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 Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 4:51 am
Have you met Kairatos? Good for you! You unlocked an achievement!   Name: Falco Amadeus Marks Xanthus Goldman
Nicknames: "Radio"Age: 27 Birthday: January 9 Sign: Capricorn Blood Type: AB Gemstone: Garnet Fav. Food: Smoked Salmon, Pepperoni Pizza (With lots of pepperoni and the pepperoni just a little crispy around the edges.) Hated Food: Black Olives, Squash, Peppermint School: Shop help teacher for Hillworth/Mechanic at "Mark's Motors" N/AHobbies: Engine Repair - A hold over from his previous life, Xanthus may not particularly remember why he started working with motors, but he knows he likes understanding how they work, and how to fix them, and how to try and make them perform at the top edge of their capacity. He'll crack a few 'finely tuned machine' jokes while he's at it even. Motorcycles - Xanthus still loves to go fast, though he's no longer driven by a sense of grief and desperation, just a flat out love for speed. His personal machine is well tuned, and he takes it out for a drive at every opportunity, and especially takes it anyplace he can go very very fast.
Cross country Running: When he's not driving, he's probably running. He likes keeping himself in similar shape to his motorcycle, though that doesn't stop him from going all out in a fight, but it helps him have more to add to 'all out'. Also he's discovered he likes running just as much as he likes driving. It's fun, and the fresh air is nice. Virtues: Determined - If you need an ally, civilian or powered, to stand beside you unflinching from a shared cause, Xanthus is a fantastic go to. He's a stubborn soul, and not scared of much. He's been on the dark side, he's come back from it too, and after that, he's not terribly intimidated by much that other people can throw at him, so holding firm against people who might negatively affect his loved ones is a very small challenge in his book. Were he interested in environmental causes ((He loves his motorcycles and their dirty motors far too much to really 'get', or want to get, tree huggers.)), he would be the man tied to a tree to keep the bulldozers at bay. As it is, he's the man who would, if it came down to it, be glaring back at the land lord through the wrong end of the peep hole and shoving the fiftieth copy of a petition through the seams of the door. Competitive: Put him to it, he can do it... or half kill himself trying. Ask him to do something and he'll give it his all. He's no Savant, and may not succeed the first time, but he'll keep trying. He won't be trying to, say, wrest control of an airplane from a skilled pilot, but point him toward a plausible challenge, anything from beating a record at the rock climbing wall to making the best 'from scratch' pizza, and he'll put his nose to the grind stone, because second place just won't cut it, not if there's a chance for first. When working with a team of any form, he brings the same determination to win, and finds this reason to -try- (not always succeed) in keeping his tone civil, since part of success in a team is knowing when to help, and when, as he'd put it, to "Shut up and get out of the way." He may be brusque when pointing out where an effort went awry, but he's doing so out of the desire to do better the next time. Joyful: To the surprise of anyone who knows to connect the two, Xanthus is considerably more up beat than Falco was, and sometimes a bit of a clown. He takes an unbridled glee in being alive and doing things that he likes to try and spread to others, and when he's not required to be dead serious, he probably won't be. This can get a bit out of hand, or even be annoying, but it can also be infectious, helping raise others mood when they might need a reminder that not everything is dire, or that even when things are, there may still be a thread of silver lining. Flaws: Bullheaded the same virtue that makes him excellent to have on your side during an argument also makes him an unholy pain in the @$$ to fight with. When he's so inclined to do so, Xanthus can be willfully and stubbornly blind to any chinks in his argument, especially if he has previously decided he does not like you, and therefore you are wrong. Pie is not delicious, the sky is not blue, it's you, and therefore, WRONG. The primary way to get past this, if at all, is through those close to him, since he's more likely to listen to someone with whom he already shares a deep bond, even if it's exactly the same said by an 'Automatically Wrong' person. Relationship Blind Xanthus continues to be blind to the faults of those closest to him, especially where they might hurt him. The deeper his affection, the more he's willing to forgive, right up until the point where they bury a knife in his back. Even the warnings of those who are close, but not AS close are likely to be dismissed, and even cause rifts that he won't necessarily regret until he's lying on the floor with a broken heart. Once you've breached his trust THIS severely however, the chances of ever getting that close again are... slim to none. Clark-Kent is Dead: The erasure of Falco Marks has had a distinct effect on Kairatos as a person, and one of those effects is that "Xanthus Goldman" is considerably less real to him than "Kairatos of Mars." Xanthus is who he pretends to be, Kairatos is who he is. Following this, it shouldn't be surprising when he prioritizes Kairatos over his civilian life, and stubbornly doesn't understand ANYONE doing differently. Where are your priorities, people?. You have a duty after all! This makes it more difficult for him to form relationships in his civilian life, since he feels like his attention should be elsewhere, on more important things. He treats civilian life as though he's putting in hours, waiting to check out, and it can be off putting, especially if you don't know why he's doing it. Trying to convince him that this side of his life is just as important, even if it is somewhat artificial, will be an uphill battle for anyone trying to get through to him. It's not that he thinks less of civilians for just being civilian, that's not it at all, but that's just not who he is and he absolutely chafes at the current standing of Senshi and Knights, who should be celebrated and supported as protectors, like the army and police, but instead, he has to keep it a frustrating secret, and almost work two jobs. One to bring in an income to support him while trying to save the world from chaos, and the other to be Kairatos pretending to be Xanthus. That's a lot of work, and only one of them is bringing in a paycheck. Appearance: Platinum (almost white) blond hair, shorter in back than in front, Falco's face borders on sharp, especially around the cheekbones, and the eyes. His olive green eyes are openly aggressive and piercing, and no matter his guise he seems to accuse the rest of the world for wrong doing in being happier than he is. He's a great fan of leather jackets and jacket patches, and still follows racing diligently, especially motorcycles, though for reasons (explained in his history) he is unable to race as he would like to. He does have scars from his accident, most of which are hidden by his clothing. As a result, he rarely goes shirtless, still uncomfortable with the marks from various surgeries to help repair damage, much of which was internal, with his racing suit and helmet taking the damage that otherwise would have stripped flesh from bone.
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Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 5:05 am
History and So Forth--------------------------------------------------------  History:-Falco wanted to be a professional racer. More than anything, he wanted it, and even showed promise. He even went as far as going to the try outs, and could almost touch a pro-racing jacket, patches and all… when things went to hell. A massive accident happened on the track with the riders in front of him suddenly lost control of their bikes and went over. Falco himself was involved in the pile up, and spent a week or so in a coma, and months after that in the hospital in rehabilitation. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he wasn’t hurt worse than he was, and that he can even walk again, especially after two of the other racers involved in the crash died. Since that time, to his own fury, Falco has found himself unable to face the race track. Although he can still ride, and speed doesn’t frighten him, sitting on the race track, he becomes all but paralyzed with the memory he can’t overcome, until someone interrupts him and escorts him off the track. The accident has changed him to a man who’s out to take his anger and pain out on the world around him, furious at those around him who aren’t paralyzed by the past, and are capable of chasing their dreams, even while he defends their right to chase them with an equal passion, since although he hates his own inability to do so, he hates just as much people who don’t have the drive to do so. Personality expounded:People who knew him before the accident will remember a man who was capable of somewhat irreverent humor, and a vivid Joy-de-vive. Somewhere in there, those traits are still lurking, but they've been buried by self pity, and a loathing for sympathy. He comes off as prickly and dismissive, leaving only the most patient souls to pry their way into his confidence, a time consuming, but not impossible task. Family: Falco is largely out of communication with his family at the moment, though they are alive. He sees their attempts to reach out to him however as acts of pity over his failed racing career however, and resents them as a result. Christmas cards and Birthday cards are exchanged, but otherwise he has very little contact with his family, save for the cousin he works for. Cats: Falco's current cats are an odd assortment: A long haired Persian who's face doesn't fit the breeds standard, ((Called Jo, short for Josephine) A Tabby called Mac-Daddy ((A now spayed tom who occasionally gets in trouble for his attempts to reclaim the glory days with territorial marking.)) and a white kitten with a smattering of black spots who's currently referred to in a surprisingly affectionate tone as "Thingy". Capricorn: ((Just for fun)) The Capricorn man will often conceal things about his life for little reason. Being defensive comes naturally; he is afraid that if he allows himself to be open, he will be exposed. This is why he seems so serious. With those he trusts he shows his wicked sense of humor and good nature. He is principled, though he keeps his beliefs and philosophy to himself. Capricorn men are often devoted to their career, which can make them seem distant regarding family responsibilities.
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Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 5:24 am
 Knight Kairatos of MarsWeapon -- Page: ((IDK)) A ball of twine… it’s red. Do you need a package tied up? Squire: A heavy red rope with knots tied in one end. It looks like it might leave a welt if you got belted with it…or you could jump rope with it. Magic: Touch effect from net: Using this net on an enemy causes a psychological effect that makes them start to see Kairatos as being especially intimidating, even beyond his abilities. A particularly strong foe might see him as more challenging than he actually is, and a weak one might even see him as an untouchable, force of battle. The same effect used (unusually) on an ally, would create the same psychological effect, though filtered through the ally’s knowledge that they’re on the same side, would be an encouraging force instead. Aren’t you glad he’s on your side? Aren’t you? Total Duration: pool of 30 seconds. After this the actual magic wears off, and the other character can choose how they deal with this brief impression. Knight: a weighted net such as a Retiarius might have. Magic: Almost identical to his Squire magic, but now there is an actual drain on fighting spirit in foes, which is channeled from them, not to Kairatos but to the weakest present ally, to give them the vigor and strength to fight on. If there is no one in the battle other than Kairatos, then the fighting energy is simply dispersed after draining. Personal energy to, say, retreat, remains, but the actual desire to continue to fight fades. Total Duration: pool of 45 seconds. After the actual magic wears off, the player can choose how they deal with the psychological effects, but the drained energy/spirit will take time to recover, probably depending on how combat minded the individual target is. Summons Creature: A large bull (Not larger than a horse just broad and heavy) with blood red fur, dark eyes, and surprisingly delicate legs and a prancing gait out of place with it's heavy barrel of a torso and long sharp horns. It doesn't seem to corner well at full speed... but on the other hand... it's on fire. Summons Ability: Large in part the only thing magical about this creature appears to be summoning it, as it's fur seems to be coated in some kind of burning oil to which the creature appears to be immune. It runs fast, but being top heavy, may roll over and crash into things if it has to take a sharp corner. It can't jump particularly high, but you might want something taller than a car to get away from it. It will relentlessly attack the nearest powered subject with hostile intentions toward Kairatos when summoned, until it's summon energy plays out. It can be summoned again in 24 hours regardless of whether or not it catches it's target or just does unfortunate amounts of property damage. The damage it does is burning/bashing, and Kairatos is not immune.  Negaverse Lt. RealgarChallenge: "Shut up and Drive!" "I'm the motherf--king Boogieman." Weapon: Metal Jacks ((ever stepped on these? Even in soft soled shoes they hurt. And they're really annoying when they're stuck in your treads.)) Having one or more stuck in the treads on a more solid boot will make walking quietly impossible or next to it, and will be very uncomfortable until they're pried out, even if they don't do damage. Next level: Caltrops: Originally designed to cripple both horses and foot soldiers, caltrops are metal traps that literally, like a jack, cannot land without one pointy end up. Although not deadly, the sharp points of Realgar's caltrops will cut through the soles of shoes or boots, literally bringing his opponent down and causing pain and damage. Also works nicely against tires, though they do not stop magical attacks. Next level: Caltrops with 'backward' barbs, designed to make them much more difficult and damaging to pull out once they're there. The picture of the ends of the Vietnamese Caltrop in the wiki article as a good example of the backward pointed spike. These reverse spikes were used on other weapons like arrows and spears to make them do extra damage coming out, if the subject wasn't aware of them, or didn't have the option of forcing them through the rest of the way. Captain Requirements- (counting from corruption forward.) 5x BATTLE: 5 of 5 8x REGULAR: 12 of 8 - (1 in progress) (1 dead?) 8x SOLO: 8 of 8 General(KNIGHT!)l Requirements6x BATTLE- [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]12x REGULAR- [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] + More! 12x SOLO- [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [-] [-] [-] [-] [-] [-] ((battles)) -------- NO MORE RECS:(4) Battle: [x][x][x][x] (22?) Regular:[x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x] (5) Solo: [x][x][x][x][x] A decorated Officer- Medals Achieved      -Two-Star Ribbon (Captain Rank) -2 Year Ribbon -Medal of Small Sacrifice (First energy gathering) -Medal of Noble Sacrifice: Collected First Civilian Starseed -Commander of the Rift Medal: Personal Youma Achieved
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Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 5:49 am
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Posted: Fri Jun 17, 2011 10:36 am
Tell us what you really think~RELATIONSHIPS
Zinkenite: Seriously gotten to the point where I think he talks smarter than he really is. He's a mean little s**t compensating for having been bullied by being one himself, and surrounding himself with people who tell him he's fantastic. He's forgotten how to lead, and it's going to cost them. I'll be happy to pick up that check.
The more I learn about him and the way the whole negaverse works just... it's ******** twisted.
Ellie Spectre: I owe her a lot, and she's one damn spunky a** princess. Gotta appreciate someone who can pull off sequined gown AND likes fast cars. I wish I could do more to help her... that we could take or give energy like we do in the Negaverse, something to help her with her struggles to purify... but I can't. All I can do is show up if she asks and try and cover the retreat of her team.
Oh look. Another royal/sovereign who lets me down. I'm shocked. Knights are wierd and pointless huh? I wish you'd been the one who got stuck in Tartaros...
Painite/Gently: Goddamn, woman has a set on her. One of the few agent's I've seen who's not a goddamn student too. She's gotten... dark. Something happened to her since I used to know her. Gone as far as I know
Bismuthite/Billy: I don't know how old this guy is, doesn't look like he's even 21 yet, until you get to the eyes. He's got the stare my grandfather did, and he saw a lot. Seems to be a good guy though, not above cracking a joke or two. Haven't seen him since god knows when.
Remarque: Smug son of a b***h. PLANS my a**. Your queen makes plans she'd better be goddamn sharing it with us. I don't like the idea of playing special treatment with goddamn Senshi. Don't think I ever did find out what he was up to. Weirdo...
Requiem: I dunno. She's DMC but I'll give her some style points for dropping that goddamn coffin on the feather duster. Haven't seen her in a while.
Ixion: ....He still set my foot on fire. I'm not sure what he's going to think if we meet again.
Castor: First... gonna rinse my eyeballs in ******** bleach. Second, gonna do it again. When that's done I might consider wondering what the hell is wrong with this freak job. Skirt wearing, d**k obsessed girly-man...Time has not improved out relationship. Not even a little. If anything he's become more unbalanced and more dangerous, and more convinced of his own value. He seems to think he's going to save everyone, but he's going to get people killed. a Lot of people.SOMEONE JUST... AUGH. WHY. WHY IS HE STILL ALIVE.
Camelot: HI TINMAN. I don't know what to even think... we disagree about the Code, he doesn't seem to have the time for me now that I've changed sides.
Acubens: Tough thing little thing, I'll give her that, but I'd sure as ******** like to know what the hell is so special about her. Sure as hell ain't her fashion sense, given that it looks like something sorta shat hair in the direction of her head and then styled it badly.
Failas: ...If My powered name was "Fail-a**" I would never ever power up again. Man I'm never going to not feel bad about the caltrop thing. Especially since the guy helped save my a**.
BIschophite- He's not human, but he's not full youma either. Kind of like Tanzanite I guess... he says he wants to purify, and I'm kind of rooting for him. Weird guy, heavy accent, big words, but I don't get the sense he's using them to remind me he's smarter than he is. At least that wasn't the impression I got earlier. Might change my mind. At the moment I think he just uses them because it doesn't occur to him some people might not know them.
Long story short, if there's a way to get him out without killing him I damn well mean to find it. No one deserves to be left in that hole for something that doesn't seem to have been their own fault or desire.
Hvergelmer: I keep forgetting that she's another knight. Not to be insulting she just... it's easy to think she's above everything. Like a nurse on the battlefield or something. She's this weird combination of gentle and delicate and strong as ********. INot the kind of strength about punching or throwing motorcycles, but the kind of strength that lets her go through what we saw at Mistral and still power up and keep trying to save people, knowing that there are people out there who would cause the kind of things we saw at Mistral on purpose. That kind of strong.
Titanlavenite: He's incredibly huge and powerful... but the way he sounds... I think if we could convince him, he'd convert, and if he would he'd be an incredibly valuable ally. I'd about give my left arm to get him on our side. Seriously. Well.. maybe from a safe distance. He can throw a motorcycle, and he snapped my shoulder.
Gunn- On our side, but a handful. Between how she treats me and others, it seems like she runs people down to run herself up and doesn't even realize that there's anything wrong with it. She's a fierce little thing, with a lot to prove. I've been there, but the way she's goin about things, forgetting that her rank isn't a punch ticket to easy wins? She's gonna take a bad hit. It's gonna happen. It's a question of when.
Havasu: Hey there Space Cowboy.... damn though that rope was a life saver when the floor started caving in down in the old academy. I mean... I guess they don't build ancient ruins the way they used to.
Sabine: She's young but she seems like good people, I hope she's strong enough to come through this alright. The war is hard on people like her... it's hard on all of us but...
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Posted: Fri Jun 17, 2011 3:37 pm
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Posted: Fri Jun 17, 2011 3:39 pm
Radio Flyin'- Regular Ellie and Falco check out each others... Wheels.
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 1:42 pm
Regular: "My Hero!" Falco interrupts a couple of Hillworth's problem children strapping firecrackers to the tail of a cat. What neither he, nor the other boys realize, is that he's just rescued a corrupt mauvian, Dehlia.
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Posted: Sun Jul 31, 2011 6:02 am
Regular: Check- Zac and Falco -There's certain things you just can't do as a teacher. Like take the kind of revenge on a couple of delinquent brats who think it's funny to strap firecrackers to a cat's tail. ...orchestrating chaos on your fellow students is usually frowned upon as well... Perhaps something can be worked out. >:3
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Posted: Mon Aug 08, 2011 12:47 pm
Reg- Loving that Flat Tire- Falco and Serephina Falco helps out a damsel in distress, voluntarily for a change. Must be the red hair.
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Posted: Sun Aug 21, 2011 3:58 pm
Solo- Mr. Brightside
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It wasn't an unusual dream. He'd practically memorized it at this point, but he still rolled in his sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his breathing shifting into a soft but tortured groan as he tossed over restlessly, slinging the blanket off to the side and scattering the cats who had come to curl up next to him. Thingie chirped indignantly, bolting under the bed, but the other two retreated in silence to further parts of the room, tucking their tails around their feet and sitting like statues to watch the nightmare unfold.
It was never directly about the crash. He'd never chosen to question that, but neither did he consider it much of a mercy. He dreaded the dreams well enough.
In the dream, he was at the track. He wouldn't even particularly have called it a race. No one else was ON the track. Just the bike, waiting for him... and the crowds... a seething throng, faceless and roaring with expectant noise.
They were waiting for him, and he knew it, their expectation should have filled him with exultation, with the thrill of adrenaline and the desire to show them what it was really like to fly without wings, but he was never able to recapture that in the dream. It felt more as though he were being bled to death, something vital and invisible bleeding out of him as he forced himself forward, toward the brilliant sunshine, the crowd and the bike.
He stepped into the sunshine. It was all but blinding, even painful, and the roar of the crowd sounded hungry. He imagined it was the same sound that gladiators heard as they stepped out into the blood stained dust and wondered if they would die. He imagined it didn't feel much different. Awake, he resented it, an Oroborous of hate and fear and guilt, devouring itself eternally, but in his sleep it was just the fear, a writhing knot of earthworms, and not the self-devouring serpent of myth.
He made it to the bike, because he always made it that far, got astride it, and felt the sun warmed materials radiating heat even through the protective uniform he wore. Sweat beaded, and crawled down the back of his neck, prickling and itching in an incredible slow motion.
His hands on the handlebars began to tremble, first lightly, and then more violently, until even his violent grip could not hide the shakes that progressed until he shuddered all over. The sun was hot, but he felt as though someone had injected ice water where his blood had been, perhaps something far colder where whatever vital part of him had been bled out.
The crowd was still waiting, but they were becoming impatient rapidly, their shouts and screams turning ugly, mocking. A half empty cup of beer hit the track and rolled, splattering pale gold liquid. A hot dog hit a distance away. They were only the first of the volleys, and the hail of trash soon almost darkened the sky. They wanted him to drive, to fly, but he couldn't even bring himself to start the bike.
He wasn't physically capable of it.
He sat up partially with a gasp, shaking for real, his hands gripping the fitted sheet and the blanket as though they were the handlebars of a motorcycle.
He still felt cold, and sweat still made his skin itch, but he threw aside the blankets angrily, rising out of bed with a curse. He didn't bother to check the red numbers on the alarm clock, it was too dark to be close to morning, but he wasn't ready to go back to sleep yet. Time maybe for a beer, a little late night tv...
Anything but dreams about the speed he'd lost.
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Posted: Mon Aug 22, 2011 9:41 am
Reg: Call Me Late on a Thursday Night, Falco gets a call from a mysterious woman calling herself Lilith....
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Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 7:25 am
Corruption- Driving it Home---------------------- Solo: Baptism He opened a bottle of cold beer when he got home, and immediately drank half of it. It was the first thing he did, before he even shut and bolted the front door. Before he opened the laundry room and let the cats out. He drank until his chest was burning for air and he had to stop, gasp for breath, and wipe the sting away from the corners of his eyes, then looked down at his empty hand, and was somewhat vaguely surprised to see it trembling faintly. Not that long ago, he'd held what amounted to someone's soul in his hand, and it had been steady. He could still remember what it felt like, surprisingly light weight, warm and feathery, more like a tiny bird than the crystal it resembled.If it had quivered with an rapid pulse, he would not have been surprised. That was before the drive home, before everything sunk in slowly. Joining the Negaverse. Having someone, no, having Zinkenite have his hands on his own star-seed, forcing some dark power on it. Having a new, separate identity, one he'd just killed two boys to protect. ...Only that hadn't been the only reason he'd killed them. Partially it had been for Dahlia, even though he still felt shaken, maybe even a little betrayed to find out that she was a cat. A goddamn talking cat, because things hadn't been crazy enough. If she had the mind to talk, didn't that also mean she had the sort of mind that could judge him just like everyone else? What made her different than the others? He made his way back to the front door and shut it, locked it, and took another drink of beer, this time draining the bottle. He could hear the cats in the laundry room, they knew he was home and were setting up a ruckus. Just meows and yowls... no human voices among them, though in the wake of Dahlia's revelation, he didn't entirely know if they weren't also lying to him. In what way did she really judge him? And Zinkenite? And the boys, who's car he'd helped drive off an steep embankment, watching it careen off of trees and rocks with an void of emotion inside him, like the glass surface of an undisturbed pond. It had taken this long for the ripples to kick in. He set the empty bottle on the table, opened the fridge and got another, popping it open and taking another gulp, not as deep or as fast as he'd drained the first one, and went to let the cats out. The beer sat heavy and cold in his stomach, though not having eaten for a while, he could feel the soft edges of intoxication starting to filter into the edges of his consciousness. It was almost a relief. Drunk, you didn't have to question how you felt. Weather it was right or wrong... weather or not you'd just killed two people not entirely out of vengeance for the cruelty they'd shown to other living things, but just because you hated them. Hated them for living, breathing, for having dreams and ambitions and futures that didn't have dirt and s**t and road tar ground into them. He made his way to the laundry room door and opened it, not even bothering to turn on the apartment lights. He knew the place well enough, and he wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know he was home. He wanted to be alone with cold beer and his thoughts. He wanted to be sure it was the boys faces he'd seen when he reached into them and ripped out their souls. Their faces, not family... not the emergency technicians at the track, not the doctors in the hospital who'd dropped phrases like 'possible nerve damage in the spine' like it meant nothing. Like it hadn't been the sound of someone's life hitting the ground and shattering. He wasn't sure. The certainty just wasn't there. The cats milled around his ankles, either heedless of his inner conflict or trying to brush it away with loving caresses, and polite inquiry's after refills to their food dishes, but he ignored them. The only thing he felt certain of was that some... some part of him. Something he'd been living with since that day, had enjoyed what he'd done. Reveled in it. Celebrated it. That had been the part of him who's hands were steady, who felt no uncertainty or remorse. The part of him that had been born on the track, in blood, pain, and death, and who had been baptized in it tonight. He raised the bottle in toast to his own reflection in the glass of the laundry room window, and drained the bottle dry. -797 words
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2011 7:10 am
Solo: Brought Down
-Falco, probably a bit hungover, has some time to reach his own conclusions about what went through Zinkenite's mind the night of the corruption.
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"He thinks I'm an idiot."
It wasn't a question, and it wasn't a happy statement. How long had he been thinking that? Since he'd signed up to shop class? What had he been expecting when he offered his hand and the promise of power? What had the Zac Bantock been looking at when he'd made that offer? Or rather, what had he THOUGHT he'd been looking at? A mindless grunt? Cannon fodder? Was he one of those little turds who thought that the closer to thirty that you got the more senile you became?
Sparks of anger were dancing like fever lights in his eyes.
It was, in Falco... no... REALGAR'S mind... a significant miscalculation. He liked working with his hands, he enjoyed the acrid smell of exhaust and motor oil, liked coming home with dirt and oil under his fingernails and stains on his old jeans. He liked touching what he was doing. Liked feeling the pieces go together just so and knowing how it would go together. It wasn't, he thought, that much different than Zac, or Zinkenites plans in his little notebook, save that he wasn't just standing on the sidelines making little check marks in a book. No in his ideal scenario, Realgar was right in the middle of it. The adrenaline, the sweat, the blood, the pain or the exhultation, the loss or the win.
But Zinkenite thought he was an idiot, a furious dog on a leash, clearly too stupid to get a 'real' job, just an oil covered drone.
"******** little b*****d."
He'd show him, he'd teach him to dig a little deeper. He was Falco "Radio" Marks goddamn it. He'd tasted what it would be like to be ******** Hermes, with wings on his heels. He'd Tasted it. He planned to taste it again, and the Negaverse might well be what got him there. He'd show anyone that he could do it, out think, out react, out maneuver. He'd make their heads spin. He'd bring them to their knees, then grind them under his heels.
He reached into his bedroom closet, shoving hangars aside with an broad sweep of his arm and jerked an garment off the hangar so hard that the hangar itself banged sharply against the far wall and slipped from the bar, launching off somewhere over his right shoulder with the force that had set it moving. It clattered behind him unseen as he held up the aged racing suit. It smelled like Mink Oil, like oil, and a bit like old blood, a neck ruffling hint of something sickly and coppery. The leather was scared, the seams in many places had popped, the violence of the impact it had once taken still evidenced by the spray of thread and stretched and ripped layers of leather. It was what was left over from his greatest failure to date. Just holding it he could almost feel the impact with the track. Remember what it felt like to wonder if you were seeing the last thing you'd ever see... and being distantly furious and terrified that it was moving too fast to be made sense of. He remembered very clearly lying in a hospital bed and feeling the eyes of every visitor, every nurse... judging him. Mocking him.
One by one he'd make sure no one ever mocked him again.
-567 words!
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Posted: Mon Sep 19, 2011 9:48 am
REG: Cry Havoc! - Tanzenite reveals the new Allies of the Negaverse, causing sparks to fly!(too short)Solo: Bad Blood He had to admit, he wasn't especially clear on the difference between the senshi from the mirror-gates, and the senshi that worked with the negaverse... except for the part where this "Ares" woman had huge, ridiculous wings on her a**, like something out of that 'anime' crap that kept popping up everywhere. The bad blood had been transparently obvious thought, he recalled, as he poured dry cat food into waiting dishes, careful not to trip over the cats twining around his pant legs. He'd honestly thought for a while that there would be an outright rebellion, especially with the darker member of the Dreadlock Brigade demanding everyone draw their weapons. ... Not that he was sure he could blame them. The little gray and black Senshi and her c**k of the walk attitude had certainly left him wanting to walk up and punch her smirk off her face. Had to give them props for putting on one hell of a show though, marching into what was apparently deep enemy territory and acting that cocky. If it was a bluff to make them look stronger, it certainly appeared to be effective enough, so many were obviously terrified of them. Zink was going to have his hands full, especially if he had to keep that lot in line while working with those girls... and he had a feeling the Mirror Broads really weren't going to make it any easier, not if they kept up that kind of attitude. So much for the sharp military discipline and organized teams he'd been hoping for, they'd fractured like dropped glasses over that issue, and he had the feeling, deep in his gut, that while they could pretend those fissures weren't there, like the cracks on creepydolls skin, they certainly weren't going to get better. Hell, he'd lay money on them getting worse. A lot worse. "Well what did you expect, signing on with a bunch of weapon wielding kids who think they're the ******** Justice League." He accused himself, pausing to scratch the spot near the base of Thingie's spine, making the smaller cat arch his back and stomp his hind feet, purring and trying to continue eating at the same time. "This is gonna be a ******** MESS." -382 words: Bit short.
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