Strawberry425

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

I interrupted the hell out of it. On another note, on both instances of goggles appearing in my post, I wrote "googles" instead

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

M A R C H 22ND

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"Water." I say, and the bartender's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. I wonder what type of person he pegs me for. I've just strode into the Iceberg Casino wearing a skintight latex suit created in the image of a feline, complimented by the bullwhip hanging from my hips. My goggles hang languidly from my neck, leaving my bright green eyes exposed to the tinted world of the lounge around me.

My 'secret identity' is...negligible. The reality is, my alternate identity lives the life of a nobody. Selina Kyle is a name that is very barely recorded in any legal documentation. People don't know who I am, and catching a brief glimpse of the face under the goggles won't be memorable enough for them to pin my face to the suit when, if ever, they see me walking on the streets, shopping, or something.

Stack that up with the fact that people have weird fetishes, and its a wonder more vigilantes don't walk around with their masks off. Walking down the streets of Gotham, you're bound to see some over enthusiatic wacko flouncing around with a Batman or Robin costume on. But, then again, hereos have enemies to worry about, so maybe its not such a good idea after all.

The bartender is ogling at me from the corner of his eyes, but doesn't mention anything when he slowly returns with my ice cold glass of water. I feel like such a loser. All these people, sitting around me, guzzling down their drinks as if they have all the leisure time in the world to get drunk, and party, and have sex. And they probably do. Right now, I really, really wish I had that privilege.

Holly says that, maybe, I'm too much of an extrovert. That I can't handle myself when the crowd's having fun, and I'm not. I always earnestly deny it, but some small voice in the back of my head agrees. I love the scene, I love the party. I love to be where the good things are, and get some of the good things for myself. But, I like to argue, I enjoy my solitude, when solitude is needed. Like a cat, I guess. Or a normal human being.

The bartender catches my eye as it grazes over the long line of people, in solos, pairs, and triplets, all amassed at the bar, sipping on their cold beers and margaritas, chatting happily or being relativly drunk burdens to society. He smiles at me, the corners of mustache curling up in unison with his lips.

"Water's not a popular drink," he says. I laugh, but a sour feeling settles in my stomach. He's right, and he's also tempting me.

"It's not a good idea to get tipsy before an interview," I say, and take a small sip of my water, mostly because I'm nervous and I need something to do, and I'm afraid I'll pick my cuticles far into nonexistence before Penguin shows up with his fat, crooked face.

"An interview at the Iceberg," he says, though he doesn't sound surprised, and I wonder if "interviews" are a regular thing here. I'll be honest, the Casino isn't a place I've frequented in my short twenty-four years on earth, so I'm not familiar with its generic crowd.

Normally, on a day like this, me and Holly, and even Alice, might be looking for something to do, or some place to hit. You know, what with theft being a huge part of our income. We can't afford to slack.

But this, today, is the pilfered frosting on the thief made cake.

To be honest, I'm a little shocked at how easily I've made myself find-able. It's a little surprsing Batman hasn't come knocking at my front door yet, when I've clearly left it so wide open. Either way, Oswald Cobblepot beat him to it. I was only ever approached by one, heavily tattooed, guy, but I'm going to assume Mr. Cobblepot's been posting his mobster lackeys far and wide across my turf. This guy happened to be "lucky" enough that I caught him when I did. Lucky he had something of value to say to me, too, otherwise I would have pummeled the living daylights out of him, seeing as I found him harassing one of the girls.

Long story short, I have Oswald Cobblepot's phone number, and somewhere in his grubby, fat hands, he has a smartphone with the name "Catwoman" listed as one of his contacts.

Speaking of phones.

Mine stares up at me blankly from the palm of my hand. I'm waiting for him to text me, or call, or something. He knows I'm here, and he knows where. I texted it to him, after all. It would be courteous of him to reply, but I've decided against being pushy. I don't want to mess this up.

The bartender is babbling on in the background, and I zone in just long enough to get the jest of what he's saying. I nod blankly, and when he realizes he's lost my interest (never had it, to begin with) he moves on to some other solo soul, sitting at the bar drowning their worries away in booze.

Finally at peace, I watch these ladies with the most badass thigh muscles strutting around the place in tight fitting fishnets, offering up drinks where drinks are needed, humoring half-high, half-horny men at various tables and slot machines. The Penguin certainly has a type.

My phone vibrates in my hand and the screen flashes to life.

I see you :) Order a drink. It's on me ;)

Ew. Oh my god. Gross. I actually shudder out of repulsion. His age is so totally reflected in his text. I pretend to smile at the phone screen, and then compliantly order a beer. My bartender seems satisfied with my change of heart, and bustles along to provide me with what I've asked for. In the meanwhile, my eyes scour around the lounge, look for sign or sound of my round, rippling employer.

He appears with the glory that is 'woman,' in a smooth, reflective, black suit, flanked by two of his Hulk thighed lady employees. We make eye contact, and he gives me a crooked, toothy grin. Everything about him screams 'EVIL,' from his bent and pointy nose, to his stooped walk (waddle), to his small beady eyes, set deeply in a bulldog-ish, but sharp and overweight face.

He wobbles towards me at a surprisingly fast pace, and before I know it, my hand is outstretched and engulfed in his large, warm, clammy, palms.

"Catwoman," His voice is kind of thick, like years of a cardiac negative diet has impacted even the broadness of his vocal cords.

"Mr. Cobblepot," I say slowly.

"Oswald." He raises his eyebrows expectantly, like he's waiting for me to cough off up a name, a real name. I smile politely, and in my politeness he sees my declination.

He gives me another smile, but this one is colder.

"Right down to business, then?" He says, struggling to heft himself up onto a flimsy barstool. I'm almost afraid it'll break under his weight.

I wait patiently for him to get comfortable and order a drink of his own. Then, we get down to the knitty gritty.

He gestures to one of his super thighed emloyees, and she produces a thick manilla envelop, which Penguin proceeds to ungraciously open. He fishes in the envelop for a few moments before pulling out a single piece of paper. A large image is printed in its upper right corner. It is accompanied by text describing its content, its author, and its location in the Gotham Museum.

"This is the painting," he says, sliding the paper towards me on the bar top. Its got a fancy, presumably French, name and though I don't know French, I figure, from Spanish, that it translates to something like "Liberation of the Peacocks." And I'm pretty sure one word is off there, but I like that name better, so its the one we're going with.

He watches me gazing at it for a little while, and I begin to feel a prickle of discomfort when his stare doesn't falter. We sit in silence for about thirty seconds, but it feels like several tense minutes pass by, at least on my part.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"Are you familiar with it."

"No." I reply, immediatly, before catching myself, "But snatching it should be a synch."

He nods approvingly, before waxing on, on some things I could have cared less to hear about.

"It was and is a very coveted painting. Forgeries pass around the black market ritually. It was originally owned by the Waynes, and Bruce Wayne probably still has some claim to it. Its name is French, and translates to Liberation of the Poor. Having come from an under privileged family myself, I think it suits me."

He grins wickedly. He's being sarcastic, and overall dismissive of the poor, and I hate him for it. But I humor him anyway with the most sincere looking fake smile I can muster up.

"And you don't think Bruce Wayne will want his parents' painting back?" I ask.

"Maybe." He says, with a dismissive shrug, "Bruce Wayne isn't really in the organized crime business. I doubt he'll go after you or I for this, if ever he finds out about it."

"And aren't you worried about Batman?"

"No," The Penguin says, reclining in his barstool, nearly toppling over since barstools generally don't have backrests, "Don't you worry your pretty head. I'll take care of the Batman if he comes after me. You're main concern is to get that painting"

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

The picture was requested. ;)

@Ruby

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On another note, am I free to interrupt what's going on with White Tiger and Iron Fist to post...or...shall I wait?

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

-Edgy, angsty teenage characters whose 2deep4u background and CRAAAWLING IN MY SKIIIN nature simply serves to cut my wrist with that edge, eh, fuck those.

@Unfortunately

This one, 150 million percent.

Oh right, on that note... Copious amounts of gore, extreme violence, sex, profanity, etc. isn't "mature". It's quite the opposite, actually. It's things like this that always make me assume that if an RP advertises itself as "mature" and/or "18+", whoever made it is in fact neither.

@Rin

Same.

More than anything, in my experience, excessively unrealistic and misplaced cursing and perversion are the hallmarks of a roleplayer 18 or below. In fact, I would go out on a limb and say I have a 95% accuracy rate on calling out younger roleplayers based on the amount of unnecessary cussing their character's/s' used.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

It being unavailable the other day and a recent slew of server errors scare me into believing an immenent crash is possible, though not inevitable. Basically its paranoia, but still.

@Nightrunner

Eh, the paranoia is real for me too. I've been keeping all my characters here on Guild in order to separate them from my college papers, and have been trying to keep my emails nice, clean, and clutter free, but since that little burp Guild experienced a few days ago, every character I have has been moved to, literally, every place I could possibly hide them

IRL socability and RPing

Though it has nothing to do with why I RP: I do that for the pure love of writing.

@Ruby

Same.

I would say, "A real person, who is all along the sociability spectrum,"

I once took a psychology test where they figured out, by a few lame questions, weather you were an extrovert or an introvert, not taking into consideration people's personal preferences and habits. This dumb as hell test rated me as an introvert, because I answered "not likely," to "not at all," on all the partying questions.

Because I hate parties. Which was so unfair. Because I love going out with my friends, as much as I love staying home by myself. I can't pick one more than the other which was why I chose your third option. I mean, what I consider a party is hanging with friends and guzzling down loads of good food, and going for drinks. I just do not like college parties. They're not my thing. More than likely, me and the bestie would go to one and spend all our time eating. Yum. Food is my first lover.

Either way, real life interaction has definitely influenced my roleplay to some extent or another. My small, 5' tall body, can't encompass every personality in the world, and it's always refreshing to draw inspiration from the sweetie pies and douches you meet in real life.

Err...though the fact of the matter is, by the time you're an adult, it doesn't matter how varied you see yourself, from the outside perspective, lots of adults look at you as being equally dull and boring to themselves, until you actually interact.

So varied, and glaringly obvious personalities fit more tightly into the Young Adult genre, where you're apt to meet about twenty characters, all of varying and starkly different personalities, all of who the main character can pinpoint from the beginning of their interaction as being "X" way...

But either way, I mean, yeah, again, social interaction or a lack of social interaction can totally fuel writing. It can let you see how uniform everyone acts on the outside, before you get to know them intimately, if ever. And can give you neat little starting points to create your characters around.

I would be lying if I didn't admit, that, when I wasn't quite as good at juggling my time, I used to put real world people over online people, including Guild. But, now, I think I have a healthy dose of both

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

Well I mean, if you look at it from the other side of the coin, being trans is still an integral part of a trans person's life. It defined them in a HUGE way, and its not something to be taken lightly. Some people might want to keep that special definition to the characters they make, whilst playing in a role where they feel accepted. Its a way of keeping an integral part of their personal history with them, while also having a character who is not being persecuted for the way they are. It doesn't mean they have to focus on it 24/7, but it might feel good to know you've created a character very much like yourself who isn't being targetted for the same things you are or could be experiencing.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

Posted. Just an intro. It'll be to Selina's POV next post, but I'm too tired to keep working.

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

March 19th, 2005

National Television, United States (6:00 PM)

"This transmission was transmitted through the internet several hours ago, and I warn you that the following recording is not for the faint of heart. If you have any children watching, I suggest you take them out of the room now."

Vicki Vale's pretty, red-headed, Marilyn Monroe face flashes briefly on the television screen. She's all in dark today. Dark, plum lipstick, heavy globs of almost-winged eyeliner, perfectly arched eyebrows painted so deeply black they look almost out of touch with the symmetry of Vicki's face.

"She's a hottie," Holly Robinson comments, "What I wouldn't give to bang her."

Beside her, sitting on the couch with the unnameable price-tag, is Alice Tesla. Alice snorts, but her eyes never pry away from whatever she's tinkering with to watch the news. The news is important, Holly thinks, though she's tempted to flick through the channels and find something more entertaining. If only Alice would watch with her. It's so much easier to digest something boring when you've got a friend to discuss it with. But Alice is all-together preoccupied, and could care less about what gorgeous Vale has to say.

Holly forces herself to keep watching. Vicki waves one of those elegant long arms, and the screen switches from the image of Gotham's best personal sexy journalist (take that, Lois Lane), to some symbol that Holly could care less about. A disgusting...thing raises its zombified red dome from the bottom of the screen and begins blabbering about something.

Holly wants to not listen. His face is...disconcerting. But she listens because she thinks what he says is wrong. Getting rid of the big guns...the weirdos and freaks that protect the world today...doesn't sound like a particularly good idea.

The thing ends its disagreeing speech with “Heil HYDRA," and just like that, Vicki Vale's attractive face and voluptuous lips are back on screen. Hydra sounds familiar, like something Holly learned in school, that maybe she should have paid more attention too. She dotes on it for a few moments, before her mind drifts to lighter things, and she begins pestering Tesla, who's put down her little machine. Her eyes are glued to the television screen, and Holly assumes she started listening sometime when the man was mid-way through his disgruntled complaints.

"Do you think Vicki is gay," Holly drones, and Alice, who seems tense, laughs, relaxes and sinks into the sofa.

"Why don't you ask her?" She retorts, while Vicki starts going on about the local superhero news.

"And where exactly would I meet her?"

"The broadcasting building, duh." Alice says, and Holly wants to smack herself because it's such an obvious answer.

"Just stand outside like a creep, waiting for her," the girl continues, "And when she walks out, ask her if she wants to have sex with you."

Holly bites her lower lip, resisting the urge to laugh, because she knows its a joke. Alice is blatantly smiling, because she knows it'll never work.

"Do you think she would have sex with Catwoman?" Holly asks.

"Why?...Oh. I really don't think Selina would approve of you using the catsuit for that kind of thing."

"Oh come on. Lots of people do kinky cat fantasies. Maybe Vicki'd be into it."

"If she's even gay."

"Hmm...Oh, look. Sel's boyfriend is on."

Vicki's voice dabbles on as a brief, looping video of Batman and Robin grapple hooking from building to building plays on the screen.

Just then, there's the clicking of multiple tumblers going off, coming from the front door of a loft too decked out to be real. Selina shuffles in; a big purple bruise has blossomed out under her chin, spreading from its laceration like water colors on paper. She's looks sheepish, beaten and bruised as she is, and her hands are tucked away snugly behind her back. There's a...suspicious smile on her face, mischievous, like she's done something she shouldn't have.

It's honestly not a far cry to suspect she has. Sel isn't particular about the law, especially when it applies to theft.

"What happened?" Holly and Alice ask in unison, and Selina grimaces for a moment, one of her hands reaching out from behind her back and up to her face, flitting lightly over the lash she's received under her chin.

"Some guy, trying to harass one of the girls." Selina always refers to prostitutes as "the girls," as though she has an intimate connection with every prostitute on the streets. Though, considering their blossoming reputation for saving prostitutes, it could almost be said that she deserves to refer to them that way.

"He clipped me under my chin. Left a nasty cut and this ugly ass bruise."

"Aw, poor baby," Holly says, and flits off the couch to go peck Sel ever so lightly on the lips.

"You guys are weird." Alice comments, though not in a nasty way, "To be friends, or not to be friends," she murmurs, more to herself than the Catwomen.

Both ladies smirk, but don't say anything about it. Their relationship has always been "weird."

"So," Holly says, "Where's the dough."

"Well," Selina eyes the ceiling for a little while, then, slowly, pulls out from behind her a small bundle of gray and white.

"No, please, please no." Holly says, and Alice is shaking her head. There's the part that hasn't been mentioned yet. The cats. All the cat, slinking around in the unknown corners of the loft, coming and going as they please, from the open window in Selina's room.

"You're an impulse buyer, Selina."

"I didn't buy her, I found her." She shoves the small kitten in Holly hands, who grimaces, but cradles the animal like a human infant anyway. There's no merit in being cruel to animals.

"We've never had a kitten before." Alice says, as the woman make their way to the couch, where they, all three, squish together comfortably to continue watching T.V. The kitten settles happily in Holly's lap, and jealous Isis, Selina's naked molerat of a cat, comes and curls herself up on her master's lap.

"Where's the other dough," Holly asked, and Selina grins, zipping down her suit and sticking her hand in her bra to reveal...taadaa...an amalgamation of jewelry.

"I hope you don't have earring in there," Holly mutters, and Selina rolls her eyes, extracting from her suit's pocket a variety of studs and loosing hanging ear jewelry.

"Hmm, who'd you hit this time."

"Some big gothamite. I don't even know his name, but he's loaded up his wife with all sorts of trinkets to keep her happy. But, I guess she won't be so happy tonight. Oh," Selina's emerald eyes light up like jewelry reflecting sunlight, "Something momentous, did happen."

Holly raises an arched eyebrow, and Selina continues, "Penguin's contact me," she says nonchalantly, though the excitement is reflected in her jittery hands, that can't stop pulling at Isis's pink ears, "Wants to meet up with me some time soon. He said...he has a job for me. Something only Catwoman can do."

"Ohh," Holly drawls, "This should be interesting."

Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED

Much better than having the inverse problem!

@Morden Man

BUT I WANT TO KNOWWWW WHAT'S HAPPENING

<Snipped quote by Strawberry425>

You can always send me a PM if you wanna chat or something... just an offer. Maybe I'll be able to keep up with the OOC better. Most of it has been an argument about letting magna characters in - which ended up as a "no."

@lydyn

I'll keep that in mind, and if I get lost again, I'll PM you first.