Mia Jones
“You're welcome.” Mia replied wearily. She felt the wind brush against her skin as Reiko exited out the door, and with it, the wafting scent of blood and wine. Her senses were not so finely attuned as her adversary's – that fact unbeknown to her – but these were powerful odors. The smell of the blood reminded her of its metallic taste from this morning, the wine, of the years she spent her life hiding inside a bottle of spirits and vintages. Both memories were quite... grounding. Sobering. They acted as reminders for why she was here.
She didn't really care how important or respected this Reiko woman was. She won't receive any mercy from Mia. As far as Mia was concerned, she was never given any mercy. The city was merciless – the world was merciless – if enacting vengeance made her the representation of that simple truth, then so be it.
The blind woman followed the huntress close behind, feeling around with her cane. Between bumping into the boots of Skull members and laden bricks or motorcycles, it guided her to the center of the street reliably. The whooping and howling of gangsters surrounded them, but it did not detract from her focus. Mia heard the thumps of leather not so far off. Reiko was taking something off. Mia let go of her cane and let it fall clumsily by her side. The sounds that followed were... disturbing, to say the least. Ripping flesh and liquid hit the ground in what sounded to be a sopping mess. The smell of blood flooded her nose. Grinding could be heard by the pavement. A vicious roar emanated from her location.
Something bestial.
Reiko was just an animal, then. An animal waiting to be put down. What a pity. But she had to be careful nonetheless. Animals were simple, but they weren't anything like people. She shouldn't hold back. Mia raised her arms to frame her body, her hands were clenched into fists and were set on either side of her head as she fell into form. A hybrid stance: elements of boxing and Israeli martial arts were both present. Her eyelids fell half-closed as she reached out all around her with her other senses.
The breathing, the panting of the beast. Just ahead. Mia would wait... wait for the beast to become impatient, or to find an “opportunity”. Only then would she strike – like a snake.
_______________
Baron Moreau
“Oh,” Baron said absentmindedly, “good.”
Really, that was all that mattered. As long as Ivan didn't talk too much about the company, no harm. But there was still the issue that Ivan made a connection that can be used against him. That was one thing Baron learned in America del Sur: if there are people that know you, they will be used against you. Ivan is no longer acquainted with the Deadnaughts, but he is still a connection to them and possesses information. As long as the company didn't make any dangerous enemies, he should be safe. If not, well... he can only hope the explosives expert could make a convincing lie on the spot.
It was something of an art, deception. You had to weave in just enough truth to make it believable, and direct them the wrong way with suggestions. Filler information.
Anyways, Tobias' research and experiments really were quite interesting. They were not in his own field of expertise, but he could identify the talent and skill required. And manipulating a power through medicine... who would have thought? A gene. A gene caused all this. A gene created supernatural abilities in mortal men and women. What science could justify that? They isolated the gene, but could they remove it? Mitigate it? If some extremist got their hands on Tobias' research, they could probably learn how to identify and interact with the gene. Perhaps cause it to swell and make the meta-human powers more potent.
Baron sighed. It had to have been a matter of time until one man's good intentions became another man's super weapon.
But these were not thoughts that Baron has time to express to the doctor, and were silenced by Ivan's insistence on dealing with gang matters.
“Rural areas of Levant were fairly nice,” Baron admitted, “just as you stay out of the war-torn suburbans. The people I've met were very genuine and have a rich culture. One man there gave me a free nose piercing that I never plan to reopen again.”
Baron momentarily seemed to be lost in thought as he reminisced about the eastern Mediterranean region. “Granted, Grit eventually blew my cover and, wouldn't you know, an Al-Qaeda patrol was just around the corner. Just barely talked myself out of that one. Anyway, I'm sorry Ivan. I hate to do this to you – I really do – I just don't think I want to play a part in any gang wars. That sort of thing I get paid to do, and I'm on vacation.”
He reached into his pocket and procured a pack of cigarettes, the butt of which he smacked against the palm of his hand a couple times.
“You understand, right?”
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Abraham Gene, Jake Valos, Gabe Valos, and Sylvia Bertoose
"No neva', no neva', no, nev'a again, 'till I live to be a hundred or a hundred an' ten - will I be cleaning up this fucking bitch-ass hallway again!" Abraham yelled as he put down the final touches of the mopping. A sopping, half-broken mop was plunged into the soapy bucket and was wringed out in the mechanism that came with it. He had to redo this particular spot three times, probably. Over and over again, students came around tracking dirt and mud over the floor he had cleaned. By about the third time a student came through, Abe had snapped the mop over his knee and chased him down hallway with two sharp pieces of wood. The only problem being that he almost ran into sight of Adam Blackmore - Adam Bitchmore - Adumb Dickless - Dorothy Fuckabish - whatever, and was forced to make hasty retreat.
What kind of place was this, anyhow? Cleaning? Why don't they have maids or housekeepers doing this chore-work for them? Why have students do this? What kind of punishment was cleaning? Well, clearly, pretty good punishment if he was this livid about it, but cleaning? That was a million miles beneath him! A billion miles! No job suitable for a man like himself.
He pushed away the mop bucket into the nearest janitor closet and walked away in a hurry. God forbid anyone seeing him do that. Before making a clean getaway from the scene and finally grabbing a bite to eat, he did have to make quick stop somewhere first. The men's restroom. It was Jake's final chore before being let off. It'd be such a shame if that poor bastard had to redo everything. A real tragedy.
That's why he took a roll of toilet paper off its hanger and tossed it into one of the toilets... just before he pressed the lever repeatedly with his fingers a blur. Abraham ran out - no - sprinted out without even checking to see his handiwork. Yeah, fuck that getting caught noise. He was quite the runner too, racing down the hallways like a madman before taking safe refuge in his dorm at last. He looked around - it appear as if he had a roommate now. His bag? There it lay untouched, safe and sound. This is good. Of course, there was nothing there save for adobe bricks, but this was at least a good sign that his roomy knew his place.
This was turning out to be quite the evening. While he did have to clean, he finished it at a reasonable hour, sabotaged dickless' hard efforts, and nobody touched his things at the end of the day. That had to warrant a celebratory song! He went for one of the two cases under his bed. The guitar was, obviously, the superior instrument, but lugging that around brought problems. The ukulele at least had a fun, cheery factor. Now to go to the cafeteria and get some food. He plucked the ukulele from its case and strolled out the door, singing to himself an old Neil Diamond song.
"Oh, look at the way she's wavin' her sail, what a wondrous sight to see!"
What a great time the Valos are having with Ms. Davis. All their problems upon coming here are just melting away... But naturally, they can never get what they want. Gabe was disconnected from this entire stupid demonstration of Jake's amazing illusions. She put her elbow on the table and leaned into her open palm. She let out an exhale as she looked around the cafe. Which was a lot fucking harder when you were missing an eye, but she learned to live with it. Gabe's gaze directed itself to the doors of the cafe, someone just walked in and.... "Hey!" She shouted, immediately jumping out of her seat and slamming her palms onto the hard table. It was none other than Abraham Gene, the person she had a bone to pick with. It was about time someone taught him a lesson, that you can't just do what the hell you want and everyone will bend forward for you! "Gene! Ya' got a lot of nerve tryin' to fuck with one of us!"
"...What?" Jake looked around the second Gabe exploded in anger. He knew Gabe well enough that when she acts like this, he knows that she's seen someone she doesn't like. Because the concept of being subtle is alien to her. Jake whipped around towards the center of Gabe's attention - and of course. It's Abraham Gene. He can never leave Jake alone, now can he? "Oh god..." Jake said as he put his face into his palms. He was just hoping he could just avoid Abe much as possible and enjoy this near-perfect paradise for what it is! But, no, he has to get fucked with twenty-four-seven.
Abraham took a brief recess from his whimsical playing at the sound of abrupt yelling. With his name, to boot! How wonderful! Abe turned to face Gabe's outrage with glee. Half of it was simply toy with the firecracker of a gal. Really, he didn't care to waste his time on the Valos' tonight. He had his fair share earlier - was there blood under his fingernails? Oh god, the blood of serfs. On him. Such taint.
"I have a lot of a lot'a things, baby doll," Abe whimsically patronized, "and nerve is just the tip of the iceberg!"
"Oooooh!" Sylvia said with a cheeky grin. She poked Jake with an elbow. "It's your boyfriend, Jake, how about you go put on some makeup and say hello...?"
"Oh shut up." Jake snarled at Sylvia. He needed to stop this before it escalated, which, with two trigger happy morons, will happen in a flash. He jumped up and grabbed Gabe by the shoulder and pulled her down. "Calm down. We're already in deep shit, don't get us in anymore..."
"... I ain't-" Gabe tried to reply only to get cut off.
"That proud shit isn't going to fly here. Look around you," Jake observed everyone here, "There's like five hundred damn people here, if you start something here, we're probably going to get thrown off the island."
"My, my! And my last girlfriend said that I was self-centered!" Abraham chuckled. Man, what cute siblingry! Little firecracker getting held up by Slim Jim. Slim Jim! That's a good one. Short, skinny, unbearably greasy, and lacking in taste. "Don't flatter yourself Slim Jim, I just came around to eat something - haven't had a bite since that sashimi on board, so I'm feeling a bit peckish."
Abe's clever smile turned smug.
"If your sister or lady friend right there ain't shy though, I'd be down for eating out - if you catch my drift."
Sylvia started quietly giggling underneath her breath, putting her hand over her mouth, with a cheeky smile on her face. "... Maaaaaaybe later." She said for no reason other than to string this meat-head along. Entertaining the idea that he'll ever get close to getting with her. Sure he was a hunk, but Sylvia liked the wimpy innocent boys - Like Nicholas! The kind that she could corrupt to her heart's content.
He winked at Sylvia and walked away from the group with hearty, amused laughter. Man, what a riot those two. Now, what's here? If it's fish sticks and french fries, he's gonna throttle a punk-ass little shit. He sure didn't know what he was getting into on the way here. Some higher class food ought to be the least they could do.
Jake and Gabe watched as Abe walked away. God damn they hated that smug-ass bastard, and being trapped on an island with his ass didn't help. But whatever he was walking away, and they were just dandy with him being far away from him. Though, Gabe was going to teach him a lesson or two when there aren't so many witnesses - because they're always getting in the way. Gabe decided to distract herself with her coffee, thankfully that resistance to heat allowed her to down it like it was nothing. Still, no matter how much coffee she consumed, she was still fucking angry. At Abe... and now Sylvia.
"Sylvie," Gabe started off, oddly calm, "don't fucking fraternize with that rock bastard."
"I'm not fucking fraternizing with anyone!" Sylvia replied, "I think he's fun-nay!"
"Then why the fuck don't ya' head ova' there then?!" Gabe snarled, "Get some fucking laughs!"
"Maybe I fucking will!" Sylvia got up off the chair and marched her way over to Abe's table. What the fuck was her problem? They were like sisters... but it's not like sisters never fought. Whatever! Sylvia was going to have the bestest of all times with Abe. At least he'll treat her right!
Abraham still stood by the cafe' line. Hmm. Steak salad. Whose idea was that? A man who wants a teak turns his nose at salads, and girls who turn to salads are doing that to lose weight - because there's clearly no other reason - and putting a steak on a salad acts counter-productive to that! Ugh. The selection was poor. He looked the food once more. Seriously, back home, he could get food from one of the - oh God! Oh God! Was that a fly?! Did a fly just land on some of the food?! And the guy behind the window just waved it off!
Yeah, it's time to get out of here. Abe lft the scene with a cup of black coffee and a bag of corn chips, which he had gotten at the end of the line with a pre-packaged container of guacamole. He didn't trust the guy back there. His only experience cooking was probably in a prison. He sat down at his table, discouraged by his unexpectedly small meal.
Sylvia slid her way into Abe's table, "Heeeeeeeeeey, there," She said with a cheeky grin. "I decided to take you up on that offer." She laughed.
Abe's head perked up at the sudden arrival of a familiar voice. Oh? So it's this girl! 'Ha! Feelin' pretty sly right now.' He thought. And some of the most beautiful words ever spoken came from her lips! Yes! Booya! His meal started looking a lot bigger.
"Oh? Is that right?" Abe purred. "And what was the straw that broke the camel's back?"
"No neva', no neva', no, nev'a again, 'till I live to be a hundred or a hundred an' ten - will I be cleaning up this fucking bitch-ass hallway again!" Abraham yelled as he put down the final touches of the mopping. A sopping, half-broken mop was plunged into the soapy bucket and was wringed out in the mechanism that came with it. He had to redo this particular spot three times, probably. Over and over again, students came around tracking dirt and mud over the floor he had cleaned. By about the third time a student came through, Abe had snapped the mop over his knee and chased him down hallway with two sharp pieces of wood. The only problem being that he almost ran into sight of Adam Blackmore - Adam Bitchmore - Adumb Dickless - Dorothy Fuckabish - whatever, and was forced to make hasty retreat.
What kind of place was this, anyhow? Cleaning? Why don't they have maids or housekeepers doing this chore-work for them? Why have students do this? What kind of punishment was cleaning? Well, clearly, pretty good punishment if he was this livid about it, but cleaning? That was a million miles beneath him! A billion miles! No job suitable for a man like himself.
He pushed away the mop bucket into the nearest janitor closet and walked away in a hurry. God forbid anyone seeing him do that. Before making a clean getaway from the scene and finally grabbing a bite to eat, he did have to make quick stop somewhere first. The men's restroom. It was Jake's final chore before being let off. It'd be such a shame if that poor bastard had to redo everything. A real tragedy.
That's why he took a roll of toilet paper off its hanger and tossed it into one of the toilets... just before he pressed the lever repeatedly with his fingers a blur. Abraham ran out - no - sprinted out without even checking to see his handiwork. Yeah, fuck that getting caught noise. He was quite the runner too, racing down the hallways like a madman before taking safe refuge in his dorm at last. He looked around - it appear as if he had a roommate now. His bag? There it lay untouched, safe and sound. This is good. Of course, there was nothing there save for adobe bricks, but this was at least a good sign that his roomy knew his place.
This was turning out to be quite the evening. While he did have to clean, he finished it at a reasonable hour, sabotaged dickless' hard efforts, and nobody touched his things at the end of the day. That had to warrant a celebratory song! He went for one of the two cases under his bed. The guitar was, obviously, the superior instrument, but lugging that around brought problems. The ukulele at least had a fun, cheery factor. Now to go to the cafeteria and get some food. He plucked the ukulele from its case and strolled out the door, singing to himself an old Neil Diamond song.
"Oh, look at the way she's wavin' her sail, what a wondrous sight to see!"
What a great time the Valos are having with Ms. Davis. All their problems upon coming here are just melting away... But naturally, they can never get what they want. Gabe was disconnected from this entire stupid demonstration of Jake's amazing illusions. She put her elbow on the table and leaned into her open palm. She let out an exhale as she looked around the cafe. Which was a lot fucking harder when you were missing an eye, but she learned to live with it. Gabe's gaze directed itself to the doors of the cafe, someone just walked in and.... "Hey!" She shouted, immediately jumping out of her seat and slamming her palms onto the hard table. It was none other than Abraham Gene, the person she had a bone to pick with. It was about time someone taught him a lesson, that you can't just do what the hell you want and everyone will bend forward for you! "Gene! Ya' got a lot of nerve tryin' to fuck with one of us!"
"...What?" Jake looked around the second Gabe exploded in anger. He knew Gabe well enough that when she acts like this, he knows that she's seen someone she doesn't like. Because the concept of being subtle is alien to her. Jake whipped around towards the center of Gabe's attention - and of course. It's Abraham Gene. He can never leave Jake alone, now can he? "Oh god..." Jake said as he put his face into his palms. He was just hoping he could just avoid Abe much as possible and enjoy this near-perfect paradise for what it is! But, no, he has to get fucked with twenty-four-seven.
Abraham took a brief recess from his whimsical playing at the sound of abrupt yelling. With his name, to boot! How wonderful! Abe turned to face Gabe's outrage with glee. Half of it was simply toy with the firecracker of a gal. Really, he didn't care to waste his time on the Valos' tonight. He had his fair share earlier - was there blood under his fingernails? Oh god, the blood of serfs. On him. Such taint.
"I have a lot of a lot'a things, baby doll," Abe whimsically patronized, "and nerve is just the tip of the iceberg!"
"Oooooh!" Sylvia said with a cheeky grin. She poked Jake with an elbow. "It's your boyfriend, Jake, how about you go put on some makeup and say hello...?"
"Oh shut up." Jake snarled at Sylvia. He needed to stop this before it escalated, which, with two trigger happy morons, will happen in a flash. He jumped up and grabbed Gabe by the shoulder and pulled her down. "Calm down. We're already in deep shit, don't get us in anymore..."
"... I ain't-" Gabe tried to reply only to get cut off.
"That proud shit isn't going to fly here. Look around you," Jake observed everyone here, "There's like five hundred damn people here, if you start something here, we're probably going to get thrown off the island."
"My, my! And my last girlfriend said that I was self-centered!" Abraham chuckled. Man, what cute siblingry! Little firecracker getting held up by Slim Jim. Slim Jim! That's a good one. Short, skinny, unbearably greasy, and lacking in taste. "Don't flatter yourself Slim Jim, I just came around to eat something - haven't had a bite since that sashimi on board, so I'm feeling a bit peckish."
Abe's clever smile turned smug.
"If your sister or lady friend right there ain't shy though, I'd be down for eating out - if you catch my drift."
Sylvia started quietly giggling underneath her breath, putting her hand over her mouth, with a cheeky smile on her face. "... Maaaaaaybe later." She said for no reason other than to string this meat-head along. Entertaining the idea that he'll ever get close to getting with her. Sure he was a hunk, but Sylvia liked the wimpy innocent boys - Like Nicholas! The kind that she could corrupt to her heart's content.
He winked at Sylvia and walked away from the group with hearty, amused laughter. Man, what a riot those two. Now, what's here? If it's fish sticks and french fries, he's gonna throttle a punk-ass little shit. He sure didn't know what he was getting into on the way here. Some higher class food ought to be the least they could do.
Jake and Gabe watched as Abe walked away. God damn they hated that smug-ass bastard, and being trapped on an island with his ass didn't help. But whatever he was walking away, and they were just dandy with him being far away from him. Though, Gabe was going to teach him a lesson or two when there aren't so many witnesses - because they're always getting in the way. Gabe decided to distract herself with her coffee, thankfully that resistance to heat allowed her to down it like it was nothing. Still, no matter how much coffee she consumed, she was still fucking angry. At Abe... and now Sylvia.
"Sylvie," Gabe started off, oddly calm, "don't fucking fraternize with that rock bastard."
"I'm not fucking fraternizing with anyone!" Sylvia replied, "I think he's fun-nay!"
"Then why the fuck don't ya' head ova' there then?!" Gabe snarled, "Get some fucking laughs!"
"Maybe I fucking will!" Sylvia got up off the chair and marched her way over to Abe's table. What the fuck was her problem? They were like sisters... but it's not like sisters never fought. Whatever! Sylvia was going to have the bestest of all times with Abe. At least he'll treat her right!
Abraham still stood by the cafe' line. Hmm. Steak salad. Whose idea was that? A man who wants a teak turns his nose at salads, and girls who turn to salads are doing that to lose weight - because there's clearly no other reason - and putting a steak on a salad acts counter-productive to that! Ugh. The selection was poor. He looked the food once more. Seriously, back home, he could get food from one of the - oh God! Oh God! Was that a fly?! Did a fly just land on some of the food?! And the guy behind the window just waved it off!
Yeah, it's time to get out of here. Abe lft the scene with a cup of black coffee and a bag of corn chips, which he had gotten at the end of the line with a pre-packaged container of guacamole. He didn't trust the guy back there. His only experience cooking was probably in a prison. He sat down at his table, discouraged by his unexpectedly small meal.
Sylvia slid her way into Abe's table, "Heeeeeeeeeey, there," She said with a cheeky grin. "I decided to take you up on that offer." She laughed.
Abe's head perked up at the sudden arrival of a familiar voice. Oh? So it's this girl! 'Ha! Feelin' pretty sly right now.' He thought. And some of the most beautiful words ever spoken came from her lips! Yes! Booya! His meal started looking a lot bigger.
"Oh? Is that right?" Abe purred. "And what was the straw that broke the camel's back?"
Mia Jones
She handled the incoming comments cooly. While idiocy and snide remarks was something to warrant reciprocation, threats were easily set aside. They weren't anything that she ought to be making light of by agitating them further, but neither were they words that'd instill any sort of fear or trepidation in her. Between the sound of a young woman's warning and the cocky bastard who Mia had assumed was twirling the cute little switchblade, she remained silent and focused on the gruff man. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and leaned on her metal cane, straining her ears to hear what else this “Skeleton” fellow had to say.
To be perfectly honest, it was quite predictable.
But she had expected something only slightly different, like punching an old lady or shooting a cop. But no, buster here opted to send one of his own to test her. A woman named Reiko – a peculiar name – was to test her mettle. To see if she had what it takes. Was Reiko tall? Strong? Old or young? It wouldn't be a challenge if this Reiko girl wasn't capable of fighting back. For all intents and purposes, it might be best to assume she had a little bit of somethin'-somethin' to back up Skelly's trust.
Or maybe they weren't half the shit everybody thought they were. Even Reiko's voice sounded hesitant.
“Just the one? You're quite sure about that?” Mia shot back nonchalantly. She exhaled deeply and combed hand back through her hair. “Alright, fine by me. Let's get this over with.”
Mia didn't wait to turn around and hold open the door she came through, waiting for the woman whose ass she had to beat in order to impress these goons. If anything, she was half tempted to offer him to throw in a couple more of his boys just to even the odds. She had to admit – she almost laughed to herself at Reiko's complaint. Apparently she isn't as indispensable as she likes to think.
- - - - - - - - - -
Baron Moreau
The news, if anything, seemed to startle is old associate. On the other hand, Baron was taking it all in unearthly stride. In fact, he was mostly curious. He didn't know the nature of the gangs in this town, but if these guys were worth even half as much as the locals feared them, then perhaps they were serious business. Maybe they won't let John Frost's death go unavenged. Ivan was a hardened soldier and Baron knew that. Sure, the man has aged a couple years, but he was fairly confident that Belroth would welcome their old explosives expert back with open arms. With less time shooting people.
Just the fact that Ivan appeared so troubled was enough of an indicator. He was going through a check-list, it looked like.
“Doctor Tobias Wright.”
Baron looked over and saw Ivan's companion, who had extended his hand. It was covered in suction cups and appeared clammy. A brief half of a second of quiet contemplation with a straight poker face prior to the moment Baron steeled his nerves for the handshake. Yep. Felt just as weird as he expected. He didn't let on to his emotions and he kept a straight face: a friendly smile. That was all this situation would warrant.
“Baron Moreau.” He replied. When the server came along, Baron met her with a warm smile. Raised, piqued brows, a smile flushing either cheek and dimples on the side of his face. “No thank you, darlin'. I supply my own vintage.”
“Professor of genetics at Mendel University and Ivan's co-worker.” Toby continued.
“Psychologist.” Baron explained. “I've got work experience in medical, criminal and domestic fields - I never really left the Dreads, I suspect that Roket here told you just a little about it.”
Baron glanced at his old explosives specialist. He sure hope he told just a little about them. Speaking of who...
“So, he's a co-worker?” He asked inquisitively. “I don't recall him going into genetics. Mostly, he just...” Baron made a slow and dramatic display with his hands, expanding his hands, “made things go boom... I mean, hell, he stopped them from doing that too sometimes, but that's a different kind of adrenaline rush.”
She handled the incoming comments cooly. While idiocy and snide remarks was something to warrant reciprocation, threats were easily set aside. They weren't anything that she ought to be making light of by agitating them further, but neither were they words that'd instill any sort of fear or trepidation in her. Between the sound of a young woman's warning and the cocky bastard who Mia had assumed was twirling the cute little switchblade, she remained silent and focused on the gruff man. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and leaned on her metal cane, straining her ears to hear what else this “Skeleton” fellow had to say.
To be perfectly honest, it was quite predictable.
But she had expected something only slightly different, like punching an old lady or shooting a cop. But no, buster here opted to send one of his own to test her. A woman named Reiko – a peculiar name – was to test her mettle. To see if she had what it takes. Was Reiko tall? Strong? Old or young? It wouldn't be a challenge if this Reiko girl wasn't capable of fighting back. For all intents and purposes, it might be best to assume she had a little bit of somethin'-somethin' to back up Skelly's trust.
Or maybe they weren't half the shit everybody thought they were. Even Reiko's voice sounded hesitant.
“Just the one? You're quite sure about that?” Mia shot back nonchalantly. She exhaled deeply and combed hand back through her hair. “Alright, fine by me. Let's get this over with.”
Mia didn't wait to turn around and hold open the door she came through, waiting for the woman whose ass she had to beat in order to impress these goons. If anything, she was half tempted to offer him to throw in a couple more of his boys just to even the odds. She had to admit – she almost laughed to herself at Reiko's complaint. Apparently she isn't as indispensable as she likes to think.
- - - - - - - - - -
Baron Moreau
The news, if anything, seemed to startle is old associate. On the other hand, Baron was taking it all in unearthly stride. In fact, he was mostly curious. He didn't know the nature of the gangs in this town, but if these guys were worth even half as much as the locals feared them, then perhaps they were serious business. Maybe they won't let John Frost's death go unavenged. Ivan was a hardened soldier and Baron knew that. Sure, the man has aged a couple years, but he was fairly confident that Belroth would welcome their old explosives expert back with open arms. With less time shooting people.
Just the fact that Ivan appeared so troubled was enough of an indicator. He was going through a check-list, it looked like.
“Doctor Tobias Wright.”
Baron looked over and saw Ivan's companion, who had extended his hand. It was covered in suction cups and appeared clammy. A brief half of a second of quiet contemplation with a straight poker face prior to the moment Baron steeled his nerves for the handshake. Yep. Felt just as weird as he expected. He didn't let on to his emotions and he kept a straight face: a friendly smile. That was all this situation would warrant.
“Baron Moreau.” He replied. When the server came along, Baron met her with a warm smile. Raised, piqued brows, a smile flushing either cheek and dimples on the side of his face. “No thank you, darlin'. I supply my own vintage.”
“Professor of genetics at Mendel University and Ivan's co-worker.” Toby continued.
“Psychologist.” Baron explained. “I've got work experience in medical, criminal and domestic fields - I never really left the Dreads, I suspect that Roket here told you just a little about it.”
Baron glanced at his old explosives specialist. He sure hope he told just a little about them. Speaking of who...
“So, he's a co-worker?” He asked inquisitively. “I don't recall him going into genetics. Mostly, he just...” Baron made a slow and dramatic display with his hands, expanding his hands, “made things go boom... I mean, hell, he stopped them from doing that too sometimes, but that's a different kind of adrenaline rush.”
Mia Jones
“Oh, it's five now, pardon me.” Mia droned. Whoever had said that, they sounded like a younger boy. Barely old enough to keep down his liquor. And God be damned, he was still talking. Something about coming into the wrong place, and who or what looks like another thing, and quite frankly, Mia didn't quite care.
“Hold on to your booster seat for a moment,” she said snidely as she leaned against her cane, “I have business to discuss.”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she next heard a voice that sounded befitting of a street gang. It was gruff. Rough and tumble. But it wasn't derogatory in the same sense of the dogs out front. It was inquisitive. It spoke of authority. Seasoned years hardened by tragedy – that was a familiar sound. There was some sense of satisfaction to be found in finally getting to a place where your ambitions can be met, and to speak with someone supposedly worth the salt they weigh in.
“Yeah, you're at the right place.” Said the voice. “Who's asking?”
“I'm asking.” Mia interjected. “I've got a few bones to pick and for some reason I thought a bunch of drunks could help me with that. Or I help you, whatever. This is where I put in that clichéd back-scratching analogy.”
Then some creepazoid fucktard came along. She didn't see all the special effects, but it was the unnatural way she heard him creep in and how his tongue slithered as he spoke that made her instantly loathe him. It dripped with malice and venom and this was someone she simply didn't trust. He felt his warm, damp breath tickle her neck as he went on on his spiel about her "inner darkness". Mia clenched her fist. Come an inch closer and you're going to find out.
Thankfully, he backed off. He was making some kind of dramatic noise about how he'd let someone else take care of the rest; their leader, Skeleton. "... Just something I'd like to point out to everyone," he said dramatically, "I am going to let our leader, Skeleton, handle it from here."
So this freak of nature was just wasting her time, then. Next time he bothers her like that again, she intended on burying him beneath the pavement.
“That's good,” Mia retorted, “because I didn't come to talk to sheep.”
The sound of the metal sliding out of someone's pocket didn't escape her notice. Neither did the subtle swirling of the air, nor did the song the metal sing as it built momentum and cut the air around it. Someone was twirling a blade. How cute. If Mia could feel her eyes, she'd roll them. Instead, to convey a very similar message, she turned her head and rubbed her brows with her spare hand and sighed. “And let me add that I don't like showy tricks. If you're gonna pull a knife, I hope you're gonna try to use it.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Baron Moreau
“In the flesh! It's been some time.” Baron chimed as he straddled the bar seat and spun it around to lean his back against the bar counter. He still kept a rather youthful appearance and his attire had likely changed very little, if any, since their time in the Dreadnaughts. Truly, Baron was still apart of them. He was on paid leave. Ivan, though, he was on the bomb squad. In fact, he was the explosives expert that led the team. He knew that there was quite the amount of chemistry to be aware of in that line of work, but bombs weren't exactly Baron's forte. His forte was with people. Which in turn, if you were to look at it metaphorically, were much like time bombs themselves. His relationship was Ivan wasn't especially extensive, but they have their history. Baron was the psychiatrist. Ivan came in at some point or another and became his patient for some time. He was a pretty interesting guy to say the least.
“Oh yes,” Baron asserted, “those are for that murder up the ways. We suspect that the victim was someone from the Skulls. You and I can probably expect we won't be getting much sleep now.”
He craned his head to check out the man beside Ivan. His skin was peculiar. He seemed mutated. Another meta-human? Some were very subtle, but others, like Ivan's associate, seems to be less fortunate. There wasn't any hiding that.
“So who's your friend?” He asked.
“Oh, it's five now, pardon me.” Mia droned. Whoever had said that, they sounded like a younger boy. Barely old enough to keep down his liquor. And God be damned, he was still talking. Something about coming into the wrong place, and who or what looks like another thing, and quite frankly, Mia didn't quite care.
“Hold on to your booster seat for a moment,” she said snidely as she leaned against her cane, “I have business to discuss.”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she next heard a voice that sounded befitting of a street gang. It was gruff. Rough and tumble. But it wasn't derogatory in the same sense of the dogs out front. It was inquisitive. It spoke of authority. Seasoned years hardened by tragedy – that was a familiar sound. There was some sense of satisfaction to be found in finally getting to a place where your ambitions can be met, and to speak with someone supposedly worth the salt they weigh in.
“Yeah, you're at the right place.” Said the voice. “Who's asking?”
“I'm asking.” Mia interjected. “I've got a few bones to pick and for some reason I thought a bunch of drunks could help me with that. Or I help you, whatever. This is where I put in that clichéd back-scratching analogy.”
Then some creepazoid fucktard came along. She didn't see all the special effects, but it was the unnatural way she heard him creep in and how his tongue slithered as he spoke that made her instantly loathe him. It dripped with malice and venom and this was someone she simply didn't trust. He felt his warm, damp breath tickle her neck as he went on on his spiel about her "inner darkness". Mia clenched her fist. Come an inch closer and you're going to find out.
Thankfully, he backed off. He was making some kind of dramatic noise about how he'd let someone else take care of the rest; their leader, Skeleton. "... Just something I'd like to point out to everyone," he said dramatically, "I am going to let our leader, Skeleton, handle it from here."
So this freak of nature was just wasting her time, then. Next time he bothers her like that again, she intended on burying him beneath the pavement.
“That's good,” Mia retorted, “because I didn't come to talk to sheep.”
The sound of the metal sliding out of someone's pocket didn't escape her notice. Neither did the subtle swirling of the air, nor did the song the metal sing as it built momentum and cut the air around it. Someone was twirling a blade. How cute. If Mia could feel her eyes, she'd roll them. Instead, to convey a very similar message, she turned her head and rubbed her brows with her spare hand and sighed. “And let me add that I don't like showy tricks. If you're gonna pull a knife, I hope you're gonna try to use it.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Baron Moreau
“In the flesh! It's been some time.” Baron chimed as he straddled the bar seat and spun it around to lean his back against the bar counter. He still kept a rather youthful appearance and his attire had likely changed very little, if any, since their time in the Dreadnaughts. Truly, Baron was still apart of them. He was on paid leave. Ivan, though, he was on the bomb squad. In fact, he was the explosives expert that led the team. He knew that there was quite the amount of chemistry to be aware of in that line of work, but bombs weren't exactly Baron's forte. His forte was with people. Which in turn, if you were to look at it metaphorically, were much like time bombs themselves. His relationship was Ivan wasn't especially extensive, but they have their history. Baron was the psychiatrist. Ivan came in at some point or another and became his patient for some time. He was a pretty interesting guy to say the least.
“Oh yes,” Baron asserted, “those are for that murder up the ways. We suspect that the victim was someone from the Skulls. You and I can probably expect we won't be getting much sleep now.”
He craned his head to check out the man beside Ivan. His skin was peculiar. He seemed mutated. Another meta-human? Some were very subtle, but others, like Ivan's associate, seems to be less fortunate. There wasn't any hiding that.
“So who's your friend?” He asked.
Make that a running joke. You're the person that the bartender hates.
"Great to be back at the ol' 7-2!"
"7-6."
"Oh whatever! Hit me another one, barkeep!"
"Great to be back at the ol' 7-2!"
"7-6."
"Oh whatever! Hit me another one, barkeep!"
Baron Moreau
Blood – it was everywhere. Splatted all over the walls, the floor, with bits of gore and what only looked to be gnawed-on fragments of bone in some corners where the first responders has failed to investigate properly. Baron walked around the scene, pacing, taking all of it in. He had already scouted the surrounding area. The pool of blood was clearly the scene in which the death had occurred, but there was a chase. A struggle. In the ally, outside of which the murder had occurred, a trail of blood led the scene. Some on a dumpster. There were abnormal cracks within the brick walls. The kind of damage you only see in the north, where water seeped between the small cracks in the wall and froze, splitting it. They were all over this ally but scarce everywhere else. This part of town wasn't that old - and the murder scene seemed like the guy was put in a shredder.
There was also claw marks in the pavement. Forensic investigations found residue in the claw marks and collected it. The blood was sampled with cue tips and cotton swabs and placed in baggies. However, this murder was so fresh, even the first responders were still doing the jobs. It couldn't have been any longer than twenty minutes ago. Closer to fifteen. Three sirens flashes around the taped off scene.
The event had occurred between two meta-humans. Meta-humans were part of the reason Baron had first come to this town instead of New Orleans. The psychological insight would be invaluable. But when he arrived, he learned that the meta-humans here had actually formed two distinct, but equally dangerous street gangs that'd make the LA Bloods look like children on a playground. If Baron's hunch was right, an inter-gang altercation was the most reasonable explanation. Turf wars and so on.
“P.I.?” Asked a detective assessing the scene. It was to see if they could discover any oversights in the initial survey. “I understand that we've hired you to help us, and that you do things your own way, but we still need you to cooperate with our department.”
“Of course.” Baron replied absentmindedly. He walked over to his protégé's side, his left leg limping behind him. He was adorned in a chic outfit. From the bottom up, polished black dress shoes with dress pants. Black suspenders attached themselves to the waistband and wrapped around his lime-green oxford shirt, layered upon which was a black vest. It was an ironed outfit, free of wrinkles, and his hair was slickly gelled back as per the usual.
He took a final look at the scene before giving his assessment. “This was a chase. He must've been running for a while. He must've been followed. And I think it'd be most reasonable to suspect that this is gang activity. I found blood on the dumpster in the back of the alley. That should be a good place to check for prints.”
The detective sighed. “Got that. We'll send the forensics team over and get that sorted out. Thank you for your help.”
“It's my pleasure.” Baron added graciously.
The detective turned about and watched the scene: from forensic analysts gathering evidence and the police inspecting the area, and the remains of the body being zipped up in a body bag. “I can tell you we know that he was a Skull member. Moderately reputable, got into trouble kinda frequently. Judging from the structural damage, and the drop in temperature in the area, I have a hunch he was that John Frost thug.”
“Then it'd make sense that this was an action taken by the Vanguards.”
“Yes, it would. But the evidence we received isn't conclusive enough to give us a face, or even a name. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.”
Baron laughed jovially. “ I can imagine. And there's a lot of evidence here, yeah. Blood all over the damn place. Ever since their kind started comin' in Mendel, we've just had–”
“I dunno,” he interrupted, prompting an annoyed frown from Baron, “but Skeleton is gonna lose his shit when he hears about this one.”
“Was he a big deal?” Baron asked.
“Do I look like I hang around fuckin' gangsters? All I know is that the guy was apparently a Skull.”
“Fine, fine. Let's call it a day then. I'll ask around in the meantime. Maybe something has happened between the two parties to invite bad blood.”
“Heard that – I'll keep in touch with you.”
Baron nodded his acquaintance off and walked away on his own. There was a bar nearby. He wasn't much of a fan of bars. They did not often sell the kind of vintage that Baron was a fan of, and the atmospheres were often too rustic. However, they were the gathering places of the local savvies. There he can obtain information on his case. It wasn't Club 76 or the Jolly Roger – those two places were renowned for being the hubs of gang activity. The only reason why the department didn't storm in and fire the place up was probably the risk of losing too many officers.
No, this was a lesser known bar. More suited for those who wanted to get away from all that nonsense. To keep low. To avoid association. What better place to obtain information?
He took the bus. He payed the fare and rode it out, making sure to give people his especially suspicious face – like a smug grin, and piercing gaze. Give them the impression that Baron was watching them, or that they were his target, so that he may be alone in his seat. It was surprisingly easy. Just how tight was the grip of these gangs on this town? Perhaps solving a murder or two wasn't all that needed to be done. If he was feeling especially spry, then he ought to contemplating dismantling all criminal power here.
But that'd require effort he wasn't being payed to spend.
When he got to his stop, no time was wasted in going in and getting straight to business. He walked straight the door, and checked out what was inside. The bar was slightly dead. A couple people here and there. Almost all keeping to themselves. Lack of trust, or suspicion? Or, perhaps looking to solve out their own problems. The guy in the gray business suit? A rectangular lump in his pants, and a similar, almost identical shape in his coat pocket over his breast. The top of which stuck out, it being a phone. His brown hair, scruffy, his face unshaven. His suit, that which appeared to be regularly ironed, was unkempt. Tugged in areas. Sweat soaked in the pants and below his neck. Constantly checking his phone in his coat. What could be the reasons? Put himself in his shoes, and the answers narrow down. Huge promotion? Possibly getting fired? Feedback on a project? Or maybe he cheated on his wife or girlfriend? The smallest red speck that could be mistaken for blood on the edge of his mouth – which did gloss under the light. All one could really do is wish him the best of luck.
Or perhaps the other man, alone on a barstool. Salt and pepper hair, red skin – not so red, or the kind of red that'd be the sign of a southern man, it was a signifier of damaged skin. Thin wrinkles crawled over his body... scruffy facial hair... city-man attire... eh? No, no... maybe? Couldn't be. Or could it? Baron was, at heart, a doctor and scientist. He couldn't make exceptions. Still, God be damned if it was his old co-worker. He limped over, quietly, casually. He eased over by this stranger's side and leaned against the counter.
“So,” Baron started saying, “anything been interesting lately? Like that murder down the way. What's up with that any-who?”
- - - - - - - - - -
Mia Jones
Old, rough, plastic bristles sopped with foaming mint toothpaste, guided back and forth by a hand through a row of white, scratched teeth. Teeth, in which the enamel was nearly scrubbed off by the vigor of the stained bristles. They found their way between the crevices and the nooks and the crannies, between the first molar and second molar, and the first molar and the canine, and then the lateral and central incisors. Moving on to the other half of the mouth, the process of repeated. But it was less a process so much as it was a cycle, for a process has an end in sight. As opposed to stopping and rinsing, the brush never stopped moving. It insisted, repeating each portion of the mouth over and over. Her hand didn't wear. It continued to move in the same, loose, rhythmic pattern and did not deter, guiding the brush. With each passing movement, the bristles would brush up against the pink, irritated gums. Each pass, each notion, it brought the gums to a bleed. As the red substance found it's way down and dripped upon the woman's tongue, the brushing stopped. It stopped, but remained dormant in her mouth – that is to say, the brush. Only after a few moments was it removed and rinsed under a leaky faucet. It was followed by a pair of hands, feeling for the cold stream of water, and cupping the hands when it was found. The water was lifted and sucked up by her mouth, swished around, and spat out.
Mia would never find out what the disgusting mixture of water and toothpaste and blood looked like. She might not actually want to, but she long sought relief from the black veil. Be it a blood stained glob of toothpaste foam or the face of a law enforcement officer or a bouquet of flowers, she didn't care. It's been a long six months. The longest six months she has ever had, and she felt herself forgetting what it was like to see. She dared not pity herself though. She brought it upon herself, so she had to live with the consequences. But it sure must be wonderful seeing the world as it was meant to be... or at least outside of East Mendel. She had faint memories of this part of this city, none far too pretty. If East Mendel looked anything like how it smelled, perhaps being blind wasn't such a bad thing after all. Mia cupped her hands under the tap once more and splashed the cool water against her sticky face, and dried it with a warm hand towel, then promptly discarded it in the plastic bin below the counter.
So it was that day. A Monday, right? Keeping track of days was harder than it used to be, not being able to look at paper or digital calendars. Anything beyond keeping track of the days in her mind or asking pedestrians was out of her reach, and she wasn't prone to talking to others. No, she'd rather go about her daily life by herself with no one around to bug her. To give her time to pan out what to do with herself and her life. She did, to some extent. A rash decision, really, she knew that. The MCPD was a paranoid organization, and the gangs were as strong as military powers at this point. And the police department was sanctioned by the government itself, but they crossed so many lines. This was the day that she intended to officially set herself against them and the rest of the world, even if that meant her eventual death. She was blind in a city full of violent meta-humans, scared people, and an extremist police-force. Death was a foregone conclusion, so to her, it was more a matter of knowing where your allegiances lie before that inevitable outcome. But that thought troubled her. There was no allegiance to be had with anybody. She wasn't devoted to the Skulls, she wasn't invested in the Vanguards, her only allegiance was to herself – and that should be enough. But a meta-human or not, a blind woman can't get anything done by herself.
The whole damn world had to pay for all the shit it put on her! That was for certain. The Vanguard wouldn't be able to help her do that, being preoccupied in sucking their own collective dicks. The Skulls were their primary enemy, but hanging about a bunch of layabouts of psychopathic meta-humans put her in almost as much risk as walking into a pit of starving dogs. The idiocy of the Skulls' members aside, she could at least find the strength to tolerate them and keep them out of her way while utilizing their resources to hit the city hard. The only problem she could see – an ironic phrase in Mia's circumstance – was their willingness to let a blind woman in. Sure, she could punch her way in, but they still might see her as a liability. She can't have that. She isn't a liability! But who would listen to a desperate blind woman?
She made a rueful sigh as she slowly and carefully stepped down the staircase, her hand firmly on the rail. She felt a jagged edge and then a gap with no railing. Oh, this. Something should be done about this. She inched her way towards the wall on her left and use that to lean and feel against as she went down. There was a time that she lost her foot at the edge of one of the steps. Being the woman with super strength, the railing didn't really keep her from falling. More like it was ripped from where it was built and fell with Mia. She was lucky that no harm was done – except for the railing. It still sat outside near the door, probably damaged by termites or waterlogged or something. At reaching the bottom, she felt for her cane, which was near the door. She didn't bother to eat breakfast. Her appetite has never really been the same since Roy's death.
She took her hand and combed it through her short hair. It was black, the last she recalled. It had to have been. Most African Americans had black hair. Her hair was silky though, provided by Egyptian and Arabian genes. She had a pretty curious lineage. Mia once had grandparents. They told stories about their grandparents' grandparents – obviously a pretty old story – and how they were nomadic. From Arabia, to Egypt, and to Sudan, where the lineage stagnated a little bit before being captured by white colonials. A lot of people this generation, whom were the children of those during the third-wave social rights movement were taught such things and so did they to the next person for generations! Treat them as they did us! But Mia never did pay it much mind then, figuring it happened generations ago. The unequal treatment of individuals so many years ago did not justify revenge against the demographic of today. Just as Germany today isn't responsible for the actions of Nazi Germany nine decades ago. But these sort of political ideologies didn't concern Mia so much anymore. As active as she was in her ideologies years ago, or even seven months ago, her interest in such things diminished. There was inequality everywhere, she thought. And inequality is indiscriminate. It comes in the form of fortune to some and misfortune to others. It's only discriminate when deliberately perpetuated by men and women through action.
It was about time that Mia took action, herself. No more waiting around. No more crying. She was alone. That had to be accepted. She was strong. That had to be believed. She had the conviction to fight back, it was just the matter of summoning the strength to follow through. Her ears perk at the faintest sound of a high-pitched squeal. It was approaching West Mendel, but not towards her house. They were sirens. A couple of them. A semblance of a smile plastered her face. So, the Skulls and Vanguard were finally going at it – and in West Mendel, too. It must be quite a surprise to those Vanguard folk, having people barge down their front door like that. How offset must they be? How afraid are their members what with the department being more involved in their hijinks? The Skulls have to make a stand, she knew they know this. They're going to need brave family members. Brave family members or fools, or anyone desperate enough to get by or throw a punch at a super-powered dumbass. So it's settled, then. Mia had a plan. Drop in and offer herself right before the climax After all, they need every brave body they can get their sweaty mitts on, otherwise, perhaps their fallen comrades will remind them of that...
She felt for the crook of her cane. Feeling the sudden sensation of the cold stainless steel, she felt further up until her hand came into contact with the rubber grip. She grasped it and stood up. Now, it was time to meet with the Skulls, like she intended. She didn't think she knew anyone in particular within the street gang, only word that a childhood "associate" was among them. To this, Mia shrugs and disregards - she knew quite a few people when she was younger. An associate was not much to go on and very much likely given the close quarter environment of Mendel.
She knew what this apartment felt like, just like the back of her hand. But it had become habit. She grasped the doorknob, and with deliberate gentleness and finesse, unlocked it before turning the knob and opening the door wide. She felt the warmth of the cheap, buzzing flood-light on her porch, bathing beneath it for just a moment. The air was cool enough to warrant the old brown leather jacket that Mia never intended on leaving behind, which was layered over her black and yellow plaid button-up (the sleeves of which were rolled to her elbows, but that is a factor unable to be determined underneath her jacket). Faded, baggy boot cut jeans were basically all she owned in terms of pants, with draped over old dirty mustard colored steel-toed work boots, that was laced and tied tightly around her feet.
She didn't bother locking the door behind her. Anybody who knew anything about East Mendel knew that there is nothing worth stealing around this neighborhood. Besides that, she at least had the good fortune ("good fortune", a very much laughable term these days) of living nearby comparatively good people who sought to do nothing but survive on their own. Having keys were somewhat of a liability anyways. They made you a target. With keys, it looked like you owned something. On days that she was especially pissed off, she'd carry keys just to have an excuse to "defend" herself. Even without keys, and even without owning anything, she was still at some sort of "risk". She was a woman. She owned enough. Enough of what many men around these parts want, anyway. And how "easy" it would be to get away with "attacking" poor little Mia...
Ha. Laughable. Nearly all men that targeted her didn't know what they were getting into. Nearly. Perhaps some people are just really desperate. She must be pretty pretty, Mia figured, or that there weren't many tails to chase around here. She fortunately beat enough people into a pulp that the "dogs" around the corner don't bark at her any more. "Dogs". Going deeper into the city was a different story. She didn't go deep very often. Usually the corner store was all she needed, and going in deep usually meant drug dealers and whorehouses and gang turf - things that wasn't her type of business. As a result, some people down there see a respectably attractive blind woman with a cane, and they start staring like starving wolves. From the sounds Mia heard, it seemed there was a party just a little ways down the street from here. Over east. It was the general direction that Mia recalled hearing all of the ruckus the other day. After all, she only lived a mile off. When Mia turned the corner on the sidewalk after feeling the edge of the curb with her cane, that was when one of the starving wolves tried to make their move. It was like a tickle in her ear. A crawl up her spine. She heard the rush of footsteps from behind, and large hands feeling up her back - and just as the cold, sharp blade caressed the peach hairs of her throat, Mia flipped up her cane and hooked it around the man's head with the crook before pulling forward and downward hard.
Her assailant was effortlessly tossed aside and was flung through air before making hard and abrupt impact with the dirty asphalt road. The wind was knocked from him and he cried out nothing but muted screams as he clutched his neck with one hand and his back with the other. Mia was unfazed. She felt around the ground with her boot, before coming up what felt to be the knife he was previously carrying. A quick stomp, and the gadget was shattered and flattened, and the rusted blade crumbled in a couple pieces. Letting her cane slide down through her hand until she came back to the grip, she continued walking, following the sound of music and shouts and motorcycles. On her way there, the blind woman would have been oblivious of the wary pack of wolves that had cut her a path on the sidewalk, as they were silently still and holding their breaths as she passed - but their beer ridden stench gave them away - but she would give them the benefit of the doubt.
The smell of street party was something to behold, alright. Beer, piss, shit, bile, and poorly made deviled eggs (which were probably laced with methamphetamine - she certainly wouldn't want to eat any deviled eggs made by anyone in Mendel). The rancid odor itself was a party. There hardly seemed any need to start an actual party. Still, she needed directions to "the big five" or “four” or whatever. As they called them around here. Those were directions not lightly given unless people took you seriously, and she felt the drunken gazes of hawks on her. Hawks that were, of course, intoxicated. But regardless, their talons were still sharp. So, what was a good way to get someone willing to talk? A blind punch? Hardly. That would knock the poor bastard out. She bumped into a man, ripe and muscular and shirtless. Huh. He'd have to do. Mia quickly turned around and grabbed his arm, before gently putting him against the brick wall of a building.
"So..." Mia purred softly, "do you think you can answer a question for me?" Her hands were feeling around on his bare shoulders. Oh god. That feeling. Was that beer, vomit, or sweat? This guy was a disgusting pig.
Whatever the guy looked like, or the expression on his face to which she was blind to, it sounded as if he was a-okay with this. For he said, "Sure babe, what is it?" The guy nearly sounded excited. Skull boys were so easy. Mia finally found the spot she was looking for - the pressure point in the neck! Ever had your pressure point pinched by a gal with super strength? The man crumpled to the ground in an instant, his entire body seized and both of his hands were trying to pry himself from Mia grip - and ultimately failing to do so. "Where's the big four?"
"The bar!" He cried out and pointed. This scene of course attracted the attention of a couple people watching. Mia knew this by how the crowd came just a little more silent, where other parts in the crowd laughed - those laughing were probably more familiar with these parts and were around for longer. Those were probably the people who knew that there were some gals around here you didn't fuck with. With Mia's other hand, he felt her victim's arm and hand to see where he was pointing. Mia let go of him and followed the trail she was sent on. These wolves were a little different. They didn't cut a path for her. They were a little more hardened than the dogs on the street. Feeling around with her cane was a little more difficult with all these meatbags in the way. But she did finally come in contact with something solid, and laughter a little bit upward and forward. A strange scent joined the mixture. It was strong, and it stung her nostrils just slightly. Regardless, she scaled the two or three steps it took to get into the bar, and she heard the musings of a couple other people. Mostly men. One woman. A slightly familiar sound, but there wasn't enough of it right now to make much out of it. She leaned against a wall next to the doorway, facing the bar stools. Well, this had to be the place. Better make an impression to these bozos.
"So I heard you scrubs were the "big four"." She crowed as she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Okay, on second thought, that'd certainly make an impression. She didn't know how laid back these boys were or if they'd care - they were drunk. Anyways, she carried herself well - hopefully that was enough to mean she meant business. Certainly, Mia wanted to make business. And she had guts, if her statement said anything. Hopefully this was enough to warrant some attention from these bozos. She'd say that these guys didn't look so impressive, but that wasn't something that she would know.
It would be a badass power in comic book or story written by one person or maybe two or three people. But in roleplays, people sometimes strive to "win". We just try to avoid that by imposing certain restrictions on everyone. It's not that there's bias against or for people, we just can't take sides.
And if there's going to be a sociopath in the roleplay, I would want them to be played very well, otherwise it's a no go. It is a touchy subject and it can be hard to find the balance - you could accidentally venture into psychopath or generally aloof territory.
And if there's going to be a sociopath in the roleplay, I would want them to be played very well, otherwise it's a no go. It is a touchy subject and it can be hard to find the balance - you could accidentally venture into psychopath or generally aloof territory.
I'd push to say that there ought to be limits to her teleportation, such as distance and so on, and the sheet doesn't specify that. I'd also insist on being unable to teleport matter in places where matter already exists, since the contrary is not actually possible and would probably result in some sort of paradox that we really don't want happening in any circumstance, because that would be a very bad thing to happen. I mean, there's also the possibility of putting magnets in the intestines and thereby insta-killing somebody, but, you know, priorities. Maybe the character's disposition would prevent her from doing that, but limitations on distance and the "matter can't exist where there is already matter" issue I brought up.
Other than that, she seems to be a fairly sweet character. She's got an interesting personality, a realistic appearance, hobbies and interests that - hopefully - will remain unique through the roleplay. I want to know what her affiliations are with the Vanguard, though. Like, how does she know them, how long has she been acquainted with them, and her overall opinions of them, and so on.
Other than that, she seems to be a fairly sweet character. She's got an interesting personality, a realistic appearance, hobbies and interests that - hopefully - will remain unique through the roleplay. I want to know what her affiliations are with the Vanguard, though. Like, how does she know them, how long has she been acquainted with them, and her overall opinions of them, and so on.
I won't be available Friday evening, pretty much all of Saturday, and early Sunday afternoon. Work sure is a bitch, eh?
So I got my characters in. So, we just wait for a couple peeps and it's time to party, right?
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