I don't understand why Negative Man being on the set for Doom Patrol is newsworthy.
Because if he wasn't, then he'd have to be back within 60 seconds...
Hound55 Member
Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
STATUS: A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing 2 yrs ago
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A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
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So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
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Because if he wasn't, then he'd have to be back within 60 seconds...
<Snipped quote by Sep>
Robot looks great from that angle. And nobody's dressed like a prostitute! Progress, DC, progress!
"Fuck Mento."
Aaaaaaand I'm spent...
*Basks in afterglow*
*Basks in afterglow*
Jean Paul grabbed shotgun, Marlene threw herself in the back and Samuels took the wheel of his burgundy Bentley.
“Where are we going? What’s happened?” Marlene asked.
“We’re going to save your friend from himself.” Samuels said, irritated as he pulled down his seatbelt.
“And what’s happened?” Jean Paul echoed Marlene.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s a long car drive.”
“Not really. Lincoln Park is only a few minutes away and I wouldn't have even begun to get into the weeds on this… I pull down 80k a year and I’m still underpaid for everything I put up with…” The professional façade finally starting to crack in Samuels.
“Marc Spector has gone to take on that werewolf.” He said, looking at Marlene in the rear vision mirror. “And he’s not ready to do anything that crazy yet. Not even close.”
What Samuels was talking about was ludicrous. Surely.
“What does Marc have to do with werewolves? Why would he? None of this makes sense.”
“It’s not about werewolves.” Samuels said, the needle pushing 80mph. “It’s about Spector. It could have been a man who did that. Or someone cutting you off in traffic. At the moment, he’s volatile. We need to get him home before he gets himself killed. And the werewolf’s not the only thing to worry about on that front.”
“He’s gone to fight a werewolf? What with?” DuChamp asked.
“His memory’s back. He’s remembered where the equipment is.”
DuChamp ran things through in his mind. Marc had been right. Not everything this man had been telling them had really fit.
“Today, when you picked us up from the airport. Your employer hadn’t made sure you were familiar with his face.” Jean Paul spoke softly as he pieced everything together.
Samuels looked at him and down shifted as he turned a corner.
“--because you’d already met him before.”
“...” “Exactly.” Samuels said, wanting the conversation to be over. They were approaching police barriers, and a cop waving his arms at them, telling them to find another way.
Marlene spoke up from the back. “What exactly did you mean by ‘the equipment’?”
Overhead a white hang glider swooped past, caught an updraft to pull up far above a building, and a white and silver clad figure released his grip, performed a perfect somersault and spread his arms wide. A vast cape billowed out and caught another gust, before he released it and brought both his feet up to kick an unseen figure in the chest.
A sound like a man beating a mongrel with a rolled up newspaper made the cop turn around. Samuels took the opportunity and turned the wheel to miss the cop, plowing through part of the barricade.
“I was going to say, ‘you’d know it if you saw it’ but I think it’s too late for that…”
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Flint spat bourbon all over the inside of his windshield.
He had a good clear view of the rooftop where the werewolf was perched from where his car was parked. Out of nowhere, and in complete silence some nutcase in a white cape jumped off of a hang glider and kicked the thing in the chest. It made a sound like a beaten cur, only louder if he could hear it from here.
Then the ninja throwing stars came out.
He began to question the veracity of the officers’ stories whom he’d spoken to before. They said they blasted this thing with a shotgun and it didn’t even flinch. But throwing stars had it backpedalling, as the man was able to keep his distance on the other side of the roof. The werewolf backed up further, and further, towards the edge of the roof. Then desperation struck as it could retreat no further and the wolf charged. He threw two more stars and then, sensing the need for a change of tactics, he reached down and drew a small metal bar from a holster.
The wolf lunged, with perfect footwork and timing the man in white thrust the bar into the beast’s fangs and twisted, executing a perfect hip toss, throwing it off of the building.
One of its teeth must have pressed a button or activated some kind of grapple feature though, as a cable flew out the side of its maw and snagged in a neighbouring building. Another whimper came from the werewolf as mystical fangs were nearly pulled from its head, before it let go as a reflex. It was enough to break its fall however. The wolf sensed an opportunity to escape from the man in white and immediately took it. It would find easier prey another time.
But the man in white hadn’t given up yet. He stood on the edge of the building top and cast out his cape, before jumping. The billowing cape slowing his descent enough before he caught the metal bar as it swung back and forth from the other building. Reunited with his weapon he used a setting which allowed him a smooth descent to the ground, before the hooks in the grapple released and the cable retracted back into the bar.
He looked up to the rooftops and saw where his glider had landed. Too far, no help to him now. He ran down the street in pursuit of the werewolf, but as fast as this man was it would make no difference. The werewolf was far too fast and already had too big a head start. Surely he had to know it too.
But if he did, he didn’t show it. He ran like a man possessed. No. He ran like this was his entire purpose.
Flint considered giving chase but for two things. First, Chicago PD had no set policy for dealing with what was becoming known as the Batman/Spider-Man situation. Namely, that was “their problem”. With Chicago’s current crime rate combined with the fact that this is technically an animal control issue the politics on this one stank to high Hell and he didn’t want to give the Burger King a free shot at kicking him in the dick.
Secondly he remembered what happened to Jim Gordon down in Gotham not too long ago. Very publicly getting the shit beaten out of him in a situation Flint imagined probably looked very much like this… only with considerably more backup if the papers told the truth.
Could that be what this is? Could there be Black and White Batmen? Or was this a copycat? Or was this something else entirely?
No. Better to wait and watch. Report the citing. Let the PD formulate some kind of policy and keep your nose clean. And decidedly less bloody. Get to the scene a little too late to actually do anything.
Which was a plan that worked a little too well.
A car drove alongside the man in white, and he must have really been moving because it didn’t slow down THAT much. Because Flint had decided to keep his distance he couldn’t make out the license plate. Arms reached out from the car and grabbed him, pulling him in.
A maroon Bentley. Flint made a mental note for a batch search later.
He stepped out of his beamer and caught Dixon running towards him.
“Did you see that shi--!”
“Yes. I did. Call the CSIs.” Flint pronounced it ‘Sissies’, almost like ‘scissors’. “We’ve got a crime scene up there and something tells me it’s going to be a ripe one.”
Flint stepped back to his car and lifted the handpiece for his radio. He looked down at his watch and decided debriefing could wait ten minutes. Shift change was in five and he wouldn’t give the Burger King the satisfaction of getting to play the press, like he reveled in. Captain Welland was good police. He can catch this one.
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With the meal over, the three friends gathered in a lounge room with a massive TV.
Marc licked his fingers again. Jean Paul looked on in disgust.
“I’m starting to get the distinct feeling Marc was onto something, just before-- THAT happened.” Jean Paul started.
“Why are you talking about me like I can’t hear you?”
“Do you remember what you were talking about before the meal, Marc?”
Marc rocked back in his chair. “Don’t worry about it, sweetcheeks. I was talking about shit I didn’t know anything about. I’m a’right now. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sweetcheeks?!” Marlene stood up and crossed her arms in front of herself in anger.
“It’s all OK. Samuels and Nedda are OK. This place is fine. I’ve been here before. If Samuels tells you to make yourself at home, make yourself at home.”
With that, Marc grabbed the remote and turned the television on. He hit the buttons with the intention of selecting a channel amongst the movie package, but through an error put it on the evening news.
“--where SWAT have now pinned down the animal on the rooftops in our own Lincoln Park. Police have advised local residents to stay indoors and away from doors and windows.--”
Marc raised the remote to change the channel.
“--So far the death toll is at 8, with a further dozen wounded innocent civilians.”
Marc’s left brow twitched. He inhaled sharply.
“Good God, that’s horrible!” Marlene exclaimed.
“Police have still publicly refused to speculate on the nature of the creature with the press. But we have live interviews of survivors with our own Denise Taylor… Denise?”
Marc got to his feet and left the room without a word.
“He--he was like a bear crossed with, like a giant wolf or something!”
“He? Are you sure it wasn’t a she?”
“Well, yeah. Pretty sure. He was wearing busted up cheap men’s jeans after all…”
“Je-- what?”
Marlene and Jean Paul heard a loud metallic clanking sound. Samuels ran into the room.
“Where is he?!”
“Who?”
“Marc Spector!”
“Calm down, he probably just went to the bathroom or something. He’s probably feeling messed up after what you did to him...” Marlene answered bitterly.
“What I di-- I didn’t do anything to him tha--”
Samuels looked at the television.
“--I don’t care what the police say. It was a goddamn werewolf. Sure as you’re standing in front of me!”
“Shit. How many?” Samuels rubbed his forehead and grabbed the bridge of his nose.
“How many what?”
“How many did they say died?”
“8. With another dozen wounded.”
“And they said 'innocents', right? Shit. Come on, we’re going for a drive.”
Below the level of the house, a white hang glider flew out of the cliff face, seemingly through bare rock. As a figure dressed all in white caught the updrafts, before turning back around on a heading towards Lincoln Park. Its wings shaped like a crescent as it seemingly hung in the air on the turn.
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He had his friend back. Of sorts.
Jean Paul DuChamp watched as Spector heaped more food onto his plate for the third time. Marlene looked on stunned. It was less the fact that he wanted thirds than the aggressive vigour with which he seized it. As if nothing on earth mattered more.
Samuels and Nedda, the cook, stood on and watched expressionless.
This wasn’t like him either. At first he was relieved his friend seemed to have his memories back. In the days prior he’d seemed like a blank slate, but one who seemed like a sponge to new information. An empty vessel looking to be filled. Now the only thing he seemed to be interested in having fill him was Nedda’s perfectly cooked roast ducks, potatoes and complementary puree.
Jean Paul could no longer take the awkwardness.
“S’il vous plait, Please, the pair of you. You’ve done too much already. Sit and eat with us.”
Nedda pulled up a chair at the ample dining table, whilst Samuels went and got the crockery and cutlery for two extra places. He quickly returned and sat, and the five ate a meal in relative silence as the newest guest Marc Spector stuffed his face and devoured his food with his hands.
Marlene slid over and whispered to DuChamp. “He’s not normally like this, is he?”
Jean Paul responded between gritted teeth. “No Marlene, no he definitely is not.”
Samuels eyes lifted above his focus on his plate, he offered one simple short sentence which was of no comfort whatsoever and wouldn’t be in any of the other times he would repeat it. “All in the fullness of time. With some things there must be patience. With this, there is no other way.” He then returned to his food, politely eating with the appropriate knife and fork.
Marlene ate her meal in thoughtful quiet. Marc had just expressed his concern about this place and this man who was eating amongst them. Then he did something. Brought on a seizure, maybe? And when Marc came to he was suddenly completely trusting of Samuels and his entire demeanour had changed.
As Marc had said before. The whole thing was creepy, as was this Samuels.
Perhaps in the morning she’d get Jean Paul and Marc out of the house and go and stay with her brother. Maybe even tonight if she could somehow find a decent excuse.
An arm reached across the table, Marc was reaching for fourths. Licking the fingers of his other hand all the while.
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Flint sat in his car across the road and watched the werewolf.
It was agitated. SWAT had been in charge for the last hour and as far as he could tell they’d done very little but piss it off. Sharpshooters had targeted it and all they achieved was dislodging it from it’s original place in a relatively secure part of the police cordon. It took to the rooftops and leapt along several blocks. Causing the SWAT leader to reconsider tactics before they flush it right out into a populated part of the city.
“Maybe you need silver bullets.” Flint had offered sullenly, picking his teeth and spitting on the sidewalk.
“Believe it or not, we only get supplied with standard police issue. It’s almost like the city doesn’t expect to be besetted by mystical fucking creatures, Flint.” the SWAT leader replied.
“Dunno why, with this country goin’ to Hell in a handbasket at the moment.” a SWAT grunt chimed in.
“Maybe next financial year!” Threw in another.
“What else takes down werewolves?” A new SWAT boot asked.
“They don’t like stakes or wooden crosses, isn’t that something?”
“That’s vampires.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The SWAT leader fired in. His command was fast turning into a committee meeting for the mystical monsters.
“Here’s what we’re going to do… Air support chopper’s gonna keep him lit up. Sharpshooters are going to set up here and here. With two shots we’re going to turn him back to where he first was… Then we’re going to maintain perimeter and hold him in.”
“So you’re going to change things back to how they were before you came in guns blazing and pissed it off without a plan.”
“Fuck off, Flint. Nobody asked you. In fact, this is SWAT jurisdiction, are you going to move back or will I have you removed?”
Flint eyeballed the SWAT leader and then looked back at his car.
“Sure. Should have a pretty good view from back there anyway. Only worry is I might not be able to hear the Benny Hill music while you clowns are doing your thing from over there.”
“Fuck off, Flint.” He repeated.
Flint walked to his car, throwing a half-hearted salute as he walked away. “Sure thing. The man with the plan!”
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<Snipped quote by Hound55>
No worries, I got you.
Give me ten days...
Someone post. I've got another to put up before I go to work....
Marc wandered into the dining room like he had all the time in the world. Samuels greeted him and told him that dinner would still be a little way off, as DuChamp had requested a complicated meal which the chef was all too willing to accommodate him with. “Nedda,” Samuels had said, “loves the challenge.”
Changing the subject, Marc cut to the chase and asked his direct question.
“How exactly did Mr Grant hear about me, might I ask? Did he have any kind of research material, referrals or other information about me? If I could familiarize myself with it, maybe I could answer any questions he may have about me when he gets back from New York.”
Samuels smiled, no doubt pleased to help his employer. “Absolutely sir, I’ll bring those right away.”
With that, the shorter man scurried away to fetch the data whilst Spector conferred with Duchamp and Marlene, who were laughing together, before regaining their composure as they saw Marc approach.
“You two seem like you’re getting awfully chummy. What have you been talking about?”
“Oh, nothing much.” Jean Paul answered. Marlene laughed.
“Nothing much, huh?” Marc sideyed the pair of them. “You know it’s a bit of a dick move if you’re telling stories about me to her, which I don’t even remember.”
“Oui, Marc. Fair enough. I assure you in the future I’ll tell you the stories at the same time as Marlene so you can both enjoy the time you got blackout drunk in Thailand and--”
“...yep, I don’t want to know where this story is going either! New rule: If I don’t remember it and it’s embarrassing, it didn’t happen.”
Marlene laughed and grabbed his forearm. “It’s OK, Marc. It was PG.”
Samuels returned with a manilla folder marked “Spector, Marc” and handed ito him, before quickly moving away to check on events in the kitchen.
“I’ll tell you both one thing for free, though. This place, that guy--” he pointed where Samuels just was, “--creepy as fuck.”
“Oh don’t be like that.” Marlene said.
“He’s been treating us just fine.” Asserted DuChamp.
In a hushed tone, Spector brought the other two together. “I’ve been looking around this place. There’s some creepy room out back that looks like it was made for Travis Bickle.”
“Oh, sure. When I say Pepa Bonafe you look at me like I have two heads, but when it comes to ze Scorsese…”
“And the whole side of this mansion is artificially done up to look like inner city urban apartments.” Spector finished.
“Well, what exactly are you accusing them of, Marc?”
“Well--- I don’t know. But doesn’t that strike you as weird?!”
“Well, if what you’re saying’s true, then yes, I suppose it’s weird. But the man’s clearly got a level of wealth that would detach anyone from normality somewhat. It doesn’t mean he’s doing anything bad.”
“I’m not saying anyone is necessarily ‘bad’. I’m just saying this whole situation weirds me out.”
“Anyway, I just Asked Jeeves for the material his boss has on me. Maybe we can get a sense of what exactly he wants me for off of that, and if nothing else maybe it might tug at some memories.” Spector held out the folder. “Anyway, couldn’t hurt.”
Marc opened the folder, there was a large photograph of him in his marine uniform paperclipped to a basic profile document that ran through his name, age, rank and US Marine Corps history. There were other photographs of him on tour in various locations within but Marc focused on scouring the basic information first. Hoping something, anything, might jog his memory. Then it hit him like a bullet to the brain.
Samuels walked up from behind and whispered into Marc’s ear.
“Marc Spector. Maa Kheru.”
Spector’s head shot back like he had an electric current shot up his spine. His eyes flickered like he was having a seizure, his mouth was agape and he dropped to the ground.
“Samuels! What did you do?!” DuChamp shouted. Marlene stood by shocked, before regaining control of her senses and trying to roll Marc onto his side, and ensuring his airway was clear and that he wouldn’t swallow his own tongue.
The Frenchman swept a solid ornate candlestick up from the dining table and brandished it threateningly.
“Samuels! What have you done?!?”
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In a space between places the man in white fell. He landed with a solid bump, despite the desert sands. He was in a perfectly white suit, tailored immaculately as if by the gods themselves. With an all white face as well, marked with a crescent on his forehead that denoted his patron, he picked himself up from the sand, dusted himself off and adjusted his suit. He began to walk.
The traveller in white walked the cosmic sands until he came upon another. One with the head of a jackal took his hand.
And just as Khonshu would assist many in finding their path, the jackal-headed Anubis led the Traveller in the white suit to exactly where he needed to be.
There were a set of scales, but no marketplace. A ship which sailed the cosmic winds with an audience of deities. A beast. And the scribe.
Anubis walked to the scales and removed the pure white feather of Ma’at. He asked the Traveller in White for a request so politely that he could never refuse, and with permission granted, tore the Traveller’s head off and rested it on one side of the scales where the feather had once been.
Anubis called and Khonshu brought forth what had been requested.
It was a small doll in military fatigues. It writhed between the grasp of both gods’ touch. It ran on base desire and impulse. Libido, violence and instant gratification.
Anubis held the doll at an arm’s distance. Ammut licked her crocodile lips.
Anubis dropped the doll onto the scales, and then set to work adjusting the scales.
The sides reached balance. Thoth nodded his ibis head to the god of death. He picked the head up off of the scales and threw it back to the Traveller in White who caught it comfortably. Anubis threw the doll to Khonshu who approached his avatar. His chosen one.
The Traveller re-attached his own head. To do otherwise would be impolite in the company of gods. Khonshu approached.
The god of the Moon grabbed the Traveller in White by the back of his head, his head snapped back as he screamed silently. His mouth opened from the god’s shockingly strong grip. The god held the figure above the Traveller’s gaping maw, the instant seemed to last for a minute. The fall seemed to last forever.
Spector felt himself being consumed. He felt himself consume. He once again had form.
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The Frenchman picked up a solid ornate candlestick and brandished it threateningly.
“Samuels! What have you done?!?”
Spector coughed, hacked and rolled onto one knee. Holding an open palm out, reaching for his friend to wait.
“Exactly what I told him to do, Frenchie.”
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John Constantine Canon NPCs:
John Constantine (duh)
Lucifer
Papa Midnite
Jack Hawksmoor
Chas Chandler
Clarice Sackville & The Tate Club
Map
Pearl Jones
Every other character I've mentioned have been "original" characters.
*Michael Connelly intensifies*
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