. He was almost to the bridge, just a few more steps. Please. Call me Ian.
Id rather not.
Once at the bridge, Scott reached under the counter and produced the Walther PPK he always had concealed there. He set his glass down on the console and aimed the pistol at Graces head. The blasted woman did not flinch.
It saddens me that this meeting has to come to an end now, Grace. Pity. Under different circumstances, I think we could have hit it off exceptionally well, He watched the sun reflect off the golden highlights in her hair and felt no small amount of regret as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.
When he stopped firing, Grace still sat in her chair, unmoved and unharmed.
Blanks.
Ian began to feel a sinking feeling in his gut.
Grace smiled sweetly and lifted her cupped hand, letting the sun glint off the bullets she held there, Looking for these? She then proceeded to drop them over the side into the ocean. She smile then faded from her lips.
I had truly hoped you wouldnt choose the low road, Mr. Scott. For Roses sake.
Before he could blink, there was a silenced Glock in her hand the same one shed used on Fournier. Without another word, she fired twice shattering each of his kneecaps.
Scott collapsed heavily to the deck, shrieking in agony. Blood began to pool underneath his huddled form. The click of stilettoed heels on the deck before him caused him to look up, his vision hazy through the pain. Grace stood above him, gun still in hand, her face impassive, shielded from the noonday sun by the brim of her hat.
Sweet dreams, Mr. Scott.
Ians world went from hazy to black and silent.
The pungent smell of ammonia startled him awake and the pain in his legs came shooting back with consciousness. Dazed, he surveyed his surroundings. Shed dragged him below decks and left him on the floor of the lounge. The white shag carpet was stained deeply with his blood.
He tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He tried to crawl, but achieved little progress there, either. Her voice crackled over the cabins intercom.
Welcome back, Mr. Scott. Youll find the door to the cabin securely locked and your radio is sadly out of commission, so you shouldnt bother trying to utilize either of them.
Ian began to panic.
"One of my associates has been kind enough to supply me with a bomb capable of sending this lovely craft to the bottom of the ocean without a trace. Hes taken the liberty of placing it somewhere amidships. It will be up to you to find it before the timer runs out. If you succeed, then consider yourself fortunate to have gained another lease on life, such as it is. Its better than the chance Rose had. If you fail, well, we dont need to discuss such unpleasantness.
Ian's voice cracked, Please! Ill give you anything you want!
Graces voice was venomous. Can you give Rose back the ability to have children? Can you erase the memories of those thugs violating her day in and day out while she just lay there and cried?
Ian hung his head and tried desperately to make his way toward the engine room. If a bomb had truly been placed aboard, that would be the most logical place to set it.
Yes, it would be, wouldnt it, Mr. Scott? You should probably check, just to be sure. Oh, and one more thing. You see, it seems you changed your will just before taking this little outing. If you should meet with an unfortunate end, the entirety of your estate shall be donated to the Louvre. Very generous of you. Im sure your private collection will be the highlight of Paris for some time to come.
His legs felt like they were afire and the engine door seemed miles away.
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my sisters. And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. You have exactly ten minutes left, Mr. Scott. Do make the most of them. May you get what you deserve. Good day.
The intercom clicked off and he heard a smaller engine rev outside and eventually fade into the distance. Ian frantically clawed at the carpet, trying to pull himself along with his fingertips. He had escaped every trap set before him in the past. Surely he could do the same here. If he could just find the bomb, it would be a simple matter to defuse it.
Sadly, when youre incapacitated, ten minutes can fly by like ten seconds.
Sitting at the helm of the speeding cigarette boat piloted by one of her faithful Salt, Grace looked over her shoulder at the brilliant explosion miles behind them and raised her glass of champagne in salute.
Hephaestus 1 sat in a nice office, wearing a business suit and tie. Fang sat next to him scratching under the collar of his dress shirt and tie.
"This tie is too tight," Fang complained.
"I thought it was a clip-on," Heph said.
Fang lowered his head and grumbled.
After a few more minutes of waiting, a trio of men walked in, one of whom was obviously the boss. He sat down at the ornate business desk with a nameplate of "Mr. Karl" while the other two stood.
"Now, Mister 1," Mr. Karl said.
"Uh, my last name is actually O'Flannagan. Hephaestus 1 is the designation of my model of cybershell. I just use that designation as my Hero ID name."
"Oh! Sorry, I thought you signed everything with your hero name so as not to reveal your secret identity."
Heph stared at the old man across the desk from him. "Uhm, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a giant blue cyborg pretty much 24/7. It's not like I can shrink down to human size and blend in easily."
"I guess then the 'Hephaestus 1 action figure with Real Shrink-and-Transform Powers' is going to need a re-work?" Mr. Karl asked.
"Well, you can get rid of the shrinking powers. I do have a nanite disguise kit that I can use if I remove some head plates and do a forearm assembly swap. Then I can look like a giant version of my old self."
"Okay, so it's not that big of a modification. Next up is Fang's action figure," the man at the desk said. Fang's eyes lit up.
"This is so cool. I'm getting my own action figure!" Fang said, his little tail wagging for all it was worth.
"Big deal. I already have one. This is my second," Heph said. "Oh, did you guys get the distribution rights from Banpresto so you could import my original figure? The Mysterious Doctor Nambu would like my American audience to be able to own an action figure that he designed based off of this cybershell. He designed the cybershell, too."
"We're looking into that, but it might not be good for kids. All those small parts and all. And 85 points of articulation? Children will be breaking off your fingers and choking on them!"
Heph leaned back in his chair. "They're listed as 14 and up in Japan. It's more an articulated model than an action figure. There is some assembly required."
"It would also be incompatible with the Serv'd Action Base Playset and Serv'd-U-V with Twin Gatling Laser Combat System," Mr. Karl said.
"Wait. Action Base Playset? What, is it going to have a Larry McGonigle figure with real Complaining-Fu Grip? Will it have Authentic Cigarette Smoke Stains in the ceiling, Just Like on TV?"
"So, there's no Satellite Comand Console?" Mr. Karl asked.
"Only if it's my apartment," Heph answered.
Fang looked over at his big blue partner. "When did you get a Satellite Control Console?"
"It's my tv remote," Heph said. "That's about as close as it gets with digital satellite programming. It gives me the power to watch any football game on Sundays."
"Oh," Fang and Mr. Karl said in unison.
Mr. Karl started scribbling down notes. "Get... apartment... photos... for... realistic... base. Right."
Fang looked over at Mr. Karl again. "What about my action figure?"
"Show him," Mr. Karl said to one of his assistants. The assistant opened up a wooden presentation box to reveal an action figure version of both Hephaestus 1 and Fang, the Littlest Werewolf. Fang's eyes began to well with tears.
"They even got my khakis the right shade of khaki! That's so cool!" he squeaked, trying to hold back tears of joy.
"The only problem we had was with your catchphrases. We can't use the names of other people, so your comparing your anger to that of angry lead singers had to go."
"Awww. Uhm, what did you replace it with?" Fang asked.
"We had to go to other catchphrases," Mr. Karl said. He squeezed the left arm on the action figure.
"This is CNN," little Fang said in the voice of James Earl Jones.
Mr. Karl squeezed the figure's right arm.
"With talent on loan... from GAWD." Fang's eyebrow raised as Rush Limbaugh's voice emanated from his action figure.
Mr. Karl then pushed down on the action figure's tail.
"Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" the toy werewolf squeaked.
Fang looked at Heph, then at Mr. Karl. "I'll... do some voice recordings for you. I don't think those are public domain."
Heph nodded in agreement. "Funny, yes, but not quite accurate. Also, there's a problem with the Serv'd-U-V thingy."
Mr. Karl looked at Heph. "Oh?"
"It's not that I don't like the Twin Gatling Laser Action. That's pretty cool. The real SUV doesn't have Gatling Lasers. It's just a regular red Ford Excursion with a wider door so I can get in and out. Oh, it also has a better suspension so it can handle my weight if I'm driving alone. And it's got one of those experimental Flextronic Hybrid engines."
Mr. Karl seemed dejected. "This will require a change to the production lines. We also had the spring-loaded circular saw launcher on it as well."
"Well, I suppose you could repackage it as The Serv'd-U-V with Surprising Fuel Economy Features," Heph said.
"What does it get?"
"75 on the highway, 73 in the city. That's because it uses the electric motor and special expandable gearing to get the same power as a full-on V8," Heph explained. "I wanted something simple, but the guys at A&E wanted me to have some kind of PCmobile."
"Oh," Mr. Karl said. "Well, parents will like that."
"It doesn't even have a roof pintle mount for a machine gun. Not even a center console shotgun rack like my old police cruiser had. That would have been awesome, even if I rarely use those things. I mean, it's an SUV, but it's just not violent enough!"
Mr. Karl motioned to his other assistant. "Barry, see if we can get a tie-in with both Ford and Remington. The least we can do is appeal to environmentally-conscious parents as well as the law enforcement and hunting crowd." Barry nodded and stepped out the door to accomplish his new task.
Heph nodded. "Good. It's a win-win kind of thing. Now, what about the action figure that you designed of me?"
"Well, it's not as complex as the Banpresto model, but we think you'll like it." Another wooden box was opened. Inside was a gleaming chrome version of Black Scorpion. "Whoops! Wrong box!" Mr. Karl said. "Mr. Scorpion said he wanted a chrome body to match the new Silver Mantis figure."
"You do action figures for villains?" Heph asked.
"Oh, yes! Like our Talking Lord Recluse figure!" He took a figure of Lord Recluse from the bookshelf on his wall and pressed one of the legs.
"Submit, mortals!" the tiny tyrant said. "Fear my wrath!"
"Wow. How did you get Lord Recluse to record his voice for you?"
"We got the next best thing," Mr. Karl said. "The only other person who sounds exactly like Lord Recluse."
Fang's jaw dropped. "You got Carrot Top to do all your Lord Recluse quotes?"
Mr. Karl nodded and smiled.
"And yet you still live," Heph said. "Anyway, what phrases does my figure have?"
"Here, see for yourself," Mr. Karl said as he opened another wooden box. Inside was a miniature version of Hephaestus 1 in his usual blue PPD ESWAT uniform. Mr. Karl pressed on one of mini-Heph's antennae.
"Sexy no jutsu dattebayo!" the action figure shouted.
"No," Heph said. "I'll be recording some of my own quotes as well for you."
"We got a good deal on the action phrases, though, like this other one," Mr. Karl said as he pressed another antenna.
"HEY HEY HEY!!!" Bill Cosby's voice croaked.
"Okay, we can keep that one," Heph said. He turned and looked at Fang. "Hey, you think I should have asked Ascendant for advice on this?"
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
Or,PoleKitty and Kid Switchblade go to the Ford dealer
It had been weeks since it had been destroyed. Oh shed' gotten used to it eventually, the initial stages of loss, anger, grief, had all come and gone, and now she was left with acceptance, and anticipation. The check from the insurance company had finally come in on Rhonda's Jeep Wrangler that the Rikti had so carelessly dropped a building on top of. Normally, acts of war such as that weren't covered by insurance, but then, this was Paragon City. You could get a policy on almost anything, and many people often did. True, they weren't exactly cheap, but with the money she'd brought in doing commercials as PoleKitty from that Japanese soda ad campaign she could easily afford it, plus replacing her parent's destroyed truck, and buying her little brother a new Kawasaki dirt bike to replace the one a Rikti Headman shot out from under him during the attacks.
She'd thought about getting another Jeep, but winters in Rhode Island were much colder than the Florida panhandle, and even though she did have fur of a sort, there was something to be said for a hard roof in the cold, and a decent heater. Especially if the Winter Lords showed up again this year.
Her parent's sat back and let her handle it, figuring that even though they'd still have to sign some papers being she was just seventeen, she was more than responsible enough to make her own decisions, though she still had her daddy go along when she went shopping. Not that it was necessary, while car salesmen often did try to bamboozle young women buying a new car, they weren't much of a problem to someone who'd called Lord Recluse 'Emo Spider'. To his face. Sometimes having a high security rating and the reputation that goes along with it was a good thing. So there she was, ignoring the looks of the onlookers as she rode along on what she hoped was her last tram ride for a long time. There had already been a couple delays, the first one had been in a shipment of cars coming by boat, only to be crushed along with several dozen other new cars by a giant flailing tentacle as they were being offloaded in Independence port.
The second one was on a shipment that had been hijacked and smuggled out to the Rogue Isles, somewhere out there on the rubble that passed for roads, some thief was driving around with HER 08 Shelby GT 500. the third time was the charm or so they said, Lex at Paragon City Ford had called and said her car had arrived. She glanced over at the other girl going with her, Marie wasn't as much into cars as Rhonda was, but then, she'd lived all of her short life in Paragon City. Getting the feeling that someone was watching her, she glanced up the same time Marie did, both girls staring at a pair of men at the other end at the car who wore the ubiquitous cheap yet tasteful suits of operatives of Crey industries. Of course the Crey name badges they had attached to their jackets was another obvious clue, a pair of agents possibly on their way for a lunch break. The two agents met the girls eyes then hurriedly looked away, one of them sweating a bit, moving towards the door of the tram as it neared the station.
Thought they gave up following you she said to Marie, also known as Kid Switchblade as the tram pulled into the station. Marie just shook her head they still want me back she said , rolling her eyes but aren't going to do anything stupid after what happened the last time they tried. She picked up her backpack so how far is it to this place were we're getting your car?
couple miles past the last tram stop, they haven't taken the trams out to the suburbs, we gotta catch a bus from here.
Greaaaat... you know, I think I recognized the younger guy. Maybe thats why he started sweating when he saw me.
Rhonda just chuckled watching them go. well they're making a beeline for Hooters...what you wanna bet they'd wet their pants if we stopped there for lunch?
That started the red haired girl giggling oh we totally should! Except I don't really care for the food there.
Me neither, besides, once we get the car, there's this great seafood place bout an hour up the coast from here...
Marie just shook her head , chuckling. you'd think you'd get tired of fish being from Florida.
PoleKitty just laughed as the bus pulled up Never! Fish is good for you!
they laughed as they climbed onto the bus, there were a few stairs, mostly Rhonda's direction. Marie could fit in, while Rhonda? Maybe at a furry convention, if she was lucky. There was one that had invited her but they were disappointed when they found out that she wasn't really a skunk, just mutated after being bitten by a radioactive one, so she hadn't decided if she would go or not yet. She ignored the looks, long used to them by now, not many out here saw registered heroes who actually left the war walls, but then not everyone who looked different had powers. There were plenty of strange looking people who couldn't do anything more than light a candle..and that was while using a lighter.
So I hear the Paragonian Knights are putting on a big Halloween bash, you going this year? Marie asked as the bus rolled past malls and shopping centers.
Rhonda shrugged ah dunno, can't ever seem to find dates for things like that, and tired of going alone. Besides, not like I could dress up like anything other than maybe Mam'Selle Hepzibah.
Who?
PoleKitty just sighed Remind me to show my my dad's Pogo books someday she said, getting up as the bus pulled up to the stop in front of the Ford Dealer. The girls got off the bus, Rhonda glancing around, not seeing the vista blue with white Le Mans striped Mustang, probably still getting prepped she thought as she walked towards the showroom, only to get headed off by a man with a bad toupee, huffing like a locomotive as he ran.
Miss Evans! he panted as he slid to a stop, his hair threatening to slide off off of the top of his head was just about to try to call you, it seems, well... the sales manager looked nervous, but then with as much trouble as it had taken just to get one simple Shelby Mustang, any more complications would probably send his ulcer into overdrive there , well, was a small teensy mistake made on the order form....but don't worry, I'm gonna fire Lex over-
Rhonda just sighed no, thats ok, he was confused about the iPod adapter, I can always get one of those put in myself, it's no big deal she said, ears perking up a bit as she heard the whine of a starter around the corner, and the rumble of a powerful V8 waking from it's slumber it's still a GT 500, got a manual and the stripes right? Then ah'm happy.
uhm..well, it's got the stripes he said as the service tech pulled the Mustang into view. Rhonda blinked at it, her mouth falling open, at a loss for words. Oh it was beautiful alright, polished 18 inch wheels gleaming in the afternoon sun, the car freshly hand waxed getting the road grime from the transporter truck off of it, and two white stripes...going from nose to tail over gleaming ebony black paint...
The manager kept trying to apologize as she walked towards the car...yes..that was her name on the invoice..
I'm sorry Miss Evans, it seems the paint code for vista blue and white was one letter off from this, and somewhere, a mistake was made on the order...
it..but...it... she stood there gasping like a goldfish. Marie however couldn't hold it any longer, the red haired girl giggling hysterically
oh come on Rhonda, it's PERFECT! she said matches what you wear to fight in and everything!
Rhonda growled through gritted teeth, trying to get her temper down Thats cause Serge only comes up with stuff for me thats black and white, he seems to not be able to get the fact through his fabulously styled hair that AH AIN'T A SKUNK!
She might have said more but then both girls cellphones let out a strange sort of ring, the Vanguard alert channel , another rogue attack, fortunately they were rather infrequent nowadays Attention, Rikti ships have been spotted heading towards Grandville came the voice from the speakers, both girls relaxing at that, not where they had to worry, or could even get to.
Marie just couldn't leave well enough alone though , giggling Quick PoleKitty, to the Skunkmobile! While impulsive, she was far from stupid, and knew to already be airborne and climbing for altitude before she finished the sentence, Rhonda chasing after her, waving a Louisville slugger that she had somehow pulled out of her purse.
After chasing her for about ten minutes she finally calmed down, lightly landing next to the nervously watching Sales Manager, Marie still hovering in the air out of reach, not that Rhonda couldn't really get her if she wanted to Ah'm sorry for losing mah temper there, it's just that , well, ah get a lot of that.
he nodded understandingly Well when Lex comes back from the test drive he's on with a customer, I'm going to have him escorted out for this, this is the second time his color blindness has messed up a sale-
Rhonda's head spun around as she stared at the manager wait-he's colorblind?
Found out when the car came in, he thought it was blue.
oh. she looked down, Marie could tell as she landed beside her, though it was hard for others who didn't know her well to tell when she was blushing Now ah'm really sorry. I thought..it was intentional. Don't fire him, just have him verify the color name instead of just having them point at it like ah did. she walked over to the car, opening the door, the seats black leather with red inserts wow, those are nice seats, didn't see those in the catalog
they only an option on black or red cars he said. She slipped into it, inhaling the new car smell. While it was missing the iPod connector, it had the upgraded stereo, and HID headlights. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment thinking... is there a place that can tint the windows around here? Because all blacked out would be pretty cool..
We can do that here, free of charge to make up for the mix up in the color.
she picked up the clipboard in the passenger seat, with all the paperwork ready to go. Smiling, she got out of the car hey Marie, get your stuff in the car, soon as I get this paperwork signed, we're getting some seafood
((Well... this is just a start, really. And an introduction to a character I've not really done any RP'ing with yet. But hopefully there will be more to come...))
Hoshiko stopped at the doorstep, kneeling to untie her shoes, then slipping them off and setting them beside the door. It was such a routine now that she no longer considered the custom unusual, or even thought about it at all; it was simply the way things were done. Certainly, on those rare occasions she went visiting it drew comments from her friends, but that happened so scarcely anymore that it was hardly to be mentioned. Finding the door unlocked, she stepped inside and closed it almost-silently behind her.
The house was quiet, and yet she knew it was not empty. It was one of those senses she had developed; she KNEW when she was alone and when she was not. Now... she was not, but the presence that she sensed was a familiar one.
"Grandfather, I'm home!" she called out, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders as she walked down the entry corridor. Her room was around the side hallway, but if she guessed correctly...
She heard the sound of another door opening. "Ah, Hoshi-chan," her grandfather's Japanese-accented voice floated into the room ahead of his measured foosteps. The door closed again, and a few moments later he came around the corner. He had been gardening; she could tell by the dark smudges on this clothes. It was a hobby she thought she would never understand, but it seemed to bring him joy, and anything that made him smile was welcome to her. "How was your day at school?"
She let the backpack slip completely off her right arm, and the left strap fell to rest in the crook of her elbow It was heavy, but nothing she could not manage. "It was good, grandfather," she smiled. "I think I aced the math test, and we chose our project groups in Government today. We were working on our reports in Literature; I already finished mine, so I took the time to study. I have a little homework for the weekend, but I could do that tomorrow--"
"Hoshiko." Her grandfather interrupted her, his voice firm but not quite stern.
"I'll do it now," she answered crisply.
"Very good. He smiled his gentle smile again. "Always remember your priorities. Be a good warrior and a scholar as well."
"Yes, grandfather," she answered with a bow, suitably chastened. "And practice?"
"When you finish your homework."
"Yes, grandfather. If I may, I will attend to that now."
He nodded, and she bowed again before moving past him down the hall. Reaching her room, she stepped inside, closing the paper door behind her. The backpack slipped lightly to the floor, the smoothness of its descent giving the lie to its weight, and she slid it out of the way with her foot. Next, she reached for the clasp in the center of her chest; the strap was slung tightly around her body, from her right shoulder to her left hip and back. She released the clasp, pulling the strap up over her shoulder, and took hold of the sheathed katana that it had bound to her back. Her right hand rested lightly on the hilt, as her left grasped the scabbard, and she suppressed a momentary desire to draw the blade and swing it around the room.
This was no practice sword, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. This was a real weapon, and not for play. She carried it for a reason, not for frivolity.
If she wanted to further that reason, though, she needed to get her homework done. Setting the blade on the rack next to its companion, she loosed strap from scabbard and placed it on the table beside. Next went the school uniform jacket. She tossed that on the bed, then stopped, thought better of it, and retrieved it to put it on a hangar. Her grandfather would never let her get by with being that sloppy... and she had to admit that, as usual, he would be right.
She wondered yet again where she would be without him. Ever since her parents had died, he had taken care of her. It went beyond that, though. He had kept her focused. He'd helped her, though she doubted he'd had any idea at the time, find her direction in life. She could never have done what she was doing now without him.. and if he seemed a little odd to her still at times, it was an eccentricity she had come to love with all her heart.
Picking up her backpack and setting it down on her desk, she pulled the chair out and sat down to work. Chemistry was not her favorite class, but she strove for excellence anyhow. There was no question of why; it was expected of her, and a samurai did what was expected.
It was the way of things, after all. The way of the sword... and the way she had chosen.
((Nice posts KR and WW!))
((Thanks. Hope to have more soon... still kinda hashing out the character of Hoshiko's grandfather in my head, so may be kinda slow going.))
Yes, welcome new people! Thanks for adding new stuff to read.
Back Yard Boom - Emo Catgirl - Cobalt Claymore - Hephaestus 1
Avatar by Scarf_Girl!
(I made this character more or less on impulse as a gag. She turns out to have one of the strongest mental voices of all my alts, and I have a good lot.)
The final fold didn't warp, and slim black fingers held the paper phoenix up for careful examination a moment before placing it gently in small host of other paper sculpture, displacing an older, less perfected attempt at Origami.
To inner sight, the tiny runes and Kanji that enchanted the piece - a magical messenger bird when summoned - blazed with a soft purple radiance that did not disturb physical eyes, and it's maker was pleased.
Maranwe shifted and flowed up the room she had made her apartment, checking again the status of one of her few modern luxuries - sound shielding that cut off the constant racket of Kings row outside the building that served as both housing and super group base for her allies. Sleep was not her best skill after as many centuries as she had practiced war, and things that disturbed what sleep she did manage in Paragon city now were...precious - and King's Row, even at night, was home to a vast cacophony to Svartelvish ears.
Fallen Moon rested lightly at her hip, Massamune's work being, as always, the way she preferred her swords - graceful, quiet, elegant and harmonious. She had seen far too much of what came of noisy, bloodthirsty swords in other worlds. Traveling to the easter spirit worlds to have Fallen moon made of meteor steel and dragonbone had been one of her better investments.
The silk of the kimono she had also acquired a taste for in that faraway land of myth whispered over stone as she found a place to look out the window she had crafted to a place outside Paragon - the windows of Kings Row being hazardous to look out off, and having horrible views besides - and sat in meditation, positionless and relaxed. An old skill and an old viewpoint - that meditation should not be something one could only do in certain postures. What, after all, would then happen if one must meditate while clinging to the side of a cliff, or in a torrent?
Death. And blessed by the Valkyrie to be immortal or no, the gods of death did not easily turn loose of one -
Breath hissed harshly through her teeth and Mara scrubbed suspiciously stinging eyes, letting her meditation lapse as the cause of her unease - that which lead to her being wide awake in the middle of her 'night', folding Origami when sleep would better serve - became clear.
"This again." she growled, and slipped back to her kitchen to make tea, tossing a few extra coals onto the cooking hearth she had built. Archaic, she knew - but there were uses to the archaic things she clung too in this theoretically modern world that the human species in general thought little of.
Not that Dark Elves were especially any better at thinking of such things, in all honesty, which explained perhaps why she as here, feeling muscles throughout her body twinge with remembered shock, stress and pain as she relived, all too vividly, the feeling of a giant metal fist shattering a whole host of her bones.
The King's Row doctors had been amazed at her 'survival', Mara recalled, pressing lips thin as water boiled.
"Paladin." That had been the thing's name. A iron and brass siege engine the size of a small house, but with a temper like Slepnir, Odin's particularly vicious horse. A clockwork monstrosity powered by something other than technology, lightning and steel driven to motion by something Other.
Also yet one more on the list of things which had successfully killed her.
Foolish, to fight such a thing alone, even if one succeeded in her aim of distracting the thing for long minutes. Suicidal, perhaps, but what did suicide mean to one who returned to life with each new dawn?
Yet that too, was untruth. There were consequences to everything, and while becoming one of Odin's blessed Einhanjer had won the possible survival of her species in millennia past, now - when she had not touched Ausgard's soil in twice the lifespan of the civilization which produced her current home away from home - it still did not feel unwelcome or unwise.
Merely uncomfortable.
Even after twenty thousand years.
The only Dark Elvish Samurai in the nearest seventeen closest universes (To her own knowledge, at least), sipped her tea and tried not to remember what it felt like to die again.
In the siege that was Paragon City, tomorrow could very bring more of the same, and thoughts like that were simply depressing.
(I really should poke my head in here more often. So I shall try to.)
(One more noob for the thread! I'm better with a wacom than a keyboard, but I got bored and already drew a Dart tonight. 
)
Jack Harris was not the first man to bear the name of the Crimson Dart. No, Jack was a legacy hero - a legacy originated by his grandfather, carried on by his own father after his death, and eventually, for all the wrong reasons, Jack picked up the torch himself. It had only taken him three and a half years, but he finally felt like he had earned the name. Deserved it. Made it his own. The city had decided it long before he himself had, and part of him felt that that was the way it should always be.
It felt right, somehow, that the hero should be the last man to ever call himself a hero. To do otherwise struck him as arrogant.
As he regarded himself in the mirror, Jack reflected on how much had changed since his father's disappearance during the Rikti invasion. Back then, Jack was... less. He was shorter, skinny enough for his older sister to affectionately dub him 'beanpole', blind as a bat without his glasses and usually half-obscured by a desk and a pile of books. A child prodigy turned adult super-genius with enough doctorates to wallpaper his den.
Then dad disappeared, and Jack created his serum. Soon after that, the changes began.
They weren't the changes he'd engineered it for, and he'd never been able to explain why. He'd wanted to duplicate his father's abilities in absorbing and redirecting energy, not turn himself into a near-invulnerable, inhumanly-strong behemoth - but that's just what he had done. He was close to seven and a half feet tall, now, with the muscular frame to carry it. He couldn't get flu shots or inoculations anymore because the needles broke against his skin. His eyesight and hearing were keen, now, sharper than he'd ever imagined possible. Near as he could figure, the serum hadn't done anything but trigger whatever chemical reaction he'd needed to activate the powers he'd always had. Nothing about him had gone according to plan. Nothing.
When Jack realized his feet weren't touching the floor, one corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a small smile. Alright, he silently admitted, I do like the flying.
Jack tugged on his gloves and moved out towards the living room, on foot, distracted from the news on the television by his own thoughts. When he'd gotten to Paragon, he'd been brooding, fierce, angry, determined to bring the fight to whoever had taken his predecessor and then bring him home to his family. The leads had taken him all over the city, from the Freakshow and the Family, all the way up to the Fifth Column and the mysterious Malta group... until he'd come to them.
The Council's rise to power came long after he'd come to the city, but they'd had knowledge the Column hadn't. Or, if the Column had, they were worlds better at keeping it quiet. It was hard to tell which was the case. Jack's gut said the latter, but maybe it was just his strange resentment for the usurpers. At any rate, he'd gotten a whiff of the information, and with a little help from his partner in crime(-fighting), taken it.
The dimension-hopping search that followed had taken months out of his and Su-Lin's lives in Paragon City, but ended in success. Sort of. His father was found and brought home, but his time away had changed him. Reintegration with Earth's society - with his family - proved impossible. In the end, he returned to his new home, a whole dimension away.
Without realizing it, Jack clenched his fists. He'd thrown his life away for that man, irrevocably changed himself at the genetic level and spent three years searching for him, and what did he do? Abandoned his mother, his sister, and him. Again.
Part of him hated his father. The rational part of him understood, but most of him hated him for it. The rest was angry at himself for presuming it was something that he could fix. The unmitigated arrogance it had taken to play God and martyr himself that way... his life was drifting now. He'd had a purpose - Find Dad - and now, it was gone. What was he supposed to do?
He was snapped out of his reverie by a distant sound that, to him, sounded as clear as day. Air raid sirens. He snapped his gaze to the television and saw a live feed of Atlas Park - murky green skies, blurry grey shapes drifting through the clouds, and panic in the streets.
Jack was out the door and airborne in the blink of an eye, not realizing that he'd just answered his question. He was distracted by the sight of a black, red and gold blur keeping pace with him on the streets below.
A lot had changed since he'd lost his father. Having a partner was probably the least of them, but it was also the one thing he wouldn't want to take back.
((Go Dart!))
[ QUOTE ]
"MY MAN-BITS CHAFE, HEPH! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN! I RAGE! I RAGE!!!"
[/ QUOTE ]
...I have nothing witty to add to that one. I think I'm just going to stand back and admire the awesomeness of the quote all on its own.
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