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 Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2011 11:35 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2011 4:33 pm
Reg- Paint it Black Curious to know what the hell is up with these new Senshi that caused such an uproar at the meeting, Realgar decides to try and get some information from Bismuthite over coffee, while working on a new project. --------------------------- Solo: "War" My grandfather went to war. He never told us stories about it, but we all knew it. He had the tattoo from his branch, and he kept his medals and pins in a security box at the bank. He never offered to show them to any of us though. I never saw them until after he died, and by then I can't say I knew what most of them meant. The only thing I did know is that they didn't seem to mean as much to him as whatever it was he lost out there, for all that, if you asked him, he said he'd do it again. Normally I'd say it was corny to claim that the eyes are the window to the soul, but for some people it's true. He had the same color eyes as mine, only they used to sort of give me the creeps. Every time you looked too deep, you felt like you were seeing... well... his soul, and you felt that looking at it... it was just... battered. The edges were worn down and chipped, there were cracks, damage that never healed all the way, like having a cut that never closed. You could see it all in his eyes, which is maybe why most people looked away quickly. Or maybe they were just embarassed. My Sister was against war in all it's forms. The kind who would have stuck flowers in gun barrels in the sixties. She thought the best solution to any problem was to smile nicely and let the angry person wipe their feet on you. She couldn't even meet his gaze. They spent the last few years he was alive not even talking. There was too much conflict between them, and neither one of them was interested in trying to find a middle ground. It's my eyes she won't meet these days. Makes me wonder if people see the same thing in my eyes now that they did in him? A soul that someone threw down and ground in the dirt. Is it guilt that makes them feel that way? Do they feel remorse for not being able to spackle closed the hurts that don't heal, or are they just afraid. Are we just monsters to them? Bismuthite has those kind of eyes. I'm not that good at pinning an age on someone, but if he's 20 you could knock me down with a feather I'd be so surprised. War did it to him like it did for my grandfather. He got dropped feet first into an battle, guns blazing, and he did what he needed to survive. He killed someone. Some faceless senshi named "Rota". The BMC, out of all the people that must have been hurt, that must have been killed, plucked her name out of a hat and decided to use it as their battle cry. "For Rota" Because they chose her, he gets to feel the weight of it, Not only the weight of killing somene else just to survive, but he feels, right or no, that it's him to carries the blame for everything they did. Capturing people, torturing them, for weeks on end... for the fact that this "Queen Beryl" was content to let them die, apparently for Tanzenite becoming this "Phoenix". That's a whole damn lot of weight. If I were them, the goddamn Black Moon Court... I'd consider it well advised to not look him in the eye. If you can see that worn down soul in someone's eyes, and know it's your fault, and still not look away, I'd be wondering if you had any goddamn soul. If we're lucky, we'll get what we need, then end the sick bitches. Every last one of them. I'll be surprised if it's not quicker and more merciful than what they did. -636 words
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 12:30 pm
[Battle] Hang on For the Ride- Ixion and Realgar --------------------------------- "I can't decide if I want to drown the little b*****d or pound his sorry a** so hard he can't sit down for a goddamn week and then send him home to his mother." He growled to Jo, who purred sympathetically and leaned in closer to have her ears scratched. Ah yes, it was all very... something... clearly very distressing... yes that spot was perfect for scratching. The scratching would continue please. The talking could continue too, but the audience was largely guaranteed by the scratching. "He was, hell if I know... ten? Eleven?" Falco complained, putting his heels on the coffee table and shifting carefully to get comfortable on the couch without dislodging the cat on his lap, or arguably worse, inspiring her to dig in her claws for traction. He'd never believed in declawing, though there were people who he might arguably have removed finger joints from. "How the hell was he even out there without his folks knowing about it? And if they did, what the ******** kind of parent says 'Hey Junior, it's cool if you want to go out and throw magical ******** burning COAL at people. Better than the ******** boyscouts!'." Actually, he wasn't sure what was worse. The parents knowing that their rosy cheeked little angel was out trying to set peoples feet on fire at the race track, or that they might not know. If they didn't know, it smacked of some absolutely deplorable parenting skills. It wasn't exactly a secret that Destiny City was dangerous, he couldn't imagine the sort of parent who didn't keep some kind of idea where their children were, especially at their age. An older teenager, it was understandable if it was difficult to keep track of them, if no less teeth grinding. Teenage rebellion went a long way to explain idiots flouncing around in ridiculous costumes. God knew he'd handed out his share of the odd lie or two when he was sixteen... eighteen, gone places he wasn't supposed to and done things he wasn't supposed to, but not when he was ******** TEN. He'd have been grounded for a year, minimum, and he hadn't grown up with star-seeds being stolen, energy collected, or Senshi, goddamn senshi, capturing people and torturing them. If people knew that the Senshi were doing that, they'd be forming lines like at the red goddamn cross to donate energy to get those twisted bastards and bring them down. "Goddamn messed up, that's what it is." He sighed. His thoughts jerked to the oil pit filled with packing foam, and two boys struggling to climb out... and then danced to the feeling of crystal resting in his gloved palm like a live bird, warm and fluttering like an wild heartbeat. He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath through his teeth, burring his fingers into the comforting thick fluff of Josephine's thick fur. I'm ******** Jack the Ripper.... He'd spoken in the heat of the moment, blazing with rage hotter than the coals the little twerp had plastered to his boots. He hadn't felt doubt about any of it, not until now... and he wasn't sure why now. "They deserved it." He attempted to assure himself, ruffling Josephine's fur some more, though the soft coat didn't offer as much comfort or relaxation as he normally found that it did. They'd been rotten kids, rotten to the core, strapping firecrackers to animals and setting them off. The torture and pain they'd been inflicting was deep... and now they were gone, arguably before either of them had taken the initiative to move to targets that brought greater concern from the larger populous. (Cynicism and anger made him doubt the sincerity of others claims to concern for the well-being of animals.) The problem was, the root of the doubt, he was sure, was that you just didn't know. Had he saved the world from two future serial killers, or just two dumb kids? Was he a valuable member of the negaverse, or did all of them see him the way he was sure Zinkenite did: a disposable stupid grunt who could fix machines. "********, I don't know." - Word Count: 702
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Posted: Tue Sep 20, 2011 2:13 pm
REG- Pizza Pals- Falco/Dahlia and Marie It's not often you see a man taking a cat on a date....
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 5:50 pm
A Debate of Terrorists-Battle Painite leads a squad of Negaverse agents to crash a town hall, in the spirit of the departed "Sailor Nea". Charged with watching the back door, Realgar is in for one hell of a show with the high powered individuals on the scene. -- Clocked Chibimoon with a chair, all but KOing her and triggering her transformation to eternal out of need for a power boost Battling Castor Snatching Starseed from picket-sign wielding disposable. ------------------------------ He sighed, leaning back on the couch as he gingerly pressed a slightly melty bag of frozen veggies, wrapped in a dish towel, to his aching cheek and eye. There was another one resting on his ribs, where the black winged Senshi had punched him, and it was up for debate if it was doing anything other than making him cold, but the other option was trying to conjure some kind of story about being mugged, and he didn't feel like sending the police on a wild goose chase. Besides... could they really handle Frankenfurter the Featherduster? Maybe if they shot before he could chuck that goddamn tiara... but since they didn't nessisarily understand the depth to which those shits were twisted and wrong... Kind of made him wish he were a cop. He'd at least know to blast a full clip into them every time he saw one. Trading blows like Rocky was for the birds. Had Frankenfurter even tried to go for the fallen civilian in spite of all his claims of 'protecting' people? ... Not that he could recall, come to think of it. A few senshi had been running around, austencibly trying to recover some reputation points by getting civilians to the doors, but the loudest of them had been more concerned with trying to break as many bones as possible, at least that he'd caught. ...Stupid hypocritical ********. if he'd gotten a cracked cheekbone he was not going to be happy. Bad enough he was sure he'd cracked a couple ribs and loosened a tooth. He just hoped the tooth worked itself out... of course he wasn't sure if it was really loose or if he'd just imagined it. He'd definitely gouged the inside of his cheek when Featherduster's Disney Princess Crown had bashed him. That smarted like a b*****d, and made everything taste like copper, but at least it would heal fairly quickly. The ribs would be the biggest problem, especially if he had to put in hours at the shop, and they'd slow him down on his project build, and on energy collection. "Creepy, hypocritical turdbucket." he grumbled, shifting the placement of the improvised ice pack on his face. He was going to have some shiner in the morning... but he could think of a way to explain it later. He didn't feel like it right now. Right now he just wanted to get some R and R. He wished he'd been able to keep Painite out of more trouble, but the way she'd waded in and taken the lead herself had been admirable, a quality he liked if he absoloutely had to follow someone elses orders. She wasn't afraid to be in the thick of things, getting hurt. If the 'Kings' and 'Queens' did that more... ...if the Kings and Queens did that more, than maybe there would have been a lot less whimpering and moaning in the ranks. Fewer whiney assholes with no passion. Maybe they wouldn't even need the help from the DMC which had so many others upset. No good though, he supposed, debating the way things should be, though it was something perhaps they should work for... perhaps something he could work for. Painite might well get there first, but it didn't mean he couldn't try. It was a different sort of race. -556 words
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Posted: Thu Oct 06, 2011 2:36 pm
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Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2011 2:18 pm
Bat- The Back Streets Not only does Camelot come across some under the table gambling and illegal street racing, but there's a Negaverse Lt. involved! No points for guessing who.
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Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2012 9:59 am
Solo: The Build- 997 words
He threw down the wrench with a clatter and heaved a sigh, glaring at the frame in front of him. It wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last time he'd had to half take the thing apart to fix an issue in trying to patch everything together, but that was, he figured, the cost of assembling something with parts from the junk yard. He'd gotten pretty good working at the shop... at least as far as repairs were concerned, but it felt like a whole new animal to assemble an entire bike from parts.
He knew deep down he'd be happy in the long run that he was spending the effort to make sure the thing worked correctly, that it would be a god send to people who couldn't teleport that needed a quick get away, that it would be powerful and as fast as he could make it, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be pretty.
He was looking at possibly having to make new parts from scratch, and wasn't sure how he was going to do some of the metal work without drawing attention. Could he see about getting some help and assemble parts in the actual negaverse?
That thought train led him to wondering about the potential of assembling a machine that was partially infused with Negaverse power, which, while briefly exciting, made him suspect that so much as suggesting it would end badly, and he wasn't in a hurry to find out what would happen to him if the suggestion went over badly.
Besides, this bike needed to not give off a signature, even if it was distinctive. It needed to be able to fly under the radar for now, to take passengers even powered down and get them to safety without being followed... so as tempting as it was he would have to hold off on really going to town on the body work.
Someday if he was more powerful and it was less crucial, then maybe he could deck it out to make Senshi question if it was Machine or Monster, but right now it needed to be what his Kawasaki couldn't be. It needed to be as close to untraceable as possible. He didn't want some delinquent magical alien b***h tracking down his license plate and coming knocking on his door, endangering his neighbors and cats. That wouldn't do, not on any level.
Now if he could actually run the goddamn wiring without finding a new sharp edge he'd somehow missed, or accidentally created...
He glared at the machine again, and the small edge that he'd managed to cut himself on (thankfully not the wiring, he didn't want to scrounge wires AGAIN...) which needed polished out.
"I was going to just go matte black on the paint." He addressed the partially disassembled machine. "But you're seriously making me reconsider putting on some red.
Blood Drinker
A sort of ridiculously melodramatic name, but maybe not an inappropriate one, he considered, licking the cut on his arm absently. He grimaced a second later and spit a combination of blood, grease, and dirt onto the floor of the storage container he'd been using as an impromptu garage. Doing stupid s**t. That was one way to break a bad habit, he considered, and glanced vaguely at his watch. He'd taken it off and set it aside so it didn't get broken or covered in s**t, and he'd lost track of time.
The cats had food and water, but they'd be missing him. And he had work tomorrow. Well... no... in five minutes it would be work 'today'. No. Make that four minutes.
Weariness settled over him like a heavy blanket as it occurred to him how long he'd been at it and he only just kept himself from rubbing grease and sweat into his eyes in an attempt to brush off the sting of exhaustion.
He could have maybe used a star seed or some stolen energy, but he'd rather sleep. He just didn't want to handle the near manic energy rush the other options would give him. Worse than drinking a six pack of Red-Bull.
"...You're twenty five." He reminded himself, which sounded strange. He'd talked so little tonight that the sound of his own voice sounded alien as he reminded himself that, regardless of the general age of the other agents of the Negaverse, many of whom, including the General King Zinkenite, were younger than him, twenty five wasn't the tottering old man he felt like right now. He felt a bit like it right now though, but he'd been pushing the late hours lately, and it hadn't even been with fighting. He sort of missed the fighting, though he'd honestly needed some quieter time to get over the cracked rib. It was hard enough to do shop work with it without wondering if some lucky punch from a school girl with a prissy outfit would break it, and possibly jam it into his lung.
He didn't like being sidelined but having had time to cool down it had been necessary, even with a faster healing time.
"Let's go home, Old man."
He addressed himself, half jokingly, and picked up a rag to rub some of the muck off. The Bike would be here tomorrow. It would be here the day after that. It would be finished eventually, and he'd be back fighting before too much longer. He was ready for it, he realized. Though exhausted now, he could feel it like an itch that got worse when you noticed it was there. He wanted to fight, he wanted to split the skin of his knuckles on someone's face. He wanted to feel a hit connect through flesh and into bone or softer tissue. He wanted that. He wanted to accomplish something angry and destructive. "...We can call General Funsize later." He reassured himself, civilian to agent. "Places to go, Senshi to beat down."
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Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2012 7:23 am
Battle: ORP: Order vs Chaos! AMBUSH! Chaos takes the offensive, breaking in on an meeting of Senshi! Realgar, having been out of the field for a while, takes to the fray! -------- SOLO: 456 words For a heart beat, he couldn't believe it. Over the pounding of his own heart beat, the skin tingling rush of adrenaline cold under skin that still felt burnt from the rainbow attack, he could hear it. Groaning, crying... the sounds of pain and defeat. Some of it was coming from their own, there were dead and injured everywhere, DMC and Negaverse Agent alike. There was no mistaking that a battle had happened here, the signs were everywhere. That wasn't the part that left him in disbelief, standing close to Zinkenite, to dark senshi Requiem and arrogant Remarque. No the part that rocked him to his heels, and let a small spring of dark glee bubble up from his core like black water, was that most of the tears, most of the cries of anguish weren't from their own. We won... He took a deep breath at the thought, gingerly pressing his throbbing ribs with one hand and trying to hide it. Don't... He chided himself. Don't give them a single reason to think you're weak. Let them see even the lowest of us is stronger than they are. Better than they are.We WON.It felt like it had been forever, at least since he'd been recruited, since there had been victory, let alone at this scale instead of some nearly pointless street skirmish. Sirens were beginning to cut in over the moans, the screams and the curses, and Howlite was barking out an order to leave none behind. No repeats of Blood Moon, he understood that to mean on some level. He dropped into line almost on instinct, helping along someone he didn't even recognize as they retreated smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more Dark Moon senshi transporting their dead through an ornate glass. Creepy ********, still, but at least they took care of their own. " Plans" He remembered, a deceitful hiss of a conversation, one he still wasn't sure he believed, and he briefly searched the crowd for the girl. " Not THAT one." Not that one indeed. He'd remember 'That One'. That conversation. He could almost feel the police breathing down their necks, and the dark well of pleasure in him all but bubbled over at the thought of the Senshi being caught. Surely they wouldn't all make it out. It didn't even matter, they'd ******** won and he'd been there, trading blows. He'd stood his ground even when they bathed the place in a rainbow that felt like ******** fire, and gone on to fight harder. A man could be proud of that. He WAS proud of that. They'd WON.
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Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2012 11:10 am
[Reg-ORP]- Beauty in the Breakdown At last! A victory for the Negaverse! The DMC and the Negaverse gather together in the Rift to lick their wounds, raise their glasses and have a nice ceremonial dish of... ...Pizza! ...Hey. You try and arrange pheasant under glass after a major battle! ....Actually Zink and Howlite could probably totally do that if they really wanted.
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Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2012 1:09 pm
SOLO: Cat Grass ((660 words))
Dahlia had been right, the cat grass was suffering. Strands of the grass were beginning to wither and brown, and the soil in the pot was dry. He prodded it experimentally with his finger and sighed, and then reached for the watering can. It was late, and his eyes were burning with exhaustion after a late night, but he should really put some water on the cat grass before he collapsed into bed. It would only take a minute after all.
He went to the kitchen with the plastic can dangling in one hand, his hand pressed to his bruised ribs, he thought that this time it might not be cracked, but it still hurt like a b*****d, and he knew it was already turning a deep intense purple under his clothes. He hadn't noticed it that much during the fight but now that he was home aches and pains were settling in, making it feel like he'd been shaken around in a bag of rocks. Even his knuckles smarted. The Senshi uniforms looked soft but friction burn still left his knuckles red. They'd at least be fine faster than the ribs. The last thing he wanted was the guys at work joking that he'd been dusting it up at the bars.
The beer at the gathering helped, but it only took the edge off. He was going to be miserable in the morning, but he was getting a little better about finding ways to work around it.
Like working three jobs, and you could only take days off for two of them, and just try and line up the time off. "I'm never going to have a goddamn day off ever again." He sighed.
Tap water hissed into the watering can, and he shut it off after a minute with the edge of his hand, dripping water on the floor as he headed back to water the plants on the fire escape. He'd been letting the little things slip lately. That wasn't acceptable. It was the little things that could really ******** you up. He'd have never let this go back in the day. A dying plant, a screw or a wire that wasn't quite adjusted properly.
He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought, mentally brushing away cobwebs of ideas before they could form into something more coherent, and resisted the urge to dig under his shirt and scratch the scars on his back from old surgeries.
He'd sort of been hoping that joining the war against the Senshi might help him get his nerve back, but he didn't even have to try and get on the track to know that red raw nerve was still there, twitching with shocks of fear every time he thought about going back on the circuit.
It was infuriating. He had so much power at his finger tips and he couldn't face the thing he loved. He was stronger, faster than most people dreamed, and he couldn't put one ounce of that to use. Even if he'd been able to get on that bike to race on the track, the Senshi, twisted alien, hypocritical terrorists, would descend on the course like a swarm of locusts, spewing accusations and attacking.
He realized he was gripping the watering can to tightly, and that a pot of Cat Mint was slightly overflowing, and jerked his hand back, cursing, splattering the sill with water.
"Congratulations, moron!" He snarled, hearing cats scatter in the background. They didn't like the sound or volume of his anger, and the thunder of their retreat made him feel guilty on top of everything else.
"Definitely time to go to bed..."
One thing was sure though, the Senshi had to go. There was no doubt. Every last one of them that couldn't be killed or taken by Dark Mirror. They Had to go. Hopefully they'd made a step in that direction tonight. Hopefully it was all worth while.
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Posted: Tue Jul 31, 2012 3:01 pm
[REG]- Broken Arm Blues - Camelot/Realgar Camelot, still battered and broken from the crashed meeting, goes on patrol in spite of his better Judgement... and into the path of the ambitious Realgar. Things do not go in... quite the expected manner.
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Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 2:19 pm
Reg- Feet on the Ground: Falco goes for a morning run with one of the new recruits, Naiomi Watts, otherwise known as the nineteen year old Sailor Eos.
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Posted: Sun Aug 05, 2012 3:01 pm
[Reg]- Moral High Ground A short conversation with the Senshi of Peppers, as a salsa, this one ranks Mild.
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Posted: Sun Aug 12, 2012 12:16 pm
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