C W St J Nobbs Member
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I read this again today. I misses it...
beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I'll move my car. Jesus..."
In other words:
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I'll move my car. Jesus..."
In other words:
This appeals to me!
Yes. I will do this.
Solomon Grundy
Grundy had made it back to the sewers without running into anything that gave him too much trouble. He was...so bored. Battling those heroes had given him a boost for the first time in hundreds of years, and now that it was gone, he wanted it back. He would do anything to get it back. It would be difficult to really catch their attention like he had earlier. After all, it was a huge city and it would be no small task finding them. Perhaps he would just have to force them to come to him. He knew just how to do it.
He went through the winding, flooded metro tunnels until he got to where he kept what he called his rainy day craft kit. He began moving the train debris and huge rocks that he kept over the wall until he had enough room to squeeze in. It was a reasonably large room filled with crates. Criminals always wanted to keep their illegal things hidden in the sewers and abandoned tunnels and Grundy thought that it was only fair they pay rent to use his space. It was usually only guns, bullets, fuel and boring things like that, but it he knew it would be useful one day. Especially what he kept in the stainless steel lock box in the very back corner.
He went to it and opened the lid. Nestled inside were ten canisters with the biohazard symbol pressed into the side. He took out one of the canisters and unscrewed the top. Inside was something no larger than a bottle of water with swirling blue gas inside. He didn't know how mobsters got their grubby hands on nerve gas, but that wasn't his concern. He had taken all of it, not willing to let such a glorious opportunity slip by. He had used gas before, but it was mostly old Soviet stuff that militias kept stored. This was new. Someone had to know someone who was willing to accept millions of dollars in exchange for just as many lives to get their hands on this.
He grabbed two canisters and sealed the rest back into the box. He wanted to get attention, not destroy the entire city. He grabbed some bombs also, and then stacked the debris back in front of his little side-room of horrors. He read the writing on the canisters out loud to himself as he made his way back to the surface.
“ 'Warning: Highly volatile nerve agent. If it comes in contact with...'blah, blah, blah, skip to the interesting parts...Ooooooooh, 'will cause immediate paralysis, followed suddenly by liquidation of the respiratory system and hemorrhaging. Handle with extreme care' blah, blah, blah, blah 'optimal deployment will be achieved with a V-36 cruise missle', unfortunately I don't think the mobsters ever got a hold of one of those. I suppose all this C4 will have to do. Pity I don't have any uranium. No, mustn’t be greedy. The nerve gas is necessary, the dirty bomb would just be your vanity project.”
As he climbed through the tunnels, careful not to waste any of his precious gas on the way, the thought of how would the heroes know to come down into the sewers after him did enter his mind. He disregarded it. They were probably intelligent. He had faith in their abilities to find him.
Grundy had made it back to the sewers without running into anything that gave him too much trouble. He was...so bored. Battling those heroes had given him a boost for the first time in hundreds of years, and now that it was gone, he wanted it back. He would do anything to get it back. It would be difficult to really catch their attention like he had earlier. After all, it was a huge city and it would be no small task finding them. Perhaps he would just have to force them to come to him. He knew just how to do it.
He went through the winding, flooded metro tunnels until he got to where he kept what he called his rainy day craft kit. He began moving the train debris and huge rocks that he kept over the wall until he had enough room to squeeze in. It was a reasonably large room filled with crates. Criminals always wanted to keep their illegal things hidden in the sewers and abandoned tunnels and Grundy thought that it was only fair they pay rent to use his space. It was usually only guns, bullets, fuel and boring things like that, but it he knew it would be useful one day. Especially what he kept in the stainless steel lock box in the very back corner.
He went to it and opened the lid. Nestled inside were ten canisters with the biohazard symbol pressed into the side. He took out one of the canisters and unscrewed the top. Inside was something no larger than a bottle of water with swirling blue gas inside. He didn't know how mobsters got their grubby hands on nerve gas, but that wasn't his concern. He had taken all of it, not willing to let such a glorious opportunity slip by. He had used gas before, but it was mostly old Soviet stuff that militias kept stored. This was new. Someone had to know someone who was willing to accept millions of dollars in exchange for just as many lives to get their hands on this.
He grabbed two canisters and sealed the rest back into the box. He wanted to get attention, not destroy the entire city. He grabbed some bombs also, and then stacked the debris back in front of his little side-room of horrors. He read the writing on the canisters out loud to himself as he made his way back to the surface.
“ 'Warning: Highly volatile nerve agent. If it comes in contact with...'blah, blah, blah, skip to the interesting parts...Ooooooooh, 'will cause immediate paralysis, followed suddenly by liquidation of the respiratory system and hemorrhaging. Handle with extreme care' blah, blah, blah, blah 'optimal deployment will be achieved with a V-36 cruise missle', unfortunately I don't think the mobsters ever got a hold of one of those. I suppose all this C4 will have to do. Pity I don't have any uranium. No, mustn’t be greedy. The nerve gas is necessary, the dirty bomb would just be your vanity project.”
As he climbed through the tunnels, careful not to waste any of his precious gas on the way, the thought of how would the heroes know to come down into the sewers after him did enter his mind. He disregarded it. They were probably intelligent. He had faith in their abilities to find him.
YES! Many of my RPs have died recently, so I absolutely want to RP what sounds like Gears of War, but with Pokemon.
EDIT: To be clear, this is not sarcasm. I'm genuinely interested in this RP. I'm so used to sarcasm in my day-to-day that sometimes I'm overbearingly sarcastic without realizing it. Once again, totally sincere.
EDIT: To be clear, this is not sarcasm. I'm genuinely interested in this RP. I'm so used to sarcasm in my day-to-day that sometimes I'm overbearingly sarcastic without realizing it. Once again, totally sincere.
Curtis woke up, not really remembering what had happened the night before. Not any cause for alarm in and of itself, but he couldn't remember drinking the night before. Occasionally, Curtis would drink so much that he would forget about drinking, but he wasn't hungover, so that theory went out the window. He hadn't been on any serious drugs either. But he felt just fine, and he didn't have any marks that weren't already there before. Except for a bracelet. It was simple, just a thick leather band with a polished white stone that must have been glued on, because Curtis didn't see any seams on the bracelet. It was one of those kinds that slipped one and off your wrist, which was all well and good save for a few key details. 1) Curtis could not recall ever owning this bracelet before this morning and 2) it was smaller than his hand was, which made him wonder how it was put on. It was one continuous band of leather, so it wasn't like it could be snapped on and off at will.
It was a dilemma, so he thought back to the night before. He remembered going to Muay Thai. Yes, that was a thing that definitely happened. Then he rolled a joint and smoked it with some of the other guys from his class. That was also a thing which had definitely happened. So far, so good. Then he rolled another joint and went to smoke it in the park. Okay. Yes. Good. This was going well. And then as he walked back towards campus, he ran into a group of people that he knew from classes aaaaaaaaaaand woke up with a mystery bracelet. He had been smoking the same weed for weeks, so he knew it wasn't strong enough to cause him to black out.
And it didn't matter how strong the weed was, it certainly didn't manifest a bracelet. It didn't look bad, and it was actually very pleasant to wear. It had a reassuring weight to it, enough to convince him that he wasn't just making it up in his head. The stone was pleasant to touch, it felt like there was something warm in it. It didn't matter. Weirder shit had almost certainly happened to him before, and he survived that just fine so he didn't see why a bracelet should be such an area of concern. He grabbed himself something quick to eat and walked out of his apartment to get the bus to campus. Maybe he would even run into some of the people he was with last night and they would remember how Curtis had acquired his newest piece of flair.
It was a dilemma, so he thought back to the night before. He remembered going to Muay Thai. Yes, that was a thing that definitely happened. Then he rolled a joint and smoked it with some of the other guys from his class. That was also a thing which had definitely happened. So far, so good. Then he rolled another joint and went to smoke it in the park. Okay. Yes. Good. This was going well. And then as he walked back towards campus, he ran into a group of people that he knew from classes aaaaaaaaaaand woke up with a mystery bracelet. He had been smoking the same weed for weeks, so he knew it wasn't strong enough to cause him to black out.
And it didn't matter how strong the weed was, it certainly didn't manifest a bracelet. It didn't look bad, and it was actually very pleasant to wear. It had a reassuring weight to it, enough to convince him that he wasn't just making it up in his head. The stone was pleasant to touch, it felt like there was something warm in it. It didn't matter. Weirder shit had almost certainly happened to him before, and he survived that just fine so he didn't see why a bracelet should be such an area of concern. He grabbed himself something quick to eat and walked out of his apartment to get the bus to campus. Maybe he would even run into some of the people he was with last night and they would remember how Curtis had acquired his newest piece of flair.
Light. Blinding, painful light. Solomon Grundy sat up and tore the thin body bag away from him like a veil. He saw they hadn't moved him yet, and his other two victims were neatly tucked into body bags on either side of him. The scene of his battle earlier had been carefully cordoned off, with little pieces of numbered plastic around areas of interest. The ray gun was sectioned off with string, as was the holes in the wall and the ground. He felt...something hanging off the side of his head that wasn't there before. He reached up and felt a leathery flap. They had tried to cut his mask off. If his lips hadn't shriveled away long ago, he would have smiled. He imagined that it was the thought that counted.
His battle had been enjoyable. He wasn't expecting to fight a dragon and was pleasantly surprised when the young girl changed into one. He had become so bored with killing regular humans that he relished the challenge that she presented. The parents were interesting, but hadn't quite been the challenge that he had been looking for. But this girl would do nicely. Maybe her pet freak would even like to play along. But for now, the pain was back, worse than he could ever remember it being. Perhaps it was a sign of how close to death he had come. He wasn't even sure he had the energy to hunt, but thankfully someone had prepared a to-go order for him.
“Freeze!” someone shouted from behind him. Grundy turned to face a police officer, his wavering gun trained on Grundy.
“You're lucky that I'm in a charitable mood,” Grundy said as he turned back and picked up both body bags, grasping one under each arm. “I think I'll let you live.”
He began to walk away and was crouched down to jump off when he heard a distinct “pop, pop” and felt like he had been punched. He dropped the corpses and turned to the officer, whose eyes had expanded to white orbs of pure fear.
“On second thought, I haven't eaten all day. I probably earned an extra snack."
His battle had been enjoyable. He wasn't expecting to fight a dragon and was pleasantly surprised when the young girl changed into one. He had become so bored with killing regular humans that he relished the challenge that she presented. The parents were interesting, but hadn't quite been the challenge that he had been looking for. But this girl would do nicely. Maybe her pet freak would even like to play along. But for now, the pain was back, worse than he could ever remember it being. Perhaps it was a sign of how close to death he had come. He wasn't even sure he had the energy to hunt, but thankfully someone had prepared a to-go order for him.
“Freeze!” someone shouted from behind him. Grundy turned to face a police officer, his wavering gun trained on Grundy.
“You're lucky that I'm in a charitable mood,” Grundy said as he turned back and picked up both body bags, grasping one under each arm. “I think I'll let you live.”
He began to walk away and was crouched down to jump off when he heard a distinct “pop, pop” and felt like he had been punched. He dropped the corpses and turned to the officer, whose eyes had expanded to white orbs of pure fear.
“On second thought, I haven't eaten all day. I probably earned an extra snack."
As soon as the group had settled at a table, Vladimir called out to a server.
“I am going to need you to immediately bring me two—no, three, bottles of hot sake and two bottles of sapporo and fuck it, I need a martini too.”
The server's eyes bulged out of her head a bit as she wrote down Vladimir's monstrous drink order and then scurried off.
“Are you even going to eat anything?” Raleigh asked, the first person to break the stunned silence around the table.
“I dunno, we'll see how the night goes.” Vladimir said as he dug for his pack of cigarettes.
“You smoke?” Iris asked as he clamped a cigarette in his mouth.
“I'm sorry, I didn't know we took a group trip to the Spanish Inquisition.”
“How drunk are you?”
“I may have had a pint of rum before I came to the room, what of it?”
“Just...don't start any fights.”
“We'll see how the night goes,” he responded as his drink order was brought over by two servers and put in front of him. He immediately alternated between gulps of sake and beer until the first bottle of each was gone. He picked up the second bottle of sake and chugged the entire thing as the people around the table stared in a sort of horrified awe. His friends had seen him drink, and were probably just amazed that he had gotten faster, while he couldn't help but think the new Rangers they were with were probably equal parts horrified and amazed, maybe the needle pulling a bit more towards the horrified side of things.
“I am going to need you to immediately bring me two—no, three, bottles of hot sake and two bottles of sapporo and fuck it, I need a martini too.”
The server's eyes bulged out of her head a bit as she wrote down Vladimir's monstrous drink order and then scurried off.
“Are you even going to eat anything?” Raleigh asked, the first person to break the stunned silence around the table.
“I dunno, we'll see how the night goes.” Vladimir said as he dug for his pack of cigarettes.
“You smoke?” Iris asked as he clamped a cigarette in his mouth.
“I'm sorry, I didn't know we took a group trip to the Spanish Inquisition.”
“How drunk are you?”
“I may have had a pint of rum before I came to the room, what of it?”
“Just...don't start any fights.”
“We'll see how the night goes,” he responded as his drink order was brought over by two servers and put in front of him. He immediately alternated between gulps of sake and beer until the first bottle of each was gone. He picked up the second bottle of sake and chugged the entire thing as the people around the table stared in a sort of horrified awe. His friends had seen him drink, and were probably just amazed that he had gotten faster, while he couldn't help but think the new Rangers they were with were probably equal parts horrified and amazed, maybe the needle pulling a bit more towards the horrified side of things.
Lonan made it through DADA without vomiting all over his books, but the professor recognized that he was hungover, so she called on him all class. It was a valid strategy for her to make an example of him to the rest of the class about the perils of drinking before class, but Lonan was able to answer all of the questions after she asked him three or four times. When he told his friends that he could probably do that shit in his sleep, he really wasn't kidding. It was a shame that Lonan didn't have the dedication to be an Auror, because he definitely had the intelligence. Even his brothers admitted that Lonan could pull it off if he wanted.
He struggled through potions, but Slughorn had come through and gave him a hangover potion when Lonan pretended to care what Slughorn had done during the summer. He let his mind wander for most of it, making note of the fact that Slughorn had invited him to another one of those God awful parties. He hated how Slughorn made him feel like pea plant in Mendel's garden, but the food was good and Slughorn never made too big of a fuss when Lonan started drinking booze so he would go.
The rest of his day went by pretty smoothly, but now he was going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures because Professor Weasley had kept him after class. He wasn't in trouble, but Professor Weasley never could resist the opportunity to talk with Lonan about muggle rock music. It fascinated him. You'd think Lonan was giving instructions on how to mass produce Philosopher's Stones, the way he sat at the edge of his seat, eyes as wide as a child seeing someone fly on a broomstick for the first time. Last year Lonan had given Professor Weasley his Deep Purple albums to listen to, which had gone over phenomenally. The Professor looked like he was ready to cry when Lonan explained that the band no longer toured, or even existed.
The Professor had heard Black Sabbath while in London over the summer, and asked Lonan if he had any records he could loan him, which caused Lonan to laugh so hard that he almost passed out. He promised that he would have his brother mail him all the records, deciding to explain to cross the Ozzy/Dio bridge when the time came, and headed out to the grounds.
He hated Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't care how to take care of whatever rare, stupid creature Loony Lovegood was going to pull out for them to see. The proper way to take care of a firecrab was not something Lonan could even pretend to give a flying fuck about, but Lovegood never seemed to notice Lonan not paying attention. Or she never said anything if she ever did. Hector and Zelda had both taken Divination, and had told Lonan to try and switch so they could at least suffer together, but Lonan would take being outside to whatever the sickly sweet perfume the Divinations teacher sprayed around the room. He had been up in the tower once and had only made it five minutes before he felt like he was going to hack his lungs out, which was only an experience he enjoyed when he was smoking really, really good weed.
He could see Lovegood was already in front of the students talking to them, but he figured she probably wouldn't even notice that he had been late. And if she did, he would tell her to speak with Professor Weasley about it, who was probably still giddy at the thought of listening to more Black Sabbath.
He struggled through potions, but Slughorn had come through and gave him a hangover potion when Lonan pretended to care what Slughorn had done during the summer. He let his mind wander for most of it, making note of the fact that Slughorn had invited him to another one of those God awful parties. He hated how Slughorn made him feel like pea plant in Mendel's garden, but the food was good and Slughorn never made too big of a fuss when Lonan started drinking booze so he would go.
The rest of his day went by pretty smoothly, but now he was going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures because Professor Weasley had kept him after class. He wasn't in trouble, but Professor Weasley never could resist the opportunity to talk with Lonan about muggle rock music. It fascinated him. You'd think Lonan was giving instructions on how to mass produce Philosopher's Stones, the way he sat at the edge of his seat, eyes as wide as a child seeing someone fly on a broomstick for the first time. Last year Lonan had given Professor Weasley his Deep Purple albums to listen to, which had gone over phenomenally. The Professor looked like he was ready to cry when Lonan explained that the band no longer toured, or even existed.
The Professor had heard Black Sabbath while in London over the summer, and asked Lonan if he had any records he could loan him, which caused Lonan to laugh so hard that he almost passed out. He promised that he would have his brother mail him all the records, deciding to explain to cross the Ozzy/Dio bridge when the time came, and headed out to the grounds.
He hated Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't care how to take care of whatever rare, stupid creature Loony Lovegood was going to pull out for them to see. The proper way to take care of a firecrab was not something Lonan could even pretend to give a flying fuck about, but Lovegood never seemed to notice Lonan not paying attention. Or she never said anything if she ever did. Hector and Zelda had both taken Divination, and had told Lonan to try and switch so they could at least suffer together, but Lonan would take being outside to whatever the sickly sweet perfume the Divinations teacher sprayed around the room. He had been up in the tower once and had only made it five minutes before he felt like he was going to hack his lungs out, which was only an experience he enjoyed when he was smoking really, really good weed.
He could see Lovegood was already in front of the students talking to them, but he figured she probably wouldn't even notice that he had been late. And if she did, he would tell her to speak with Professor Weasley about it, who was probably still giddy at the thought of listening to more Black Sabbath.
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