|
  Quick question: What do you call someone that always has at the back of their minds how to best make everyone else powerless and desperate and afraid for their loving lives – and I mean that in a genuine terror way? What about someone for who the thought of inflicting that kind of poo poo on others is the only thing that’s, well, real anymore? How about someone that indulges in that primal feeling of power, of dominance, in short, does all the poo poo normal, well-adjusted people tell you not to do? Does that to someone who is just in the way? To simple bystanders? To so-called heroes? And how about someone that after doing that to others still hears the din of their conscience, but that just makes them shrug their shoulders because they could be doing so, so much worse than just roughing up some assholes that had it coming - andt then after a bit they do it all over again, like they know they want to? So what do you call someone like that? If you picked “someone who is loving alive” then you are absolutely right. The two other correct options you could have also picked are “the living dead” – but why would you guess that, especially given answer one – and “Delilah White” (that’s me) – congratulations, triple score for all of the above, you found me out, I have to kill you now. Yeah, okay, not really. I have better things to do. Of course, lots of people like that in the world, minus the living dead part. loving assholes, I mean. But if you add to that the "undead" thing I mentioned, a certain moral flexibility or maybe just exhaustion at something as useless as constant guilt about something you can't help - like being undead, or that you sort of really enjoy beating up superpowered assholes and making others run in fear and terror, actually, it may be the only thing you still enjoy - well, add all that and some dumb moniker and a idiotic costume and what do you get? A supervillain. Which is what I am now, I guess. But. Let's backtrack a bit. You hear supervillain, you hear "living dead", you want to hear my tragic backstory. It fully justifies me beating the poo poo out of buildings, people, whatever, most of which are not even remotely connected to how this whole thing started. Fully justified, though, let me assure you. Okay, undead, right. So, part of being undead is that you should actually be dead, let’s start with that. I got stabbed and bled out in a dirty New York back alley. Glamorous as gently caress, I know. Don't ask me why I didn't stay down, I never found out. I had bigger problems, namely that while I looked like I did before, my... needs were a little bit different. No, no, not brains. Something else I craved, something else my every thought pushed me towards, something else that was the only thing that could fulfill me. Fear. Hah. It's funny. I used to be terrified of people finding out, afraid of how they'd think of me, of how it'd ruin my life. No need to be afraid of that anymore. Anyway. Lots of anguish and guilt and doubt and angst and all that good poo poo during that part of my life, but do you want to know the funny part? Eventually I thought I could manage, that my life, such as it was, was again worth living. Lots of messed up poo poo, but I found things, people worth fighting for, something to keep me from being the monster I thought was always lurking. Real inspirational. It didn't last. The "good guys" caught up with me. And I remember going with them willingly - I was a dangerous monster, after all. I might hurt people. They said they could cure me, cure me of my hunger. If you're thinking "too good to be true", you're more clear-eyed than I was. They put me in isolation. Made sense at the time. Only there were no doctors, no tests, no injections. Only me, alone, with nothing, nothing to feed on. I beat on the door, I howled like a beast. I became a beast. Nobody came. It's kind of blurry, I went, as they say, a little funny in the head, and then, after I don't know how long... I became more. Stronger. Came out of that feral haze changed again - if I wanted to be dramatic, I might say I died and came back a second time. If I wanted to put it more plainly, I'd say that I was able to rip off the metal door off its hinges, barrel through a wall, leap a loving building. They tried to talk to me. Tell me I passed some test. Showed potential. I think they wanted me for some black ops bullshit - I think I saw some cleavage-y black catsuit I was supposed to wear. In any case, I was not in a talking mood. Those that tried to stop me, I broke, one way or another. It's all a blur, but I remember fighting a menagerie of freaks. I think I turned some talking gorilla into a human pretzel. Simian pretzel. Gave some guy with lasers for teeth emergency dentistry. And there was that sexy ninja girl in one of those leather catsuits, I convicted her it was better to let me go. And that's how I got free - which leaves us where we are right now. Anyway. Some pretty hosed up poo poo, right? And you know what? Nobody cares about that. You don't care about that. Right now you're thinking about how I'm not like those other supervillains. How I haven't told you about any of my evil schemes yet. How all of that stuff I told you doesn't fit with what it means to be a supervillain. Well, maybe. So how did I end up choosing this? Why didn't I go back, try to live a normal life? I tried. I don't know what it was, maybe they actually 'cured' me in that goddamned cell, but nothing I did was really doing it for me anymore. And then I remembered how I felt driving those loving black ops stormtroopers before me, throwing down with those superpowered freaks, that could take it, and break them, make them submit, see them driven before me, and hear the lamentations of their scientists. So. The obvious question was: what is best in life? That. Ground fighting with catsuit ninjas may also play a role. So. I suppose then that yeah, my ambitions may not be as 'lofty' as that of a proper supervillain, delusional assholes that most of them are. But I'm learning. Guess right now I'm occasionally more of a henchman. Henchwoman. Henchgirl. But you know Darth Vader was actually the henchman of that old British dude in the first movie, right? We all know how that turned out. My life refuses to make sense, so I'll stop trying to make it. I'll fight atomic-powered secret agents in space. I'll smash the White House by hitting it with the Washington Monument. And I'll hit, or hit on the entire Sacred Band of Amazonia. I'll make whoever they send after me running for the hills. And I will make. All of them. Submit. To. Me. And nobody. Nobody. Is ever putting me in a cage again. quote:Name: Delilah White quote:What changed you? quote:How did you overcome? And how I wanted to both tame that and let it loose. To both discipline myself and enjoy it, like just eating small pieces of chocolate instead of the whole bar right away, to make it last longer. Or some other metaphor I just thought of, but, never mind, kind of not E For Everyone. And yeah, that's how I overcame. quote:Who, outside the team, do you blame the most? Should be pretty obvious. That loving black ops outfit that changed me again, after I... almost managed to have a life again after the first time. The superheroes I fought, they pretend they haven't heard squat about the outfit, and it may even be true. Why should they want to stick their noses into stuff like that? And poo poo, I don't even know what they're called. Only remember their logo. Triangle, three lines in the middle of it. quote:Why do you try to be a villain? Be a superhero? Too late for that. They wouldn't let me have what I want, the chaos, the battles, the fear, the control. So. That leaves me with one option. And I'll be honest. Being a villain, the very least I have is that I am my own person. Nobody is going to be able to tell me what to do - and get away with it. Nobody is going to tell me that what I want is not what I should want. Nobody is going to tell me to subjugate myself to 'The Greater Good', whatever the gently caress that actually is. Oh. And I get to pick my own outfit. And whether I feel like robbing a bank or hijacking an orbital laser. You know, quality of life poo poo. quote:Why do you suffer the others? I suppose they are my 'peers' - and I don't mean that in the sneering 'I have no peers' sense - but in the sense that they're closest to me in, what, life situation? gently caress, that just says it all. Well. I suspect some of them think I am 'lesser' just because I occasionally actually can follow orders and get poo poo done. And because I'm usually not as longwinded in what I actually say, unlike this whole loving thinkpiece. Anyway. I work alongside them because it works better this way. And because some of them come up with such idiotic plans, they are actually brilliant, something I could have never thought of. quote:Please provide me a villainous monologue. Because, after all, you can't tell them they're wrong without them making a speech first. It can't be you making speeches. Because what would that make you? So. Here is the truth I want to share with you, the thing I only can share with you. Everything that is alive wants something. And so everything that is alive does not want to lose something. And that? That is fear. Everything that is alive, truly alive, feels fear. And that is how it should be. quote:Please insult me with your most villainous, overblown invective. It fits that you would try to keep the game rigged, so to speak, to be the one in control. To indulge in a feeling of control, of relevance, maybe. Because look at you. You see something meant to let others indulge in fantasies of youthful heroism, and what do you do? You try to make it your own. You add to it that additional, juvenile fantasy of being 'the bad guy', of lashing out at what you cannot control like a child. You couldn't even cut your own wrists on that edge. And now you say 'who are you to talk, you are a teenage supervillain yourself!'. Yes. I am. So in what company does that leave you? quote:Please describe a comic book cover featuring your character and a misleading narrative. Knight Terrors #1 - The Death of Arthur?! The Blackguard! An implacable force! Pursuing a dark vengeance! Across space! And TIIIIIIIIIME! nil. fucked around with this message at 21:44 on Jan 21, 2017 |
#
¿
May 10, 2016 11:35
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 03:28 |
|
|
  So, here I am at the M.A.D.D, what, Youth Outreach Villainy Center Of Excellence or whatever the gently caress and all that's going through my mind is that I seriously have trouble keeping my poo poo together. No, not because I am excited I'm here or concerned about being surrounded by some serious supervillain heavy hitters, but because I willingly went with some goons that lead me to an undisclosed location, then I let them put me in a room which now turns out has no loving exit and the minutes keep dragging on and goddamn on. Which, given recent events with those black ops fuckers, calls up some real unpleasant memories. Of not being able to get out. Nobody to feed on. The hunger. That loving pit of hunger that made me eventually lose myself out and... change yet again. Okay. Deep breaths. It's not so bad. This is not like back then. Still. Think if I were still a normal girl – hah! - I'd be sweating bullets right now, rubbing my hands and looking around like my scheduled fix is long overdue. As it is, I just look around the room and try not to shake – and convince myself this is nothing like back then. Right. And it is not. There are people here with me. And right now, I don't mean that in the 'fate shared' sense, but in the sense that if I had to, I could...use one of them to calm me down. Make them terrified. Because I can tell, a lot of them are as anchorless as me. Not that I'm going to do anything. But I could, and it helps. So, how did I get here? Yeah, best if I distract myself by thinking about that. So I was getting my feet wet with some solo villain stuff when I ran into Mob Star – he's an established M.A.D.D villain and it seemed we had the same target: a SOURCE overland transport. Mob Star's gimmick is being some sort of italian mobster / Frank Sinatra-esque singer guy, including literal gorillas in suits as muscle as well as musical backup. Though they only do clapping and snapping fingers. Anyway. To make a long story short, tensions were initially a bit high, what with questions of who gets what and all that and it looked like we were going to throw down. Which is when everything went to hell with a SOURCE strike force arriving and what I assume was some sort of killer robot in the transport being activated – and, all right, it was a bit of a clusterfuck, but me and Mob Star ended up fighting side by side. We barely got out of there, Mob Star tells me he 'likes my moxie' – which is both cheesy and kind of awesome - we have a talk about the advantages of signing up with M.A.D.D and yeah, that's how I ended up here. No sooner have I finished that thought do I notice a door finally – finally! - opening and someone walking inside. Wait, is that Old Scratch and Bouncing Betty? Well, she's wearing one of her iconic kick-rear end bomber jackets, but she's a bit...uh... well, my mental picture of her is a little different. Or just out of date, now that I think about when she was active. Eventually, I'm lead to a separate room to apparently have what I can only guess is some sort of... job interview with Old Scratch, which is a bright spot in this loving weird situation. Because that guy, I like his style. I mean, if it were some sort of new villain, I'd say 'try-hard', but then, who am I to talk. With my chosen look and my chosen moniker. Old Scratch looks down at me with some mixture of being relaxed while still aiming to dominate the room, and if this was another situation, I'd get up and lean against the wall myself – but, patience. Control. It helps that I respect his apparent no nonsense attitude and not being yelled at about some delusional nonsense. quote:Who are you? "I'm Blackguard." I give it a thin smile. "Works best with the armor." quote:What can the Association do for you? I briefly forget I'm talking to actual, in the flesh – well, kind of – Old Scratch and lean forward. "And I hear you got some kind of hardened smart phone that's able to survive fighting with superheroes? Because let me tell you, my poo poo got wrecked when I went up against..." Uh. Right. I lean back again and once again affect being professional. "Health benefits. Career opportunities if things don't work out." quote:What can you do for the Association? Old Scratch seems to be considering – or maybe this is just the end of the prepackaged questions, because those seemed like they were just items on a check list. quote:Saw the other side, did you? Been there, done that. You shouldn't let it think it makes you any more special for it, kid. quote:Question is, are you gonna be coming back if it happens again? Do I tell him? gently caress. Already went this far. "When I was...under, I met, well, who you're supposed to meet. No scythe, but..." I recover my bravado, my cool, lean back. "We have an arrangement." Which is at least... somewhat misleading. Because it implies that I didn't have to fight my way out, figuratively speaking – or whatever the gently caress actually went on back then. In any case, best not tell the guy that by all accounts has connections with 'the Other Side' that someone over there very much would like to... collect on me. quote:One more thing... I know about the Triad, but you're going to have to hit on all sixes and impress like hell to get me to talk anything about it. "Not to be a cliche, but... you have my attention. And well. I'll see about trying to impress you." Not going to say the 'unless this is you hitting on me' remark that just went through my mind.  "Ah, yes, marvellous, marvellous, albeit a bit... well, how to put it, Mr. Mind?" Dr. Heart's voice is distorted coming through whatever PA system they're using for the Freak Chamber. I'm pretty sure I can guess what his problem is – the demonstration of my powers until now has consisted of me pummelling the poo poo out of a series of increasingly tough stuff, busting through walls, throwing poo poo, shrugging off poo poo thrown at me and jumping with force at the ceiling of the Freak Chamber and grabbing onto it. In short, all sorts of physical stuff, which no doubt is the problem. "We're thinking this sort of demonstration is more suited for our esteemed colleagues, like Old Scratch or Bouncing Betty, fascinating as it may be." Yeah. Figured. He... well, they – what's the right way to talk about them? Him? - want to see freaky poo poo. And apparently me having outlandish strength, agility and toughness isn't freaky enough. Okay then. I roll my shoulders – though I'm pretty sure he's not watching that. "I'll need a volunteer down here." "I can generate a hologram if you would like to demonstrate some sort of..." "No. A person." I pause. "I work with people." Can he tell that's kind of a joke? I mean, my dead pan delivery is good since... that day, maybe sometimes too good. Some sort of, I guess, evil interns are sent in and... I can feel their anxiety. This is irregular for them. The three of them don't want to be here. I can sense, almost smell just the hint of fear. Good. This will make this easier. The room is configured to have walls, corners, dark spots. Me and the interns are at opposing sides of the room, far away. Okay, so, how to explain this? You ever watched a horror movie? Sure you have. Maybe one with a big-rear end motherfucker that's hiding his face behind a mask or a helmet or something like that? Ever notice how they can sneak up on people even though that makes no sense, because you'd hear them coming? Or how they always show up behind a corner, or right behind some unlucky teenager from off-screen, even though if you think about it, it should be impossible? Yeah. If I push myself, I can basically do that, among other things. If it's because of my fear thing or because I decided to put on a big-rear end armor, I'm not sure. The making no sound part is 'always on' – it's why me wearing this armor isn't a problem – but that other stuff, well, turning my surrounding into the horror movie logic zone is... difficult. Anyway. Let's give this a try. They're staring at me. I'm staring at them. Are the shadows deepening around me? The trick is to... give in to the irrationality of it, which is why I think I have problems with it. The three of them suddenly turn their heads to the right – yeah, this is how it goes, they think they heard a sound and turn away from the thing stalking them for just a second – and now I just... reappear right in front of them, having covered an impossible distance for the time they looked away. Just close my eyes and push it and... oh what the gently caress? Where the gently caress did I end up? I'm in some sort of closet and – goddamnit! I kick open the door and... I've ended up in the men's restroom. "gently caress!" How the hell do I get back to the Freak Chamber? Does this place have a map? Now these assholes are staring and loving god damnit. <nil_> Roll Freak <nil_> !r 2d6 <Krysmbot> nil_, 3 = 3 _____________ Back at the Freak Chamber the interns are looking at each other, slightly freaked out after the test subject seems to have disappeared when all of them had looked away for just a second. "Uh." "drat. Did we do that?" "Did this stupid thing malfunction and swallow the applicant again?!" "Should we report this?" "Dr. Heart and Mr. Mind will have our head! We can deal with this... on our own." "Man, I don't know, I'm kind of freaking out!" "Get a hold of yourself! Nobody needs to know, just keep quiet and... keep cool." "We should split up, we can cover more ground." The interns hesitate for second, as if something wasn't making sense – then they push it away. "Good idea. I'll check the morgue." "Yeah, I'll go to the Failed Experiment storage lab." "Right. I'll search the abandoned High School training ground." Blackguard can have 'powers' like a Horror movie villain – what she doesn't know is that she can also make her surroundings and people around her behave according to horror movie logic.  Okay, after that whole thing in the Freak Chamber, I'm ready for something I'm better at. Or really, ready for something where I get to take out the feeling inside my gut, the churning in my mind on somebody else. Something straightforward. 'Friendly' brawl? Sounds like just the ticket. But if I'm honest, the anxiety inside me I'm going to be loving clearing out of my head with each blow, whether it's me landing it or my counterpart, it's not from loving up my powers or anything like that. It's from being locked up in that waiting room and what Old Scratch said about The Triad. He has to mean those black ops assholes that made me like this, right? Right. I know he's watching. Old Scratch. But, can't think of that - and you know what? It's not that difficult. With the black squares slowly rising out of the ground of the Danger Room and me and my opponent - some guy called Bad Badger, what? - eyeing each other, there's an energy in the air, an anticipation, like it's High Noon. Okay, yeah, I may have my hand unnecessarily hovering over my hip right now. Though really, whether in my mind I'm about to draw a sixshooter or a sword, I'm not sure. Right. Focus. Take a look, a real look at my opponent. Stare him down. Because yeah, even though I'm wearing a loving black armor and a face concealing helmet, people can tell when I'm staring. They know. Bad Badger. Needs his rear end kicked for that name alone. He's built and wearing some kind of spandex suit with what I guess are supposed to be badger markings, which tells me gently caress all about what he can do. Whatever. Somehow I know Old Scratch is going to start the fight in just a few seconds - just this itching at the back of my neck - and I squat slightly, get ready, make my armored hands into upturned claws. I would loving love to play this arrogant, confident, cross my arms and just make him come at me - but who knows, maybe while I'm playing it Vader he's actually going to turn my brian into mush with some psychic bullshit? No. He's going down. I'll keep the pressure on. Keep the initiative. And then... beat the poo poo out of him. You know. A bit, until I win. An actual bell rings. Should have figured, with Old Scratch's whole thing. And it's on. I know I'm still thinking, but my conscious thoughts take.. a sidestep. I am running, sprinting forward - and then, still far away from bad Badger, I lunge, launch myself through the air with impossible force and towards my prey, like I was launched from a cannon. Yeah, think people usually think I can't do poo poo like that, with the armor and all, but, well, what they don't know is this: the armor is just for show. I could do all of this stuff naked - this strength is in my flesh. Credit to Bad Badger, he sees me coming and dodges to the side and I miss him, smashing into where he stood a second ago and leaving several cracks in the ground. The momentum of the jump hurtles me forward - I don't control mass and poo poo, after all - and I manage to keep running and not trip over like some idiot. He's to my left and I lean left, like I'm some runaway motorcycle, and I slam down my armored left hand, dragging it on the ground, helping me take the corner at this speed. Sparks from whatever the ground is made of fly onto my visor. I manage to get him in my sight and just body check him, making him fly off to crash into one of the black blocks. Man, I wish there was some dust around, this would make this way more awesome! And yes. Yes, I am enjoying this. The... simplicity of it. I'm about to take another run at him when - what? Is that water? They're flooding the Danger Room? I'm trying to jump out of it, but I'm too slow, and Bad Badger is, what, jumping between the black blocks like some sort of animal. Do badgers do that? poo poo, focus. He's returning my favor and launches himself at me, and with my legs now in water up to my knees, I can't doge him in time - he knocks into me with his legs with more force that I thought that rear end in a top hat had and fuuuuck. I stumble, slip, fall and the next thing I know is that I'm underwater and right that moment, I have forgotten whether these things are to the death or not. The water is closing in on me and old reflexes are telling me that in a few seconds, I'll have trouble breathing and... and what the gently caress am I thinking? I'm not scared of any of that. I burst out of the water - Bad Badger is waiting on one of the platforms and I simply grab his ankle and drag him towards me, kicking and screaming, push him under the water. "Come here!" Try to get him into a armlock - and when he doesn't comply, pull up his head for just long enough from out of the water to hit him in the face, then down he goes again. Repeat until he's... compliant, and perhaps a few seconds after that. When he is no longer resisting, I release him, or rather, just pull him up, hold him up by the throat - like a trophy, for all to see. In a way, that's what it feels like. And don't worry, he's still breathing. <nil_> Roll Danger <nil_> !r 2d6+3 <Krysmbot> nil_, 6+3 = 9  I'm still feeling pretty great from my victory during the prep for the Trouble Track - and yeah, it was a loving victory, small one, sure, but something that deserves that word. A small voice in the back of my head tells me that I shouldn't enjoy it too much, because someone whose only thought and desire and urge is just one singular point - that rush, joy, control of fighting, of victory... well, that person just becomes a thing. And I'm not loving giving up, what, being a person. Right. Calm down. Focus on what's next. Trouble Track. Actually, I get to talking with some of my fellow 'peers' - and it may be that I do that because, after all, a ravaging monster wouldn't do relatively calm small-talk with others, right? I brush off some idiot who I can just tell is about to expound, in detail, on how the world works according to his delusions and instead chat with Dark Eagle. Pretty cool armor, though people might think if we work side by side we're going for some kind of themed thing. Whatever. I actually open my helmet's visor - what can I say, I'm feeling social - which confirms that, yes, under all that armor, I'm actually a girl. You wouldn't believe how many people get confused, I assume because I didn't chose to have tits moulded onto my armor as a handy signifier of 'hey, lady under all this poo poo!' - so, obviously, default assumption is 'scary asskicker with no immediate stereotypical feminine signifiers, gotta be a dude!'. Oh, who am I kidding, that's at least part of why I did it. It's funny, in an extended middle finger way. Anyway, Dark Eagle seems all right, not as... high strung as a lot of people around here, seems to have her poo poo together. Though, who knows. People think I have my poo poo together, and, well... occasionally. Seems she'll be able to keep her eyes on the ball, so to speak, though I'm not so sure if that'll mean just her ball or, uh, everyone else's ball too and... gently caress, this metaphor? Analogy? It sucks. Point is, the Trouble Track seems to at least a bit be a team thing, and we'll see how much of a team player she is. Well. Turns out we're both kind of doing the team player thing, only it ends up a good bit more antagonistic than you'd really want to put on a motivational poster. But, I mean, what the gently caress? She can fly. And I can't. Which is not the problem in of itself, but it pisses me off when she's telling me I'm doing it wrong, that I need to need my head more. Yeah, well, real easy to say when you're flying above the loving crushers I somehow am supposed to figure out, and not by smashing the poo poo out of them. My one attempt to take to the air doesn't do much to improve my mood - since I don't have wings, I have to jump, and if you jump, you can't change course... so I just smash into the gigantic flat baseball bat that sprung out of the wall as soon as I left the ground, and ends with me bouncing off it, falling to the ground and... is that a pool of loving acid? Who the hell designed this place? What kind of real world scenario is this testing? Me fighting some sort of, what, superpowered Dungeons and Dragons game master or whatever the gently caress? ...wait, that could actually happen. Now there's some bullshit labyrinth, and I'm not making any progress and you know what? gently caress it. If they want to test me going through this course, they'll have to deal with me going through this course my way. I'm feeling angry, and I'm not exactly sure why that is, but I can think about this later. Right now, I just take off and loving smash through the walls of this labyrinth, and I feel like every wall crumbling beneath me, shooting out debris and clouds of dust, brings me closer to victory. I should have done this from the beginning! Besides, the other guys can just follow in my wake. Now that's loving teamwork. Hah! I don't know how long it took, time flies when you send poo poo flying - but I actually did it! I reached the finishing line and nobody else is in sight. First place. I raise my arms in triumph. Yeah! Though I don't know what is better, the feeling of getting first place or that I got to smash this goddamn Trouble Track in the process. You know what? Smashing was the better part. Wait. Uh. I actually start... thinking again, taking stock of my surroundings. How would I have come in before really everyone? And then it hits me: this is the starting line. gently caress. Fuuuuck. Right. I run my armored hand over my helmet. All that anger from earlier is gone and now, somehow, I almost have to laugh at myself. Saying I have nobody to blame but myself would be overselling it but that's what I'm thinking right now. I start trotting back towards the actual goal, following my trail of destruction. I feel oddly calm, amused - not like I'm going to get anything but last place now. Although, you know what? Maybe someone else was as big of an idiot as me. Yeah, sure. Real good pep talk. I start running again. <nil_> Roll Trouble <nil_> !r 2d6 <Krysmbot> nil_, 6 = 6  Talk about ups and downs. The Superior Hall - who picks these names? - is like some high end, I don't know, university/conference center thing, which is seriously weird after that whole episode of trashing a good bit of the Trouble Track. But maybe the bizarre change actually helps calming me down, my brain forced to shift gears and concentrate on something other than what happened, namely, some actual written test in front of me. Right. Doing this now. I bitched about the Trouble Track not being 'true to life' but really, how is that different from this? Well, it's different in school having taught us that written tests are the thing to do. Whatever. Hardcore History. Christ. Sure, I know a few of the big names and dates, but really? This is really narcissistic and petty, do I really need to know all this? And then, again, I actually think, consider who is making me take this test, what kind of people I am surrounded by - and of course it's narcissistic and petty. Still. Doesn't mean I'm all that confident in a good part of my answers. Maniacal maths is half-and-half, because on the one hand: seriously, finance? Just the maths parts are all right, at least. On the other hand, think I did pretty okay on word problems. Torturous Thinking is where I shine. Even though I wouldn't say I'm some sort of genius or ex-whatever military badass, you can actually just answer most of the questions by... thinking clearly. Pushing ego aside. Which is a lot easier when you have enough time to think like this, but still. And I guess I use some of the stuff I saw on TV or in movies for inspiration - of course my ventilation shafts in my secret base would look like they are large enough to crawl through, but would actually grow narrower and narrower, until whoever decided to try the oldest one in the book is stuck. Now Sinister Science... I do fine on the parts that have nothing to do with any magical or quantum-whatever bullshit, and those parts I would normally be garbage at. But. But it turns out that scrawny ren-faire-looking guy with the fake white beard from earlier, before the test, he gave me all the answers on an actual little scroll. Didn't have any idea what he was about back then - but it seems he thought I was going to beat him up if he didn't help me out. Now the sweating makes a lot more sense too. I mean, I did corner him, stare him down, but that was just... instinct. Nothing on my mind back then other than the fact that he looked at me with fear and I just, well, had to push it. Not too much. I can behave. Okay, now what is this? 'How many nuclear warheads do you need to eradicate London?' I know that one. Trick question. Or really, it depends on what type of atomic warheads you're using, and no, I don't mean that it needs to be big enough. You see, in the 70ies and 80ies, getting your own nuclear warhead for your villainous island or whatever was all the rage, like, it made you legit. Of course, letting seriously unstable and delusional madmen all have a real nuclear warhead made both the 'good guys' and the not-actually-bonkers 'bad guys' a little nervous, so they had a conference that had been secret until a few years ago. Using some sort of... nuclear superman ascendancy poo poo, I think there was magic too, they made, uh, atomic warheads that to every test known to man looked like the real deal, only they would just produce a normal explosion, little radioactivity, nothing of the real nasty poo poo. And most of those 'fake' warheads found their way into the hands of ambitious supervillains. They could all feel like they were in the Big Boys club, superheroes could come over to beat them up, recapture the warhead which, after a bit, somehow ended up with yet another villain. Kind of like handing a prop gun to a blind gun nut, or something - everyone is happy, nobody gets hurt. So, yeah. Trick question. Because it depends on what kind of nuclear warhead you're dealing with. And I sure as poo poo don't actually want to eradicate London. Would like to visit someday soon, actually. <nil_> Roll Superior <nil_> !r 2d6-1 <Krysmbot> nil_, 11-1 = 10  I wish Counter-Culture would stop smiling at me with that spaced-out look, like he has all the time in the world to wait for me to say something. Eventually, it's him that speaks up. "You know, man, most of the other dudes here would have already told me something. Like, shared some things about themselves, what they think about stuff. You should try it to." He leans back and brushes back his hair. "But it's cool if you're not." I stare at him. "Yes." "You seem tense." He consults some clipboard - do they not have something from this century or what? "During the other tests you were so lively. But now, man, you're so defensive and it's really harshing my vibe, because, I can't help but think, whoa, is it because of me?" He looks me in the eyes, his own twinkling. "Is it?" "I know you have mind reading powers. Now. I think most people think that'd be perfect for psychology. Analysis. Clinical psychology." I look at him, unblinking, kneading my knuckles. "Whoa, hey, I can understand that." Then, he looks around the room as if our conversation is finished and he's looking for something to eat, or light up, or whatever. Suddenly, he turns back to me. "You interested in psychology, man? It's cool, it's like the final frontier is our minds." If I wasn't so on edge I would find this guy massively annoying, but as it is, I have to keep myself from doing... something. Either throwing something or running out of the room, I don't know which. "Yes. I am interested. Was. Before all this." He smiles, with the benevolence of a stoned pope. "Before you died?" I don't answer, don't think and just... stare, though the aggressive fire in my eyes has vanished. Counter-Culture continues. "It's real heavy man, and with someone like you, all those gears in your head turning and twisting..." He illustrates with one finger pointed at me, twirling. "I can tell. You move it back and forth, and back again, and each time, like, you dust it off, and look at it." He smiles that smile of his. "Lot of people would just let a thing like that stay behind a locked door, let it get covered in dust, you know what I am saying? Would rather look anywhere else, turn those little gears turning on figuring out anybody else." I can't help but nod - I don't want to give him am inch, but at the same time, I already know he knows he's right. "I hear you like to 'get into people's head' too. Though really, man, that just gives people like us, that just want to help, a bad name, man." He looks at me, like he doesn't have a care on the world, his eyes behind those loving 3D glasses of his. I want to beat his loving head in and I want to tell him he's right and I want to break down and I want to tell him to go gently caress himself and run away. "Sometimes feeling helpless is just part of the process, you know, 'have to face the truth' type of stuff. You understand that, right?" He doesn't stop. This should be me. Relentless. Pushing forward. Taking someone apart, either through force or words. But I can just sit there. "So." Did he just... did he just use one of my verbal tics? "What does make you feel helpless?" And there it is, the question. The thing, well, one of the things I have to push away, one of the things I couldn't leave behind even though I pretend I took up this, what, path of ultimate loving liberty, no strings on me, all that poo poo. Well, I can't leave myself behind. "Me. What I could be." Wait, did I seriously just say that out loud? "What I could become, if I don't control this... pull and push of what I want to do, and what I still want to be. A person. And..." What. What the gently caress am I doing? My head jerks up and my eyes lock onto Counter-Culture, and for a moment, they burn with cold anger. "Are you making me say this?" He smiles, always smiling. "Are you sharing things you're not comfortable with? Because I don't want th-" "Are you making me do this?" My hands are fist. My knuckles itch. "Get out of my head, Charles!" If I wasn't so loving out of it, I would notice that for once, his air of benevolent detachment vanishes for just a moment at that name - why did I think of that? Something... that loving music playing? And just as quickly, he leans back again, relaxed again. "Charles isn't my name, baby. Never was, never has been." But the atmosphere in the room has changed and now we're both uncomfortable, though I'm not going to lie, I'm the one more rattled. "Why don't we continue this another time, okay, man? I'm kinda beat. Been real interesting meeting you." <nil_> Roll Menace <nil_> !r 2d6+1 <Krysmbot> nil_, 4+1 = 5 nil. fucked around with this message at 20:37 on May 18, 2016 |
|
#
¿
May 16, 2016 20:27
|
|
|
Interview with Old Scratch #2 So, turns out I must have done something right, because I get a follow-up interview with Old Scratch. Must admit, I was a little on edge, visions of them coming for me in the night, performing experiments on me, dumping me in a hole with all the other applicants that failed in my head. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was once again locked up in a place where... people wanted to poke at me. See what makes me tick. But it's fine. Interview with Old Scratch again. Some of the faces from the first time are missing, but, whatever, right? Old Scratch posted:Still not impressed, to be honest. How about you tell me what you know, so far? We're gonna run down the list. Maybe you're missing something. Maybe it was obvious all along... Or maybe you don't know bull. I'm not going to be the one to tell you that yet, but if you've actually got something, and I'll wager you do, then I'll make good on what I said. We have a deal? “Okay. So. The obvious. Black ops outfit. Must have some sort of tracking of people with...” I wave my hand around. “...potential. How they found me. Experimenting on people. Think they're helping them, but that doesn't mean poo poo. All sorts of freaks and me just one piece in that collection.” I lean forward. At least I have that loving impulse under control to want to corner, intimidate him, because that is just idiotic. And in a way, I like Old Scratch. “Like I said, that's the obvious. Now, that's just your standard secret black ops outfit poo poo. What isn't is...” Should I tell him? Ah, gently caress it. Who else am I going to talk to? And so what if he's playing me, leeching info off me? “...well, I saw some slides in some meeting room, was hiding out while escaping. Now turns out that in the 80ies there was a female undead villain, Deadgirl, kind of a bruiser. Sound familiar? Her old stats are on one slide and one the next some corporate buzzwords like 'reboot', 'darker and sexier' and, now that poo poo's interesting, some legalese about retaining established legal privileges.” I roll my shoulders, gently caress if anyone thinks I'm stupid. I keep going. “Same thing for some of the freaks I ran in that place. So. Maybe some of the old villains could get legal stuff you can't get anymore today, some loopholes fixed. Lot of those guys aren't active anymore, so, somebody thinks, those legal exemptions are just lying around. So they 'reboot' these villains and somehow transfer the legal poo poo to the new versions. And.” I shrug. “I'm no lawyer. But if I had to make a guess based on how things work around here. For them to 'transfer' the rights to a new version of a villain the original version would need to be...” I move my thumb across my throat. “...not around anymore.” Lord Playfair's Legal Extravaganza Oh what the gently caress. This is what I mean by kind of liking Old Scratch, because I'm pretty sure this 'Lord Playfair' is trying to gently caress me over. Or well, trying to gently caress somebody over and I can just hope I come out ahead. I breathe in. I'll just have to get through this. If he wasn't trying to be so, what, non-threatening, I could maybe trust him more but as it is? I'm pretty sure one of these days I am going to learn some real interesting things about the fine print of the contract I know I am going to sign. Lord Playfair posted:Describe one of the benefits provided by your M.A.D.D. membership beyond the standard. So, if I need it... I can get a room just above the M.A.D.D. Interrogation facilities, with visitor's privileges. I am not going to tell them that, but I'd rather not have to fall back on that. I'd rather deal with it another way. But still, it's good, it's a fallback option. Lord Playfair posted:Describe one critical weakness of your character, or a piece of blackmail that could truly and materially stop you in your tracks. But they want something concrete, and it says something about my loving life that the thing that I write down can be considered 'concrete'. “If the knife I was originally killed with is given to Death, it would gain power over me to either 'collect' on me or command me.” Cheery stuff. How do I know that? Dark dreams. And my talks with... Death when I payed it a visit in what is apparently now called 'The Other Side', with none of these trips strictly being voluntary. Yeah, great. Lord Playfair posted:Describe the form your contract takes. And then Playfair tells me that there is an 'additional component' to make it 'official appropriate to my circumstances'. And with that, he hands me a bone – is that a tibia? A human tibia? - and tells me to break it over the slowly drying ink. And you know what? gently caress it. This is loving appropriate. I do not even need to exert myself. The bone breaks and little pieces of it fall into the ink, sink into it – and dissolve in it. And right now, that too seems appropriate. I could laugh at all of it, the insanity of it. I know what I did this summer quote:Describe how your character unwinds over their summer at MurderDome. After all that testing you'd think they'd either announce who made it or cut us loose until then, but turns out they're going to keep us in this place until they made their decision, which turns out takes three loving months. And I don't believe for a second it really takes as long as that, this is yet another test - and if I didn't know there's all these other people here with me in the same situation, I'd assume it's some hosed up test designed just for me. Because, once again, locked up in some remote facility, not a fan. But, yeah, all these other people with me too, so me thinking that it's to see whether I'll get cabin fever and, what, murder everyone is perhaps pushing my paranoia too far. Although, speaking of getting cabin fever and me murdering everyone, this whole situation does sound like some sort of setup for a weird crossover between a classic 80ies slasher movie and YA dystopian novel film adaptation. I mean, a bunch of teens caught in some shiny, perfect looking complex, being tested by unseen masters... but among them is one that stalks the halls, that feels an unnatural hunger for fear, that gets a thrill at seeing them powerless and frightened, running through the now darkened halls they thought safe. One guess at who I'm talking about in that fantasy. Anyway, yeah, might just be me. So, the question is how I spend my time, cooped up for, again, three loving months. Now the thing is, when I.. changed, even the first time, it took something from me. Dulled my desires, my appetites - and that left everything but just a few things kind of unsatisfying. So what do I do? I train a lot. Physical exertion helps me zone out, helps me make my loving mind shut up for a little while. I take some of the voluntary courses on villainy when I feel up for it - not in the sense that I can be bothered, but in the sense that I'll be able to actually pay attention to what's going on in front of me and not in my head. I play the guitar when I am alone. And I watch my fellow 'peers'. How they move. Where they look. Who they speak to. Where they feel safe, where they decide to sleep. gently caress. I wish I wasn't locked in here and I could just do... something constructive. I do notice something odd though. For a bunch of teenagers forced to live together in a small space with little adult supervision, and over three months, there is not a whole lot of hooking up going on. No idea really why that is, might be because a lot of them are so seriously narcissistic that the only thing that gets them going is a large mirror. Maybe that's why I don't actually go stalking the corridors - well, not seriously stalking the corridors, I do pop up behind the more frightened ones from time to time - that old chestnut about slasher villains and teens loving, right? Anyway, I do try to get to know some of my fellow peers, though for many of them it's only superficial. For example, did you know there is a loving talking squirrel here? At first I thought it was part of a new test and we were supposed to hunt our own food, but then I noticed that squirrel wore clothes. And could talk. That relationship got off on the wrong foot. There's that nudist girl Nadia, and I don't have anything against her showing off like that, though in a way it made her less interesting. And for some reason, I don't know why, she makes my blood run cold. No loving idea, it's not like she's threatening. Let's get to the people I spent a bit more time with. There's Twilight. I admit, when I first saw him, I couldn't help but chuckle and his whole emo thing. Obviously, his powers were focused around rainbows and glitter - no, obviously it's shadows and necromancy. Come to think of it, that should make my skin crawl, because with me being undead he could make my skin crawl figuratively and literally. I heard he was talking poo poo about fae, and we'll get why that was interesting to me in a bit. I could tell that for all his 'lord of darkness' attitude, he wasn't really as tough as you had to at least pretend to be in this place. I must have been in a good mood, because I didn't take advantage of that. It helped that I wanted something out of him, namely information on the fae and all that poo poo, though I could have gotten that by, well, being more forceful too. Instead, we hung out for a bit. Turns out that apparently in a few years, he'll turn into the Anti-Christ and will bring about the end of the world and all that. Why doesn't this bother me? Because if I believed everything others are telling me here, the earth will be ruled by an alien prince way before that, will be cleansed with atomic fire before or after that and will also be turned into some sort of 7th-dimensional magical bullshit nexus as well. So yeah, not putting too much stock into everyone's delusional plans working out just yet. Anyway, I gave him some, I guess you could call them villain confidence lessons? Perfecting his villain strut, you know, with me striding behind me with my arms crossed all badass. My tip for that was to just play 'Imperial March' in your head while doing it. Oh, and he helped me find out where you can get some eyeliner in this loving place. Now why was I interested in fae? Remember how I talked about there not being a whole lot of hooking up going on? Well, I have my hunger for fear, but I learned even before those black ops assholes locked me up and transformed me that there's something else that I can pursue with that... intensity. That urge, that relentlessness, that unforgiving drive to, hm, conquer. What I'm saying is that it's the right person, I have quite the libido. Now things didn't work out with Dark Eagle, I actually think she interpreted me hitting on her as instead me trying to intimidate her. We had a rematch in the Trouble Run after that. Like I said, it didn't work out. And honestly, maybe it's better this way or I wouldn't have gotten together with Royal Rose. Ha! An actual princess. And really loving hot, too. I mean, have you looked at her? I could pick that wonderful hair out of a crowd of thousands. So yeah, I pursued her, what in retrospect could be called 'kind of aggressively'. She seemed to be into it, though. So yeah, at least for the duration of this M.A.D.D enforced summer vacation, we're together. I play her henchgirl and you know what? I don't mind. It feels right, somehow, and it reminds me of something from before I chose to become a villain, when I still thought I could keep it all together by, well, finding things and people to fight for. Sure, you might say she has a 'personality problem', but I can handle it. Because I do like her and beyond all this... insane supervillain poo poo we have something, well, normal. She did give me an awesome 'casual' outfit, with those kickass pants. And I know she thinks herself my better, at least outside the relationship stuff, the mastermind to my muscle, me the implement to her will. I suppose I let her indulge in that and do her bidding - up to a certain point, anyway. No way am I going to actually fetch anything for her, for instance. And if she gets a little bit too delusional about, what, taking over the MurderDome or putting on some play extolling her virtues, I just shrug and pull her towards me and remind her of other things she should be focusing one. Sure, I follow her commands in public, but only because I want to. And because I actually like her. But when we're not in public, well... things are a little different. About who gives the orders and who takes them. I never said I didn't get anything out of this. quote:You and Shadowboxer are asked to train together by Old Scratch as part of a special program for a few elite peers. It’s really only you two by the end of it that prove to have what it takes up to snuff. Shadowboxer proves that they have more than just the ability to manipulate shadows: They can manipulate others once their shadow is touched with another’s, thus counter and control their opponent’s movements! You realize that if you’re going to get anywhere, you gotta start coming up with some tricks of your own. Describe to us a training regimen, what is learned and what is lost, and why ultimately, you don’t succeed in surpassing your limits, this time around. I admit, I look forward to Old Scratch's fighting matches, and especially my matches with Shadowboxer. There is something about the purity of just... kicking rear end, the simplicity and dominance of it. If it's right, there is just nothing else, which for my head and what usually goes through it, is heaven. Or, even more ideally, I'm just thinking about how awesome it is to have an all-out brawl with some sort of shadow badass, although a change of scenery would be nice. Like fighting on a speeding train. Once I get out of here. Me and Shadowboxer one after another knock out the competition until really, it's just us left, and I would be lying if I said that didn't feel good. What doesn't feel good is that afterwards, it's Shadowboxer that comes out on top more often than not. It is frustrating. I can never get to her in time, that slippery fucker, so it doesn't matter how hard I can punch. No matter how many sit-ups, push-ups, crunches I do, I'm never fast enough. And when I use my powers to get to her, well, because of my, hm, 'horror movie villain' thing all of the stuff I use for getting around without actually moving in some way or another always uses the shadows. Which means I am hosed. I suppose it all mounts up, the frustration, the fact that we're encouraged to cheat and, perhaps worst of all, that every time I walk into Shadowboxer's trap she... controls my limbs, my body, my will. And I do not react kindly to that. So one day I lose my cool and then for days after that, things are... tense. Not just a contest anymore. And finally I do try to get an edge outside the arena, but I wish I hadn't. Basically, I try to do some Freddy Krueger poo poo on Shadowboxer and invade her dreams - and don't ask me how I just know that is even possible for me. You know, just to get an edge, unsettle her, find out how I can beat her in the ring. But it all goes to poo poo. I will spare you the details, but the only one that ends up lost in nightmares is me. Dark, unsettling stuff. Of what I could become, if I lose my self control for just one moment. It's funny. I try to frighten others, but sometimes it feels like I am my own best customer. nil. fucked around with this message at 11:59 on May 31, 2016 |
|
#
¿
May 28, 2016 21:34
|
|
|
Masters Of Disaster announcement They make the announcement for the new Masters Of Disaster and my first reaction is to want to laugh. Laugh at the expertly drawn out tension, no doubt intentionally making every single one here think that they are going to be in that most exclusive club, everyone imagining themselves up there – and then laugh at all that expectation deflated, at first turned into deep disappointment and then resentment, anger, all that poo poo. I don’t laugh all that often anymore, but this? This would make me laugh, if I was on my own. No doubt a shitton of people are currently swearing revenge for being denied their rightful place or whatever the gently caress. Not me. First off, I don’t mind this too much. Sure, getting to be in the Masters Of Disaster would have been… flattering, but not being in the new pet project of M.A.D.D has its advantages too. Lots of eyes on them, and lots of people trying to meddle with them too – they’re the new manufactured youth frontline act of M.A.D.D, after all. Second, swearing revenge at every single perceived slight. Well, to me it just means you’re not really taking it serious. Revenge, true revenge… that’s something to be done properly. Anyway, I’ll have a chat with Melody, she’ll no doubt be outraged about this, even if she won’t show it. I’ll help her take her mind off things. Make her see it might be better this way. And I’ll try to set up one last match with Shadowboxer. One last rematch, for old time’s sake – one last fight that won’t really be a real fight, because once we leave these halls? Well, things will be different, in the real world. Oh, and I plan to give her poo poo about her secret power of Nepotism. But not too seriously, because, despite everything: good for her. The First Caper This little freak the Childlike Emperor is making my skin crawl and my knuckles itch. But I know somehow, as if by instinct, that he’s not someone to be pushed around. For one thing, he has been around for a bit and I somehow doubt he got this annoying just recently, so, the fact that nobody has caved his face in yet means something. Whatever. I let Melody deal with the pissing match started by Möbius, she can handle it. Instead, I study the other people around me, slowly, calmly, while leaning against the wall. Sure. They’ll do for the team. Alliance. Conclave? quote:Blackguard: We upstaged a respected hero. Who or what was it? I push myself off the wall and roll my shoulders, step forward. I resist the urge to clasp my hands together behind my back, like I am a soldier giving a report. “Yeah. Night Hunter.” I pause and give everyone a moment to remember who he is, or for those that don’t know him to see the others’ face light up in recognition. Night Hunter – half human, half vampire, and, according to rumor, since recently also half werewolf, however the gently caress that works. Has this whole ‘all the strengths, none of the weaknesses’ and ‘fights against the monsters sharing his cursed blood’ thing going. Some sort of thing about vampires killing or turning his wife or mother too, I think. “He fought the Szelsky bloodline in the past, and the werewolves they were in a blood feud with. Before the whole thing settled down with the Silver Chalice we were after." Admittedly, I looked most of that poo poo up afterwards. "So that might explain why he was around, and why despite officially everything being hunky-dory there might still have been some… bad blood.” Why I mention that apart from being a pun will become clear later. “So.” I look at the Childlike Emperor, unblinking. I am good at that. “The rest of the caper is going on, when he… busts through the skylight. Glass splintering everywhere. Sword drawn.” His head held down as he landed in a crouch, the moonlight shimmered on his blade – what I’m saying is that it was loving cliché and it was loving awesome. And only some actual castle would have been better location for the fight I knew was going to start in just a few seconds, but an old mansion was a close second. “We fought. I had Silverfang’s two-handed sword at the time.” Because like gently caress am I going to leave that thing with him where we locked him up. Plus it was pretty cool. I can’t help it and a grin slowly creeps onto my face as I remember having an actual swordfight with a giant sword with some leather-clad blademaster in a classy as gently caress old mansion. “Then things went a little chaotic. As already mentioned.” Which wasn’t good for the caper, yeah – but for my fight with Night Hunter? A roaring fire consuming wood and priceless paintings around us, casting our faces and clashing blades in stark contrast, making a sort of fighting arena around us out of hungry flames? Oh yeah. What I don’t mention is that he was, well, better than me. I wasn’t losing, not yet, but I certainly wasn’t winning. Giving ground. He had been doing this for a lot longer than me, after all. “When I felt things going… stretchy…” I glance over at Möbius briefly. “… because of whatever happened with the dimensional thing, I grabbed Night Hunter and, uh…” I shrug. You know what, I’m not even going to try and describe it. “We both went for a little trip. When we’re back, it’s apparently two minutes later and Lord Silverfang is loose. So I get an idea.” No need to mention that I got the idea because I had to get out of this fight I was going to lose, sooner or later. “Dark Eagle and Copycat help me lead Lord Silverfang towards where I am. And make him angry enough to go full werewolf. Which is good for fighting. Not so good for thinking clearly. Not so good for not falling back on instinct. About who is friend of foe.” I flex my fingers, making them into fists, remembering thinking on my feet. “So. Lord Silverfang bursts through a door. I throw Silverfang‘s sword I was fighting with over to Night Hunter, hilt first – and yeah, he catches it. I make my exit.” I shrug, raise my hands a little in a ‘who knows?’ gesture. “Not sure what exactly flips the switch in Silverfang’s brain, such as it is in that moment. That bad blood from way back? Pure instinct at seeing somebody with his sword? That necklace made of vampire and werewolf fangs around Night Hunter’s neck? Anyway. Silverfang attacks and they go at each other.” I don’t mention that Night Hunter shouts something before I leave – I don’t remember the exact words, but what he meant is clear: This isn’t over. And honestly? I’m game. “General feeling was that we should leave the party. Not like the mansion was going to be more on fire. So we made our escape. Only turns out that the outside walls have some sort of warded barrier. Which was a problem because the way to the normal exit was on fire.” I shrug. “Could probably have smashed through the wall given a few minutes, but I grabbed something from Night Hunter’s belt earlier. Some sort of…” I wave my hand around, gently caress if I know what it actually was. “…magic icon. Anyway, I notice it glows, so I hold it against the wall…” Yeah, maybe I should have asked our resident magic experts about it, but we were kind of on a clock. “…and the whole loving thing blows up. Icon, wall, wards, all of it. On the plus side, we have a way out, on the minus side, some singing.” “So, yeah.” And with that, I step back and once again lean against the wall, arms crossed. quote:The name of your villainous alliance. Oh, and me and Melody came up with ‘The Misfits’ together. Sure, she’s taking all the credit – but I can deal with that. It’s kind of slightly ironic, but not too much and not, like, too edgy or anything like that. Or too, if I want to be charitable, ‘classic’ like Masters Of Disaster. quote:A vote for who the mastermind of the caper was. “Melody was responsible for most of the setup of the plan. Sure, things didn’t go as planned, but, honestly?” I roll my shoulders and very briefly look Melody in the eyes, and the intensity in them for just a moment takes on another aspect. My eyes dart down at her cleavage, linger for a moment, then go back again. “Could have gone a lot worse. And the kind of splash we made, even without the chalice? I would have called that too ambitious before.” I take out my phone and let the conversation carry on without me – still listening, of course – and I type up a somewhat explicit text to Melody. About what I have planned for later, seeing as how I am such a Mastermind. Relationships quote:Melody is the boss. They’ve promised to help you get ahead if you follow orders. quote:Centipede is the meat. They remind you in a specific way about your weaker self. But it is not that. It is that underlying fear of that inevitability, of death, stretched out over the rest of his life, even though he doesn’t know how much that will be. The bitterness, the loathing, the regret towards a future lost and a past wasted. The irrational resentment that a fighting, struggling spirit cannot halt the betrayal of a failing body. The wish that there should be more, that it should not be like this. The pleading with, well, you don’t really know who. Not unlike a young girl seeing her blood flow from her stomach in a dirty New York back alley, trying desperately to hold her life's blood in and failing. Cursing the people she imagined just out of sight for being too cowardly or apathetic to help. I didn’t have as much time as him to stew on it, of course. But I had enough. Influence Blackguard: You're hard to figure out. Give the boss and the meat influence over you, but that's it. Influence to Melody and Centipede. nil. fucked around with this message at 20:41 on Jun 1, 2016 |
|
#
¿
Jun 1, 2016 11:10
|
|
|
A pity.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 25, 2016 07:00
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 27, 2024 03:28 |
|
|
Wh-what? A Christmas miracle?! I am still in.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 25, 2016 09:56
|
|