Current
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.
Victor Sage is a former reporter for the Hub City Chronicle turned host of Crime & Punishment a wildly popular true crime podcast that examines cases of questionable conviction. But that's by day. By night? Well, that's the question isn't it?
C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
I want to take some of the topics I started on in a Batman run (privacy rights, AI, forced prison labor, etc.) and transplant them to Q. I think he would work better for political topics.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Vic Sage -- Question. Aristotle "Tot" Rodor -- Q's friend and ally (Deceased) Al Kert -- Vic's podcast producer. Renee Montoya -- Hub PD detective. Myra Fermin -- Hub City mayor Alexander Polys -- Tech billionaire Calvin Zabo/Mr. Hyde -- Superpowered Hub city kingpin
S A M P L E P O S T:
A car filled with armed robbers hauled ass I-275. Their haul was pretty miniscule: less than two grand from the 24 hour check cashing place on W. Trade. But they didn't care, it was enough to get them by until their next score. And with them hitting a place in the middle of the night in a bad neighborhood, they would be long gone by the time the cops actually showed up.
But that's where I came in.
"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face!"
I sang along with the radio as I sped down the interstate behind the robbers. I just so happened to be nearby when the news came over the scanner. My GTO is pushing 120 and humming along nicely without a hitch. God bless American cars. I pulled my .45 out the shoulder holster and aim with my left hand out the window while I kept the car steady with my right hand on the wheel.
"P-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face."
BLAM!
The gun kicked in my hands and the robbers' car starts spinning out of control as the bullet rips their back left tire to shreds.
The car slammed into the embankment and I zoom on past. I could already see the lights of the police car in the rearview mirror. They cops would have them surrounded in about thirty seconds after I left the scene.
"Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my poker face!"
P O S T C A T A L O G:
TBA
Montoya's the only issue, brohan. The rest's awesome.
I've caught up on the IC, and I'm looking next to recap myself on character sheets to know where our remaining roster stands and what the direction for these characters was originally.
With Master Bruce declining to return, the cowl sits un-characteristically empty, and I would be remiss to pass up these unique circumstances.
The question remains, however...what are you looking for from a Batman/Bruce Wayne in this setting? What weight does he carry in your stories, and what arcs and character moments are needed from him? MB was approaching an old Batman grappling with the physical and mental consequences of aging, and I'm not against a Batman who is significantly more progressed in his vigilante career.
Additionally, to pose a more self-interested question to the GM; what room is there to disregard and/or retcon Bat-family characters that are no longer participating in the game?
Edit: it would appear Wraith has an announcement to make shortly. Take it away, big guy.
Wasn't mentioned, but my own is fairly simple. Cops operating in the shadow that the Bat casts over a city.
And I'm perfectly willing to snatch up whatever supporting/fringe antagonists are left on the table.
NAME UNKNOWN ♦ CHILD ABDUCTED BY NATIVE AMERICANS ♦ CHEROKEE/SALEM, NC
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
They had travelled to this small township to build the Single Brother's House for their Moravian brethren. Having met one of their more morally questionable brethren on the trip to the settlement, they determined that living on the outskirts may be the best measure for their new home.
It was a dark night when they heard rustling on their property. The father didn't bother with a warning shot. Native hollering filled the air. The father was cut down. The mother who had gone for the second rifle was treated no better.
The boy was no older than seven.
The hollering swept through the estate as they left no living soul on the property. The boy swept up and bouncing to a new home, the rhythm of the horse setting a new heartbeat.
It was less than ten years past when the boy returned, atop a painted horse, with a tomahawk, a pair of fancy French dueling pistols and a black locust bow.
From all accounts the boy could still understand English perfectly, but would never utter a word.
C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
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.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">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.</div>
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