The same as previously listed as well as one new "Best Moon-related Character".
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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2 yrs ago
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A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
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.
Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by Hound55>
Don't kink-shame.
After a motion to appeal the deadline just to give everyone a little more time to carry out the rest of the MME properly and end the season without rushing, we've decided to extend the deadline from tomorrow to midnight on Friday, September 28th.
So huzzah! Extra time to do what you've all gotta do!
Thank you! Thank you and thank whoever bit the bullet and donned the sex-suit to convince you to extend the deadline...
A policeman in Scotland?
Isn't that like a diet soft drink in Scotland.
Or a salad in Scotland.
Or a designated driver in Scotland...
Isn't that like a diet soft drink in Scotland.
Or a salad in Scotland.
Or a designated driver in Scotland...
There you have it... get in early and the Flash is available.
when is season 2 starting?
Unless I'm mistaken, it's starting on the 1st.
But I'm an old man who played a lot of sport as a kid and got hit in the head a lot and now my thinker don't always work so good no more...
Regarding the Joker, I'm looking forward to the graphic sex scene in which Cesar Romero impregnates Heath Ledger.
Don't be ridiculous. The Joker reproduces by mitosis.
Jack Nicholson ate a shitload, swelled up to a vast size and then split down the middle forming Mark Hamill's voice and the voice of Kevin Michael Richardson.
A bitter twilight Chicago wind.
An active police presence.
A drifter’s anxiety.
The transformation.
Screaming.
Marlene came in over the secure channel. The helicopter’s radio had police scanner’s but Spector was yet to make a complete list of police codes, and the “Animal Control” coding they’d been using was obscure and perhaps not the best way of labelling a murderous beast which was normally a man.
“News has just put it on now. He’s running through Lincoln Park now. Am I still coming through cleanly?”
“Clear as a bell, Marlene.” Moon Knight replied.
“Lincoln Park? ETA Eight minutes.”
“Eight minutes?”
“Yes, it shouldn’t take long for me to swing it around and land this bi--”
“What’s the wind like?”
Jean Paul tapped a dial. “Northwest 12 and a half knots, why?”
Jean Paul DuChamp turned to find Spector kicking a rope ladder out the portal entrance. Before sliding open the side door and holding it from closing.
“Stay close and circle ‘round!” Moon Knight yelled over the rushing open air. He threw his French friend a salute with his free hand. And received one in kind before throwing himself from the chopper.
“What’s happening up there?” Marlene asked.
“He just threw himself out of my helicopter at skyscraper altitude. I’m trying to tell if he’s an imbecile or insane.”
“Marc. Marc! Steven?! What are you doing!”
The Moon Knight spread his glider cape billowing out and caught a huge gust of swift Chicago wind, sending him soaring, before he restricted his cape and gained greater control of his glide.
“I’m riding the winds. Every minute could mean more lives.”
“Are you alright? Jean Paul said that you were--”
“He’s fine, Marlene. He actually regained some altitude for a while there. I can confirm that he’s not being an imbecile…”
“I can hear you, Frenchie. We’re all on the same channel.”
“I know.”
For a few seconds he pulled all of his cape to his sides and torpedoed down towards the ground again. With his arms close to his body he pulled crescent darts from their place and ensured he was gripping them comfortably between fingers for quick use before regaining control of his glider cape. Spreading it wide to slow his descent.
“Good news is, I have darts prepared. Bad news is, I can’t glide and throw at the same time.”
“So…”
“So with the wolf in the park this time, I think I’m going to have little option besides close quarters combat. The environment isn’t as favourable. It’s also a Hell of a lot stronger than I am.”
“Do you think you can beat it?”
“I’m gonna have to.”
“Marc?” Marlene asked, more pleading for reason to come than with any real question.
“I handled him last time. I just don’t have the same advantages this time.” Moon Knight seemed to be trying to convince himself.
“Marc?” She was firmer this time.
“Yeah. He’s stronger but he’s an unthinking animal. No strategy or tactics. I have weaponry. I’ll probably beat it, but I’ll be thinking on the fly.” He answered honestly. Too honestly. There was little comfort in his words.
One hundred feet. He spied the werewolf just ahead, an easy target with a local news network’s helicopter shining a spotlight on it as it ran through the park.
“Marlene, he will be fine. I’ve fought with many of the Western world’s finest soldiers and Marc is one of the best.”
Fifty feet.
Marc spread the cape wide once more and in a swooping arc, barely missed the ground and rose up again, where he quickly dropped the cape and somersaulted. Launching both crescent darts deep into it’s back. The werewolf arched it’s back in a howl of pain, only for the Moon Knight to drop both boots into it’s head and kick off, launching back into a second somersault, before landing in a three-point stance several metres away.
Marc reached for fresh crescent darts. He scanned the werewolf’s face for signs of recognition in its eyes. Whether it would be from the wolf or the human trapped within.
All he saw was a primal rage.
He flung a dart and the werewolf raised its arm and took it in the forearm as it charged. It flinched sharply in discomfort but never stopped rushing. He threw more darts but still it came. His hand dropped to the holster for his truncheon and he thrust it between the beast’s jaws and delivered as hard a right as he could muster into its throat.
There was no give. It was like punching a steel girder covered in a dog pelt.
It thrashed with a claw and tore a sizeable hole through his cape. Moon Knight changed tack and threw his torn cape over the werewolf and tried to strangle it.
This was a huge mistake. It amounted something not-too-dissimilar from trying to fight a honey badger in a sack. In close quarters teeth and claw thrashed everywhere. Carbonadium armour was scratched and in places rended. Out of desperation he regathered the truncheon and fired a grapple line around a distant tree trunk, buying him a little space.
But he wouldn’t be able to make too many more mistakes like that again. He pulled more crescent darts and hurled them into the beast’s chest and limbs. These and the truncheon seemed to have the most effect. Range was his friend.
The Moon Knight was starting to tire, muscles burning, but under the weight of silver the werewolf was starting to slow.
The werewolf made yet another limping charge, and the Moon Knight faced him down. Clubbing it with his silver truncheon multiple times, and then hurling even more crescent darts into its back. The werewolf turned and used it’s full weight to just lean on him and knock him off his feet. Out of desperation Moon Knight grabbed one of its back legs, to prevent it from dropping on him and mauling him with those front claws and thrashing teeth and that’s when he saw it.
A big bare patch in its fur on one of its hind legs. And the serial number etched in luminous green ink.
Black vans roared into the park. Too many for the wolf unless they planned to cart it out in sections.
Grant sensed the werewolf itself may have also been in need of its own brand of vengeance. Who would fight for the beast? Three nights a month it would be something that would bring terror and wreak havoc, but what of the man within?
Grant fought the beasts, without and within. Spector just wanted to beat this creature down for the innocents claimed and then take it to any in the black vans as well. Grant quelled it with a query: “How many lives have we taken?”
Spector fell sullen and quiet. He loathed when Grant would do this. Manipulate with guilt. But all the while it worked. After all, how could one so want for Vengeance deny the empathy others must feel for it?
He rolled over onto the haunch, breaking the wolf’s leg with a whimper.
“Frenchie, emergency Evac!”
A hand swept inside of his cape and he drew crescent darts. With a sharp snap of the wrist he flung them into the black vans tires. He clubbed the werewolf into unconsciousness and threw it over his shoulder.
Men with firearms ran from the vans in their direction. Spector and Grant looked to the sky. Reaching out for the final grasp at the month’s full moon.
They caught its lifeline. the Moon Knight grabbed the ladder. Hooked an arm and a leg through and then took flight. The wind caught his cape and billowed out. Guns fired, but couldn’t find the pair behind the immense white target.
He felt the werewolf’s chest heaving through his shoulder’s armour plating. It’d live. It wouldn’t like what came next as he’d have to extract the crescent darts. But it would live.
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RIP Retired, gone but not forgotten.
Anyhow, gonna be wrapping up my crossover with Byrd and then I'll see this season off. I plan on playing Frank for another crossover with Doc at the beginning of Season Two, and then I'll be retiring him so I can focus on another character...
SUBTLE FORESHADOWING!
“Well…” Steven offered a knowing smirk, “I’ll just say I’m not surprised that it was in Gotham, of all cities, where someone obviously has decided to form the same conclusion and bankroll the Batman. My advice, from someone who does well reading market trends, would be to watch Hub City like a hawk. Another protector will stand up soon from over there, mark my words. But what form they take, well, that’ll be the question...”
“You’re rebuilding his mind? How do you mean?” Marlene looked honestly perplexed.
“I mean it quite literally, my dear. Due to events in his past, my employer and your friend has a mind which is in a somewhat precarious state.”
DuChamp looked at the butler sternly. “How often?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This has happened before. You don’t seem bothered enough by the fact this is happening, and you seem to feel comfortable that you know what you’re doing.”
Samuels glared at the Frenchman, as if considering whether he should give any kind of answer.
“Tell him.” Grunted Spector, anxious for all of the boring harping on this topic to be over.
“Yes. More than a handful of times.”
“Sacre bleu…” Jean Paul muttered to himself.
“But this was the first time that he’s been surrounded by… friends.” Samuels still wasn’t sure the pair could be trusted. “Which Mr Grant has assured me, that you are Mr Duchamp.”
“How exactly have you been ‘rebuilding his mind’?” Asked Marlene, trying to get back to the initial point.
“My employer, and your friend, has had complications arise before in his life. Due to these issues, he entrusted myself - and in case anything happened to myself, Nedda - with the ‘passcode’ and a set of instructions for how to re-construct his mind if ever he experiences another break.”
“My word, what kind of host have I been?” Grant quickly rose to his feet and beamed a warm smile to Marlene and Jean Paul. “Would anyone care for drinks? We cover most domestics and imported. Jean Paul, I’ve taken special note of some of your suggestions over the year, and was able to procure a rare Cheval Blanc ‘47 Saint Emilion…”
“Tha-- that’s over a hundred and thirty thousand dollars a bottle!?”
“Well, generally priced thereabouts, yes. I must say, I got into a bidding war with Tony Stark over it at a charity auction a few years ago. It came to three hunder and eighty five thousand, and I’m not sure if he was really thirsting for the bottle or just didn’t want to get beaten over it. A Ms Potts seemed to take issue with his excess and distracted him, took his eyes away from the prize. Fortunately, Samuels and Nedda don’t put up quite so much of a fight.” He winked at his butler, who nodded in return. “And I wanted to ensure I had that bottle for when I was finally ready to tell all to my best friend, and ask him something so important.”
Jean Paul’s heart skipped a beat as his first thought about his secret may involve his sexuality, before he composed himself and waited to see what he had to say.
“I need you, my oldest friend… to fly for me.”
“Pardon?”
“Come with me.”
“Sir?”
“It’s alright, Samuels. I think we’re well beyond that. You too, Marlene.”
Steven led the group through hallways, until he got to an old metal junker elevator. They piled in and Samuels pulled the lever, and with the loud clanking cacophony of the elevator it took the group down, down, down...
“In recent years, I’ve found that I have my own shortcomings which need to be addressed. These issues brought me to a crossroad.”
Down, down, down…
The pair of friends looked on with curiosity.
“As I’ve worked wonders in the stockmarket I’ve found an incontrovertible fact. Most people who work the market view it as an immutable fact; this world is comprised of winners, and losers. The hunters and the hunted. Almost to a man all of my peers view it as such. If you work the stock exchange in any capacity it’s impossible to argue. But I came to a different conclusion than most.”
Down, down, down… into a subterranean concreted area that looked too big to be a bunker, but too cosy to call a hanger.
He turned to his friends and smiled.
“I find the predatory devouring of innocents to be intolerable.” Grant held his arms out, gesturing to the entire structure as if it explained what they were looking at.
Jean Paul raised his eyebrow, perplexed by where this was going. Samuels opened the elevator door with a clank, and Steven led them through.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve engaged in this myself. Early on, before I knew exactly what I was doing. When I was looking at investments as numbers on a screen ticker. It doesn’t take much experience in this industry, however, to realize that it’s easy for a man to lose sight of the fact that these numbers have greater consequences. Human consequences.”
“Marc, I’m not sure I follow what you’re trying to tell us.” Marlene said.
“Steven.” He corrected. “But that’s ok. Because Marc and I happen to agree on this point. It’s why he’s let up enough to let me properly explain our newest paradigm.”
“They don’t understand what the Hell you’re talking about… use english, you smarmy--” Marc suddenly growled to himself, with desperate desire that his friends properly understood.
“I apologize profusely. I chose a two-pronged approach, first; I changed my business practices and ensured that proper due diligence was taken to cause minimal harm, whilst still hitting windows to ensure these efforts maintained sustainability and long term profitability… but second; we launched the concept design and procurement requirements for the Moon Knight project launch.”
“Moon Knight?”
“Uh, yes. I believe you saw the armour and accoutrement before…” he said, pointing to a glass case where the white and silver suit from the previous night was displayed on a mannequin.
“As I said, Spector and I both agree on this issue. Innocent people are getting hurt in this world, and such a thing is intolerable. We formed a partnership, with the intention of utilizing my funding, and his… special skills and will power, to create something which can attempt to curtail this preying on the innocent in criminal and social situations. Whilst, I continue to have my impact on the business community, and where possible the political…”
“Political?"
“Chicago has a long, strong history with public corruption. Along with its high violent crime statistics, it makes Chicago an almost unique case.”
“Almost unique?”
“Well…” Steven offered a knowing smirk, “I’ll just say I’m not surprised that it was in Gotham, of all cities, where someone obviously has decided to form the same conclusion and bankroll the Batman. My advice, from someone who does well reading market trends, would be to watch Hub City like a hawk. Another protector will stand up soon from over there, mark my words. But what form they take, well, that’ll be the question...”
“You really think that’s what’s happening in Gotham?” DuChamp asked.
“I may not know exactly how to go about what I’m doing, but I know my idea being put into action when I see it.” Grant glibly replied.
“And you expect me to, what? Fly into battle with you and be some kind of french sidekick? Fly into battle with you on our own trademark hang gliders? Marc, you’re being crazy. You didn’t come up with this when you had another ‘break’ did you?”
“Hang gliders? Ha! No. Yes, my friend. I agree with you, that would be crazy. See, what I had in mind, was for you to fly… that!”
Steven pointed to a massive awkward-looking monstrosity of a helicopter.
“Can-- can that thing even fly?”
Steven smiled, knowing if nothing else he’d piqued his interest.
“Tops out at 220mph. With a ceiling of 10,000 feet and an unencumbered range of 1,000mph, if you strip down the cannons and--”
“I know what unencumbered means. How? How does it even fly, I can’t believe this can even stay in the air...”
“The back-end swivels up and the main rotor’s on that. Underneath it has three repulsor-based engines…” He turned and winked at DuChamp. “The wine wasn’t the only thing Stark has ever lost out to me…” Before turning and continuing to walk around the helicopter. “Which help get the thing to altitude as it swivels. Has stabilizers here and on the other side… designed to hold up even under harsh Chicago winds…”
“Even if this can stay in the air, there’s no way this thing won’t immediately be traced back to you. Stark engines? Top of the line expensive technology? Someone out there designed this and they’re going to know exactly who you are when we take to the air in this...”
“The man who designed this is… no longer with us. I paid an exorbitant amount of money for a top level foreign designer who was in his twilight years. He had no family and I came into all copies of the design when he died. As for the construction… this has been getting built for quite some time. Small orders of parts here and there intermingled with other purchases over the years. Incidentally, we have enough spare parts to make about 6 more if we want… or do minor repairs for years.”
Grant walked around behind DuChamp and flicked his hat off of his head and caught it. “This thing has been killing people, Jean Paul, a lot of people. And hurting many more. Tonight is the last night of the full moon, and maybe the last night of this insanity. We could try this out and see how it works. Think about how many more it might kill tonight. That could be on us. That could be on you. If we can do something about that and we don’t… is that the kind of Jean Paul DuChamp you want to see in the mirror tomorrow? In ten years? In twenty?”
He gave the Frenchman’s pilot cap a faux polish and sat it on his head at a jaunty angle. “Or do we want to be the kind of people who stop it?”
Jean Paul thought about this. There were few opportunities for him to fly regularly. What else was he going to do, buy himself a chopper and sell flying lessons to rich assholes? For a man who grew up on the adrenaline of combat, and with the intention of making a positive impact on the world for France, it didn’t seem particularly enticing.
“As for your safety, the cockpit glass is made of a firm multiplex that’s around three times the thickness of your standard--”
“Okay.”
“Really?” Grant beamed, almost surprised he didn’t have to continue his sales pitch.
“Okay. I’ll fly around a lunatic with an incomplete mind to inevitably get himself shot in the face by some gangbang-air or urban domestic terrorist… I guess I’ve ridden this crazy train this far, might as well see where it stops.”
“...I also have to see how in the world this monstruosite stays in the air.”
"Samuels, the Cheval Blanc ‘47..!"
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