canaryrose

The Consortium- Fantasy Pirate RP

This seems really cool! Dunno if I'll join, but I definitely might.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Canary

_{Luca Zorione Perez || “Canary” || Genderfluid || Nineteen (07/22) || A Class Villain || Color Code ffd147}

Aliases: In their daily life, they go by Luca or Zorri interchangeably, to go with their fluid self-image. They have three known legal aliases, for which fake documents can be produced at any time - one Lucas Santana, one Zara Sutton, and one Peter Kingsley.

Physique: A slim, androgynous figure standing five feet nine inches tall, Zorri dresses primarily in oversized hoodies and slim-fit jeans, their well-worn belt adorned by a variety of charms and trinkets. She always wears a mask covering her angular nose and thin lips; the mask is always pristine, made out of white cotton and probably lined with a filter of some sort. Her medium brown hair is choppy and slightly overgrown, falling in a piecey bob that covers her ears and skims the back of her neck. Notably, her eyes are a warm amber shade that brightens to a glowing gold when she uses her powers.

Her skin is a fair, light olive tone somewhat leaning towards yellow undertones; whenever she’s using her power it glimmers faintly gold, and when using her battery ability her whole body radiates an orangey-gold glow.

On the right side of her chest, centered just below her collarbone but radiating up over the top and outside of her shoulder, there’s a large scar of about a hand’s span, raised, red, and vaguely, irregularly star-shaped.

Blood Type: B+

Occupation: half-time villain, half-time philanthropist, and part-time online college student, studying chemistry.

Affiliation: The Dogpack

Personality: Luca is a ready performer of their most idealized self, vivacious and flirty when surrounded by those they trust, and earnest and optimistic to those who they don’t. Those who don’t know them imagine them to be a great kid, straight-A honor roll sort of thing. They’re fond of games of deceit and subterfuge, though they’re decidedly bad at them; its all they can do to keep their petty crime ring a few steps in front of the law. Though that’s mostly because of their underlings…

Beyond this, though, they’re fiercely loyal to the gang that raised them, having a close-knit, sibling-like camaraderie among the handful of them that roam Castleburg’s streets. Luca is in a place of being undermined as their leader, however; back in Las Palmas they were somewhat of an underdog, about the fifth or sixth in command up until the split. Their friends view them as a somewhat fragile younger sibling to be protected. As a result of trying to prove themselves, Luca is prone to overcompensating and lashing out with a cruelty (and often a brashness bordering on stupidity) that is very unlike who they aspire to be. They try to stand by a platform of “no bystander casualties”, though as their work becomes more dangerous (and lucrative) it’s harder and harder to make sure that happens.

They’re fiercely protective of those they see as less-fortunate and incredibly bitter towards those in power, especially those they perceive as not doing enough to support those who are even worse-off.

They prefer to style themself as a “roguish freelancer”, not as a villain.

Backstory: The Dogpack of Las Palmas has been Zorri’s family since before she can remember. She cut her eyeteeth on petty pickpocketing in the heart of the city’s rich tourist districts, begging and scrapping for food and places to sleep on the streets. As she grew, she watched the city changing before her eyes.

Her family – and it was a family, even if people who didn’t understand called it a gang – grew in size and in influence, and turned from mere survival to …thriving, in a sense. They grew plants and brewed moonshine and cooked harder drugs, or at least, the older kids did, and scrounged up money for rent in an apartment that was far too nice for the likes of them.

As she grew up, she began to be trusted with more responsibility. Some of the older members left, off to pursue their own doings – some of them went off to jail, and came back different, or didn’t come back at all, and so the power kept shifting, the gang fairly-reliably remaining under 30 years old and around 30 members. Even the constant fleeing from the law was no match for the unity and safety in family the group always found.

The city was changing, though. Fewer and fewer tourists came as packs of cerberkins and similar, canine-adjacent Leftovers, as well as feral dog packs, began to descend on the city. IBERIA tried their best, but the feeble hero organization proved no match for the ever-growing packs of dogs and doglike beasts. All at once, people remembered that the Canary Islands were not, in fact, named after the pretty little songbirds, but rather named for the dogs.

The Dogpack had always remembered, having started from the same scrounging of scraps and begging at rich venues that so many of the canines did, and for a while there was a sort of wary, mutual respect between the ragged teens and ragged creatures. But as the years went on that peace eroded; soon it was a struggle, again, to survive. Without the income from tourists, the beginnings of poverty set in, and crime spiked. New competition, often from superpowered groups, began to erode their territory.

By this point in time, several of the Dogs had developed powers, Zorri among them, but they didn’t have the same sheer destructive skill that the other gangs had, and they quickly lost ground.

Things came to a head when Zorri was sixteen; several of the younger members of the group were mauled by a cerberkin while out on patrol. She was able to stabilize the most severely injured of them, but the damage to the group’s morale was done. They stopped patrolling altogether. Several of the longtime members left, as did many newcomers; they sought more security, more power, and less dog attacks.
Zorri begged the others to consider leaving, but they would not hear her. Eventually, she could take it no more, and she gathered up the few allies she had; they bought fake passports and eventually made their way the hell out of Las Palmas. Their destination? Castleburg. A huge city of all sorts of people, a sprawling underground, and minimal MWE encounters…

As soon as they arrived in Castleburg, they realized two things. First of all, Zorri’s asthma, which had been manageable in the much smaller city of Las Palmas, was entirely uncontrollable here. The teen very nearly died from the thick air of city life; it’s rumored that their mask has some sort of specialized filter in it that is the only thing that enables them to continue living and working in the inner city. Second of all, Castleburg was not much better off in regard to heroes, or really any law enforcement, keeping the peace. There was the same hierarchy of gangs and families in the underworld here, too, and more of the damage to the city seemed to be done by heroes than by villains.

Now much smaller in numbers, and in a much bigger place, the remnants of the Dogpack struggled to carve out a niche for themselves. And having nearly died, Zorri struggled to re-earn the respect of what was left of her family. She sought to be the same kind of parent as Javier (the head of the pack when she first joined up) was, but found the youth of Castleburg unwilling to fall in with a group with no real territory or industry to speak of.

It’s been three years of slow, hard work, but it’s paid off. They fell in with the same drugs-and-petty-crime niche they had before; some of the Pack talk about going bigger and really making a name for themselves, but Zorri isn’t so sure. She doesn’t wish to be a villain, even though her gang – which is now getting involved, once again, into hard drugs, grand larceny, rumors of prostitution and (if they take up the lead they’ve recently sniffed out) illegal monster-fighting rings – seem to have that idea. They’ve begun attributing their collective works of mischief and illegality to Zorri’s name; in the public eye they’ve become The Canary’s Dogpack. It’s become an order of theatrics; yellow feathers, or failing that, yellow flowers, left at the scene of the crime in their getaway.

She doesn’t know what to do with them, but they’re bloody successful. An impressive dossier of grand larceny follows them, thousands stolen from the residences of affluent people all across the city. Less-well-documented drug charges follow them as well, and a few counts of possible homicide – Zorri is pissed about those. She’s expelled gang members for reckless endangerment and for homicide before; murder is fine, if it’s someone who needs murdering (and she can think of a few bloated businessmen that she’ll jump at the chance to take a laser to) but the innocent bystander is blameless, in all of this.

They’re supposed to be more on the side of Robin Hoods, not Hannibals. Jeez.

The Canary’s Dogpack

A gang of about eight core, full-time members, and about a dozen more who flit in and out for various purposes. They’re all teens and twenty-somethings, currently renting a home in Watervale that’s much too nice for their likes.

Their current base of operations is a seedy club in Brookside, where most of their growing and science happen in the basement, while the upstairs is a bar and club that caters to the not-yet-legal-to-drink-in-regular-places crowd. The place has several escape systems in place and Luca is on guard themself every night they’re open, ready to net the whole thing in an illusion if law enforcement comes knocking. There’s (forged, but well-forged) paperwork at the ready if they’re asked about a liquor license and so on, and similarly forged health inspection certificates. They do a hopping business; the gang almost doesn’t have to do crime to stay afloat.

As a group they’re known both for their crime and for their frequent donations to soup kitchens and community schools; as long as no one questions where the money is from, money is money, right? It’s theorized that once the gang members are looked after, Luca donates most or all of their surplus to those in need. Hoods, not Hannibals.

In addition to Luca, three of the others have powers, and as a result are kind of the “face” of the gang. Their information is briefly detailed below.

Elias “L” Ferreira, aka “Torero”: He’s about 22, big and brawny and kind of stupid, being brutally honest. Probably a B- tier by now, his abilities are superhuman strength and reflexes. He’s trained since before he could walk with a handgun. At the moment he serves as Luca’s muscle and brawn; incidentally, their right-hand person who’s been with them since the early days in Las Palmas.

Aya Martinez, aka “Flamenco”: 21, tiny, clever, and very pretty, she’s incredibly popular as an entertainer at the club. A C- tier, her ability is limited clairvoyance about the history of an object, based on touch. Useful in a variety of niche circumstances. Beyond that, she’s the closest thing Luca has to a friend and advisor. She has a great head on her shoulders but

Nicolas “Nico” Valverde, aka “Conquistador”: 19, handsome in a roguish, kind of scrawny way. He’s probably a B- in power level; he’s gifted with super speed and “Blur” as he calls it, which creates a brief illusion of him still in the place he started from – it gives him the appearance of teleportation, even though he doesn’t actually teleport. He’s been using blades and informally training a variety of martial arts since he was a child; he prefers blades to firearms, finding them a far more intimate way to kill. Probably the most terrifying and amoral of all the OG Packmates.

Power: An incredibly powerful variant on photokinesis, Luca’s power was named “Luc’s Luster” and then eventually shortened to “Lucluster” (A play on “lackluster”) by an affectionate gangmate. It’s far from lackluster, however…

Lucluster

While on the surface it’s simple light manipulation, which enables widespread visual illusioning by simply bending light rays around objects he wishes to hide or alteration of the rays reflecting off of an object, Luca’s abilities go far beyond these usages of petty illusion. He is very good at this level of power manipulation, however; he could illusion the width of a city street and length of a city block with reasonable focus, and maintain it for several hours as long as he didn’t need to change the scene much. Animated scenes obviously take more energy than stagnant ones. He finds this use to be very boring, but it does have its advantages.

More offensively, he is capable of reflecting and refocusing light from most parts of his body. A common use of this is gathering light with one hand and using the other to lens it into a thin, highly-focused beam. At the moment, this is dependent on willpower and focus and currently renders a thumbtack-sized beam, but he can use external lensing (he always carries a variety of conical and domed pyrex and other high-temperature-glass, stolen from other totally legitimate applications, for specifically this purpose) to focus this light further down to about the size of a pin’s pointy end. The effects of these beams are dependent on the light he has accessible; with full-spectrum light like sunlight, he can dip into the effects of infrared or ultraviolet lasers, for example. His max power output is similarly dependent on his light source, though his maximum limit is established by his body’s conductance as well; he can’t very well divert the entire energy of the sun. He can divert streetlights and similar constructions entirely, but has no tangible effect on the sun even when pulling as much power as he can. Sunlight can be focused to melt or at least soften steel; with a few hours of direct sunlight, planning, and focus, he could bring a building down with strategically placed weak points. Not that he would, but he could. These lasers are highly effective at rendering electronics ineffective; they can melt indiscriminately through plastic and softer metals, and with a bit of time to sit can melt glass and even steel. When focused down as thin as possible, they have a blasting effect and can etch or, given enough time, bore through non-flammable or meltable materials.

He can store the energy from light sources in his body, rather like a battery; in direct sunlight he can charge his “battery” to full in fifteen minutes if he focuses on it, but it’s exponentially longer time from artificial light or if his attention wanders – a bright streetlight might charge him in two hours of constant absorption, a lamp in a house four, a nightlight might take a whole day. As he’s charging his eyes begin to glow, then his skin, and finally (and most visually conspicuously) large, ray-like wings of light, spanning several meters, fan out from his shoulder blades. These wings are entirely intangible; people can walk through them with no ill effect save a warm or slightly tingling feeling. He has to be focusing in some capacity for his battery to charge with any efficiency at all, though he does passively charge a very small amount as he spends time in the sun.

As an interesting side effect to all of this, he doesn’t get sunburned, even though he’s fairly pale.

From this battery, he has a few powerful effects he can manifest, a testament to the diversity of his power. The first is a powerful, short-burst regenerative effect. It’s easiest to do on others if he’s in physical contact with them, but he can also do it on himself, though he lacks the focus to do it neatly. The stored energy, applied to damaged tissue, can forcibly regenerate it in a rather short time. It has been used to heal wounds that would have been shortly fatal (notably a chest gunshot that barely missed the heart but punctured lungs) though it would not be something successful on brain or neurological injuries. It also takes incredible precision to use neatly – it’s easy to cause disfiguring scarring. The scar on his chest is a result of this. Its important to note that this does not debride the wounds as it heals – Luca still has lead rattling around in his ribcage.

The second effect he can manifest is a sort of barely controlled hyper-agility, including short bursts of flight. By channeling the energy into his muscles and bones, he can override his body’s psychological limitations and hit harder, run faster, and jump higher than a normal human, though not beyond the physical capabilities of his musculature. He doesn’t have increased resilience to match; it’s not uncommon for him to have stress-related injuries as a result of using these abilities. Related, though distinct, is the use of the stored energy to lift his body several meters into the air; he can hover for a short time or propel himself through the sky in traditional superhero style flight, though at the moment it takes about five minutes to deplete his energy from full. It’s important to note that he hasn’t learned how to land yet if he completely depletes his power.

Third, and most destructively, he is capable of emitting stored light from his hands into beams resembling his usual spectrum of lasers, even without a light source to divert, though these stores are quickly depleted.

Other Notes: They’re genderfluid and often refer to themself with different pronouns and terminology on different days, as is reflected in the sheet, even if they don’t really change their appearance.

They have terrible asthma and probably another respiratory condition that they've never had diagnosed. It’s rumored that their mask has some sort of specialized filter in it that is the only thing that enables them to continue living and working in the inner city.

@Amethyst

this is gonna be so fucking confusing but i love them

Recollections: The Coven [COMPLETED]

@Ghost Note i know i do so badly im just so busy rn and the post rate terrifies me

but I guess i will now LOL

《 H. E. R. O. 》

While hopping over the red-haired superhero, Jamie shot a concerned glance to Blake before dashing after the Iguanosaur. She followed the now aflame Felix after the Leftover, only a few steps behind him. Blake had delayed its fleeing, which was good- Felix seemed to be getting closer to it. Concern almost made her run over to check on him, but, in a smart moment, she decided not to. She knew, of course, that he'd be okay- it was Blake, he'd definitely been hurt worse than this on missions- but it still tugged at her heartstrings to see her friends hurt. Which was why this stupid dinosaur had to die!

She really only half-listened to Felix's words but got the gist of it. Stay away. She watched for a moment, fascinated, as the fox-tailed man grappled with the creature nearly two feet taller than him. While powerful, super-strength was a trait that Jamie did not possess. So, seeing someone able to grapple with a dinosaur was impressive. She stood there, stock-still, for a moment, watching. Then, once Felix's words registered in her mind, she started looking around for something she could use for a ranged attack. The Iguanosaur kept trying to run, so maybe something to hold it down? She glanced around the forest, circling the battle. Then, she saw something perfect. A tree. An oak tree with leaves fresh and green from springtime. But, unfortunately for it, it was about to fall down.

At an opportunity to crush it, Jamie flung out her hands. A concussive blast of pure vibrational force flew from her fingertips, forcing the tree to fall. She crossed her toes, hoping that her gamble with the tree would work out like she wanted it to, trapping the Leftover so that they could kill it. Otherwise, this might not go that well.

@Hitman@Ryteb Pymeroce

---

It took nearly all of Patricia's limited self-control to not smack Martino Bernadino right then and there for that pet name. Sugar plum. She had to hold back a disgusted shudder, and, instead, smile sultrily up at him. Her lips curled back from her teeth, her eyelashes fluttered. She had looked up flirting techniques on the way here and, thankfully, she was a good actor- just by the way he was staring at her breasts, he was definitely attracted to her. Even if she was about 40 years too young for him.

She giggled a third time, pretending to hide a bashful smile. "I would adore that. I've been looking for something to... occupy my attention. Maybe we could even have a little bit of fun after."

She waved as he left to head to the poker game, still smiling. But, as soon as he entered the room and closed the door, her smile dissolved into a disgusted grimace. Bianca Romano disappeared, replaced by a very exposed feeling Patricia. She glanced at Brie, Angelica, and Tom, waiting over by the bar. They looked like they were scouting out the poker game, trying to get in- which wouldn't be necessary anymore. Patricia had a way right into the heart of their organization.

Looking over her shoulder again to make sure Martino wasn't watching her (he wasn't), she headed over to the group, glaring a little at Brie. Although Brie was one of her few friends in the organization, she was the one who had suggested this whole seduction thing, and Patricia was not happy about it. And she'd have to keep the act up for god knows how long, too.

"We need a change of plans," Patricia whispered to them once she ensured that no one was listening in. "I seduced that Martino guy- I'm still not happy about that, by the way. His end goal is definitely sex and there is no way I am doing that. Anyways, he's gonna bring me to their meeting as his date or whatever after the poker game's done. I could probably get you guys in as a crew for hire or whatever, but we don't need this poker game. I've got a way in, all we have to do is wait." Her voice was hushed as she leaned in to say all of this, her arms crossed. She kept glancing to the door to the backroom, watching for Martino.

@Danvers@KaijuBaragon@Amethyst@Hitman

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-134

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Jamie followed Blake through the gardens, crushing significantly more lettuce than he did. Head after head was crushed under her unforgiving boots. It wasn't that she didn't care about the lettuce patches- she did, and it crushed her to see them destroyed. It was just that she was rather... distracted. Her gaze was flicking from side to side, bush to bush, searching for the Iguanosaur. She didn't want to allow the thing to just roam around Passenger Island, eating toddlers and whatnot. And the money... well, the money was a big motivator, too.

As they walked, Jamie plucked a few ripe cherry tomatoes off of the vines, popping them into her mouth and letting the juices flow. It was probably technically stealing, but whatever. Nobody would ever miss a single cherry tomato. Or five. She frowned at the acid marks when they came across them, but walked along, still following. The acid marks didn't seem to perturb her much. Despite its acid-spitting, she knew that killing it would be a simple task for her.

Once they got to the backyard, Jamie blinked, confused. It was... a backyard. A swing set in the corner, an apple tree next to it. "Blake, there's nothing here, silly!" She patted his head, smiling. "It's okay, we can all be dumb sometimes-" Then, suddenly, she was cut off by the ground-shaking roar of the Iguanosaur.

It leaped out at them, more than a foot taller than Jamie. Much greener, too- and much scarier. It loomed over them like a beast out of a fantasy novel, angry and large. She approached its back, not wanting to get in front of its acid spit. She had forgotten how much of a pain these things were to fight. Acid burns were a bitch to treat. Jamie extended her arm and channeled her power, sending out a large concussive blast to hit the beast.

But... it missed. And hit the fence instead. With a crash, the fence collapsed, creating an opening. "CRAP!" she yelled, going for another try, but it was already sprinting away through the hole. With a huff, she ran after it, beckoning for Felix and Blake to follow.

@Hitman@Ryteb Pymeroce

---

Brie and Patricia had discussed the plan on the way in, and Patricia was not enthusiastic about it, to say the least. While this did sound like a challenging, complicated mission, Patricia had her reservations.

One of them was that Brie expected her to seduce a mafioso. A 57-year-old, poker-playing mafioso. As soon as Brie started to outline the plan to her in the car, a scowl had settled on her face. It had stayed there until they got to the bar. At least she now knew what the outfit was for. Of course, she would admit, however begrudgingly, that the plan was a good one. Brie knew her stuff about crime, had spent her fair share of time here, in Brookside. She knew what would work, and Patricia trusted her. Still, though...

As they started to head inside, Patricia picked through her purse and took out her fake ID, flashing it to the bouncer. It read 'Bianca Romano'. Bianca Romano was a 21-year-old cosmetology student with a summer birthday and a knack for singing. Her favorite things were cherry-flavored candies, free Sephora samples, and Cardi B. Bianca Romano was also, coincidentally, not real. Patricia supposed that there were probably quite a few Bianca Romanos in Castleburg, as it wasn't an uncommon name, but this specific one didn't exist. She had been forged specifically to get Patricia into the Gugliano facility without raising eyebrows and to get her into bars. Not that she would be drinking, though. Alcohol was disgusting.

Patricia flashed a glance at Grace as the both of them got into the bar. The girl raised some conflicted feelings. She had liked her enough when they had fought Quizzical, but her presence in Castleburg probably had a big something to do with ICOSA's presence in Castleburg. Which was an issue. Her hazel eyes hardened as she looked at the woman, and she grabbed her arm. As far as Brie had told her, this mission was supposed to be classified, and ICOSA shouldn't know about it. Grace would almost certainly blab if given the chance- so she needed to keep her away from the operation itself.

"Listen, Grace," Patricia whispered to her, pulling her into a small alcove where nobody else was near. She gripped her arm tight, mouth in a thin, unsmiling line. "We're on a... an operation, right now. Something really, really important. Classified, too. You need to stay out of the way. Go find something else to do, get a drink or... something, and when we're done we'll help you get back to your hotel. Got it?"

Without waiting for a response, Patricia let go of Grace's arm and walked off. Hopefully, she would listen, but for now, she just needed to find that Gugliano she was supposed to flirt with. She scanned the bar for a few minutes, standing idly in the corner. She even ordered a (virgin) Appletini. After watching for a few minutes, she thought she saw a door to which men were going to, but, strangely enough, not coming out. It was labeled a men's bathroom, strangely enough, but a gangster-looking man stood at the door, watching like a hawk. One thing was certain: that wasn't a bathroom. And it was where Patricia could find the man she was looking for.

She walked over, still sipping on her Appletini, and then saw a man she recognized from the file. He was clearly walking over to the backroom, wallet in hand. He had a suit on but still looked gangster. A Gugliano lackie, she remembered- someone important, but not too important. She briefly grinned and made a beeline in his direction.

Once she got sufficiently close to him, Patricia had to do something she detested. Act... cute. She had to hold back a shudder. The guy wasn't even attractive in any sense of the word. Still, though.

Patricia purposefully ran right into him- not enough to bowl him over, but enough to make him drop his wallet onto the ground.

She gasped in horror, eyes blinking fast and hands raising to her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! she squeaked, shaking her head bashfully. "I'm such a klutz sometimes, I swear. Here, I'll get that for you... She bent over slowly, miniskirt riding up her ass and her breasts right at his line of sight, before coming up again with the wallet in hand. She giggled, blinking rapidly again and holding out his wallet. "H-here... if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know." She then winked at him, giggling again.

God, she hated this.

@Hitman@Danvers@KaijuBaragon@Amethyst

Off the Map (High Seas Adventure RP)

Ooh, sounds cool. Might be in.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-132

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Jamie waved hello to Felix, too, an exuberant smile on her face. Splitting the money three ways wouldn't be that great for her bank account, but who was she to say no to him? He looked so excited, and she was sure they could use the extra help. Plus, Felix looked strong enough to fight an Igaunasaur, or whatever they were called. He had some sort of strength power, she thought. One involving his cute fox tails... maybe he'd let her pet them! She fantasized about that for a moment, not really paying attention to what Felix and Blake were talking about before Blake said her name.

At her name, she popped back out of her mind. Something about... driving? That was right. It'd make sense, at least. She had a car. A trashed car, but still a car.

Jamie nodded, giving a thumbs-up. "Of course! I parked it downstairs, let's go."

Jamie's car was a tan 2019 Toyota Corolla, and it was wrecked. The passenger window was practically duct-taped on, and the windshield had several patches of duct-tape that seemed to be covering various holes and cracks. One of the rear-view mirrors was broken, tilted to the side and hanging off the car. There were several dents and scratches in the paint itself. Jamie smiled guiltily, rubbing the side of her head, and opened the door to the back of the car. The back was messy, to say the least. Old McDonald's wrappers, cups, and bags were strewn across the back seats, and it gave off a certain odor. She hurriedly swept most of it to the side, clearing a space for someone to sit, and opened the passenger side door. It was... moderately better, but Jamie still had to sweep a couple wrappers off the seat and onto the ground.

"Get in and buckle up!" she told the two cheerily, before hopping into the driver's seat and checking the mission details. There was a fairly recent location on the Iguanasaur, which was good. Looking back at the others, she started the car and drove to the location listed.

Once they arrived, Jamie hopped out of the car and looked around, pursing her lips. "I don't see him anywhere. Oh, Iguanasaur! C'mere, Iguanasaur!"

@Hitman@Ryteb Pymeroce

---

Patricia raised her brows when she got a text from an unfamiliar number, but read it anyways. Grace? She vaguely remembered the name, but definitely recalled the incident. Hadn't been an amazing day, if she was being honest (her nose had been broken and she had almost been shot), but Grace had seemed alright. What was she doing in Castleburg again, though? Hadn't she been from some fancy Asian version of H.E.R.O? And at Club 21, no less... ICOSA could be spying on their operation, for all she knew. Still, the poor girl seemed like she was in trouble, and had clearly made a couple wrong turns.

"Brie, remember Grace, from that whole Quizzical thing? She got lost in Brookside, and got stuck at Club 21... We're gonna have to help her out," she told the other girl in the driver's seat.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Brie's car, Patricia tapped out a response.

You're in Brookside, the really bad side of town. Lots of crime. You're in luck, though- I'm heading over there right now. Get inside of the club, park your car and lock it, and hide all of your valuables so that they couldn't be seen if somebody looked in the windows. Don't fight it if your car gets robbed or if you get mugged, they WILL pull a gun on your ass and WILL use it. We'll be there in 5. Try not to look suspicious. Actually, try to look like you're not someone to be fucked with. They can smell your fear.

Patricia

She sent the text after a minute of thinking about it. The last part was probably a bit dramatic, but a little humor never did some harm. She tried to put the phone back into the pocket of her jeans, but, then, remembering she was no longer wearing jeans, put it into her purse. At Brie's urging and after Lefty's suspicion of her unsuspicious appearance, she had changed into something a little more... trashy. Despite her strong protests, she was now wearing a black miniskirt, a very low-cut red tank top, and garishly red (and pointy) high heels. She had a fur jacket wrapped around her shoulders and black tights to fend off the cold. Golden hoops had been clipped into her ears, and her hair had been hair-sprayed to an insane degree. Bright red lipstick had been painted onto her lips, and a pretty trashy amount of foundation and mascara had been applied to her face. In short, she felt like a clown, and did not like it one bit.

Once they parked at Club 21 five minutes later, Patricia stepped out of the car, wobbling a little but then regaining her composure. She waved to Tom and Angelica.

"Hey, you two. Before we go inside, we should probably get the plan from Brie," she told Angelica and Tom, then turning to Brie expectantly.

@Hitman@Danvers@KaijuBaragon@Amethyst

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-131