[center][img]https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/9/99/MoonKnight.png/revision/latest?cb=20150218201439[/img][/center] A figure staggers around in the snow. Stumbles. Grumbles. Mumbles. And picks himself up as well as the small axe and firewood he has been collecting. Ol’ Charlie doesn’t say much to most folks, unless he travels into town to see them himself first. He calls to another Charlie, and a thin greyhound with mixed coloured eyes bounces through the snow wearing a makeshift jumper made from the larger Charlie’s own clothes. Charlie found the dog taking out a pack of wolves with no idea how it found its way this far north. The fast greyhound had run, stretching out the pack and isolating front runners, which he then mercilessly attacked, before running again to put distance between them. Charlie remembered when he first saw the dog. It’s right eye cloudy as the moon with a cataract, and at night time its eyes would glow - one a piercing blue and the other green. Maybe it was a lack of creativity, or maybe it was that Ol’ Charlie saw so much of the man he had become in the dog, that he gave him the same name (or maybe it was even that his “own name” wasn’t really his own in the first place and a combination of these factors). The two Charlie’s got to the house on opposite sides of the energy spectrum. The man ambled in and carefully removed his heavy coat, hanging it on a hook by the door, whilst the dog bounced through, shook off the cold, wet snow, stretched as if further exercise was required and shook its ears. [color=a36209]“Warm up, Charlie.”[/color] On command the dog lay down on the heavy bear skin by the fireplace. [color=a36209]“Attaboy Charlie. I’m just going to run into town.”[/color] He needn’t have said anything. The dog was already flopped on one side on the bearskin and planning to sleep. Head tilted in semi-interest as Ol’ Charlie turned the door handle. Charlie jumped in his pickup and headed to town. A full moon was coming and he wanted to make sure he was all stocked up for the coming days with food for his friend of the same name. He stopped by the bar and had two brews, shooting the shit and finding out what was new with the bartender. Her name was Topaz and she was running from something down south as well. He didn’t know what, but only one name and living out here was the giveaway. She knew he was running from something as well for the same reason. She just didn’t know what. They shared a kinship, and a couple of nights a month, a bed. But how much of that came down to convenience and lack of alternatives in a “city” of fifteen, neither of them knew nor cared. Charlie picked up more dog food and drove his pickup back home, carefully through the snow. He fed his namesake and started to prepare his own kennel. He dragged blankets and bedding into the cell, he went to the toilet and then patted his dog one more time. He pulled the heavy door with the timelock closed behind him and sat on his bedding and waited for the transformation to come. He breathed calmly as he felt it wash over him. He grew on his haunches. Sinew and bone twisted. With the safety of the cell, the werewolf formerly known as Jack Russell had been able to take much of the trauma out of the curse and its changes. Without fighting it, much of the pain involved dissipated. Gone was the man, replaced by the wolf. As he alway would he tried his luck against the walls and hurt his claws in the process on the cell’s pure silver interior. He walked around the cell inspecting every wall, before howling at the unfairness of it all. The soundproofing of the cell - whilst very good - was not total, and a muffled howl could be heard around the cabin. Having finished his food Charlie would search for the sound, and sensing an unseen friend would jump onto the timelocked door with his front paws and return the howl himself. Two Charlies baying for one another across time and a foot and a half of steel and silver. Eventually the pair would both curl up and sleep on opposite sides of the thick door, as the timelock ticked down to their impending reunion. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] Flint sat in the breakroom. His partner Gwynn was in the can. The television in the breakroom had cut from some 80s sitcom to a press conference at City Hall. Flint turned the volume up, to the chagrin of some of the other officers… [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] “Look, whatever you do... Don’t announce your intent to run.” Benson said, as he straightened the Deputy Mayor’s tie. “Mmm.” Carson Knowles grunted, side-tracked as he went through his own speech. “I’m serious! You don’t want to give these people enough runway to get off a good counter-campaign and make you unelectable.” “Benson,” Knowles began, an air of entitled superiority thick in his voice, “I’m an army hero, with six years experience as Deputy Mayor and another three years of experience as Chicago’s District Attorney. I have an unblemished military career with honours, the experience to hold office and the name to go with it from when my father held the role. My resume speaks for itself.” “Just… Listen to me and don’t make our job any harder. OK?” “Fine.” The podium was currently feeling the weight of the Police Superintendent as he fielded questions regarding the recent scourge of animal attacks, until the media put forward a direct question about the Knight in White who had been using moon shaped darts and equipment. Knowles took this as his cue and stepped to the podium as the representative from the Mayor’s office. “I’m glad to field this one for you… Chicago prides itself on progressive policy. And looking at the current trends for crime, the current Administration believes that we the people deserve a police force that will take all the help they can get. Whether that be amongst their own ranks, or from a private citizen determined to make this city, THIS WORLD, a better place.” He held expertly for a public round of applause. “And that’s why, even though this Moon Knight is yet to release a public statement, this administration would like to announce that they stand with him on this great endeavour for a better Chicago for tomorrow! We see the heroes who stood, no STAND in front of villains like that Silver Surfer and his tyrannical master, and say WE WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS ANYMORE!” More applause. “We will--” “So does that mean you’ll be throwing your own hat in the ring at this next Mayoral election?” A man with a press lanyard yelled from the front. Knowles snapped briefly and glared at the interruption for a half second before re-composing himself. “We’re not here to talk about hypotheticals of who may or may not be running for office in the upcoming election.” “Wow. That’s a solid side-step and a non-answer.” He replied. “It’s an expert deflection from a highly competent Deputy Mayor who’s looking to get thing back on the topic at hand, which is that this administration is getting behind our own local…” “And when you say this Administration… are you referring to one that you will be leading? How else could you claim to speak for them? Or will the Mayor also be saying this?” The man in the press lanyard got even more stubborn with his questioning. A smirk crossed Carson Knowles face. He’d been expertly backed into a corner. He grabbed the sides of the podium and tapped it, considering his next move. “Yes, I suppose you are right on that. After many years of service to both this city and this great Nation, I will be running for Mayor this spring. And in that Administration, we plan to continue our ongoing support of this great HERO. The Moon Knight of Chicago!” More cheering, and Carson Knowles took the opportunity to wave for photos and interject himself throughout. Away from cameras and prying eyes, Carson Knowles would slip the man in the press lanyard a paper envelope with several thousand dollars inside. Flint turned off the tv to even more complaints than when he turned the volume up. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] The Windy City. Our city. No better place for a man with a glider cape. I’ve been staking out gang behaviour in the Upper West Side. A bunch of Irish mob thugs calling themselves the Whyos have been looking to stake a claim. They’ve been running guns through and flouting local laws. If I can take them down, I’ll not only make the streets safer for the average Chicagoan but I’ll make my own goals that much easier as I take a good sized consortment off the street. A beautiful woman waiting for me at home, my best friend watching on from above and I feel complete - as stable as I have for a long time. Life is good. Less so for the Whyos. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center]