Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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Marielle, France. April 24th 1965.

“Your safety is our priority. It has been from day one. As Quetzal Garantir grows we find ourselves asking: how can we do more? Everyone can always do more, it’s just a matter of finding out how to push themselves. And we are pushing ourselves to new heights, spreading our wings even further, to fly where no man has flown before!”

“The moon!” cried a journalist, prompting a bout of laughter.

“Leave the moon to the Americans! They can compensate all they want to match the Soviets, but we here are flying our own way. We may secure those who expect trouble, but trouble is often unexpected! And so, we have partnered with the city to keep a watchful eye, as our patented security enforcement technology will be finding itself in the hands of your local defenders of peace: the Marielle police force!” The crowd cheered, their clapping persisting as a decorated man with a mustache entered, the police officer marching up to the green suited man giving the press conference, the clicking of cameras shuttering clearly audible. The two shook hands and smiled, before the microphone podium was turned over to him.

“The Marielle police department is very pleased to be working with Quetzal, and we will be rolling out a special, experimental unit the coming August. And once we have those men on the streets, this city will officially possess the most futuristic and advance police force worldwide.”

More applause sounding, the officer stepped back, the spokesman stepping back to the stage. “Now, we will be accepting questions shortly, but we have one more guest joining us!” the man raised his head and outstretched his arm, eyes intent on something. There were a few moments of quiet, some heads turning to try and look. From the roof of a nearby building, a grapple shot out, clinging to the town hall structure surrounding the outdoor stage. With a flash of green, a figure swooped down, dark green cape billowing in its wake, layered to resemble feathers. Grapple dispersing, the cape billowed, catching air and slowing the fall, the form rolling onto the stage, nailing a knee before standing upright. Dark green surrounding light, cowl possessing a hooked nose over a visible face with a wide smile, gloves and boots a dim red, “Jade-aile has landed! Representing Quetzal Garantir is the world’s first and foremost, real life superhero.” Applause and awe followed as Jade reached the podium, standing resolute. “Grégorie Marchand, son of CEO Abelin Marchand, has taken it upon himself to learn how our equipment works, and stands before you today as ready to fight to fight as any! Now, we will take questions, starting with-”

The spokesman was cut off, Jade’s elbow nudging him in the side. Smiling it off, he said, “The police chief will take the helm and I will join him in just a moment.” Stepping away with Jade-aile, the two stood by the podium, whispering to each other while maintaining smiles.

“You revealed my identity to everyone.”

The spokesman snorted, “What?”

“My identity! My secret identity!”

“What? What’s so secret about it?”

“Well, nothing now.”

The spokesman studied him for a moment before turning back to the crowd. “You thought it was real? My god man.”

Grég’s head whipped over to him for a moment, before he turned back to the crowd. “W-well I-I-I...what was all that training for then!?”

“For that grand entrance just now, and other equipment showcases later. We didn’t get that outfit so you could wear it once. You’re a publicity stunt my boy, smile and enjoy it while it lasts.”

Brusque words putting Grég off, he could feel his heart draining as he continued the smiles and waves, joining the spokesman as they took to the podium, feeling rather low. Plucked of feathers, one could say.

New York, United States of America

“Would you like paper or plastic?” Clacking register keys, the brunette held a naked, packaged chicken as she hovered, waiting for the elderly customer to make her choice.

“Decide fer yerself,” she answered. Nametag reading ‘Tiffany’, she took a paper bag, stating, “Well if I can choose, then I will.” Continuing to ring up groceries, she went about completing the transaction. The lady taking her leave, Tiffany was left with no further customers in her line. Rapping her fingers on the side of her register, a curly haired blonde approached, speaking, “Yer shifts almost over and it’s pretty quiet. You can leave early if you like.”

Returning a smile, Tiffany took the hint. “I think I will then.” Counting out the register, Tiffany punched out in the employee room, taking off her nametag and throwing on a gray coat. Freed from work, the woman truly called Tatyanna put her hands into her pockets, arm looped around a purse as she went out, brushing past a shirky man on her way out, the only one who really noticed her leaving, coworkers distracted with gossip. Hanging back, Tat floated around the doorway, neck craning to watch as the man moved past the shopping carts, hanging straight for the register. Her heartbeat pumped up as the man pointing a pistol at her coworkers, demanding, “Scream and I shoot. Now open the register. All of them.”

The girls tittering in fear, Tatyanna went low, keeping out of sight as she dropped down to sneak behind one of the other checkstands. The robber’s attention kept going back to the door, waiting for someone else to enter the supermarket, but this early in the morning it was still quiet. Still on all fours, Tatyanna was overcome with a burst of speed, scrambling several lanes over and skidding to a stop, grabbing onto the side of one of the checklanes to keep from stumbling into view of the robber, who glanced back to the door at the noise. Looking back at the girls, he waved his gun, demanding, “Next register.”

The three circling around, moving back the way Tat had come, she angled herself and turned around, watching them through the faint reflection of the window. The two going back behind the counter, the man staying clear in the line, Tat took a breath, rolling out into the open. Blurring into motion, she accelerated right into the robber, slamming into his shoulder and spinning him down for the count. The cashiers screamed at the noise, a billow of wind following Tat down as she kept down the way, slipping out of sight as she stepped herself to a stop, nearly crashing into a display of canned vegetables. Looking back, she saw the robber on the floor, patting around for a gun that had slipped out of sight, sliding underneath one of the checkstands. Swearing like a sailor, he got to his feet, intent on the door, but Tat had started to move as well, lining herself up. As one of her coworkers screeched for the other to call the police, Tat burst into motion once again, intercepting the robber just as he threw open the door. Barreling through, she smashed into his back elbow first, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him into the ground where his head smacked the curb. Having been able to stop by transferring her momentum to him, Tat’s legs wobbled, but she was able to stop her fall by leaning against the door frame, quickly outstretching an arm to catch the door swinging back at her. Slipping an arm to grab the strap of her purse, she let out an exhilarated, “I got him!”

Blonde coworker cautious heading over, she gasped when she saw the unmoving ne’er do well, spouting, “I thought you went home! What happened?”

Catching her breath, Tat admitted, “Well, he looked shady so I hung back to watch him, then I bopped vith my purse when he ran out.” Mentally she cursed at the slip of accent, but it seemed to go unnoticed. Her coworker shook her head, “You’re crazy. You shoulda just called the cops.” Tat’s smile remained affixed to her face, inner voice scoffing, You’re welcome.”

A good hour of police questioning later, Tat was finally free to actually go about her day. Letting out a light yawn, having started her day early to stock shelves, she considered going home but didn’t enjoy the thought of her mother setting up another arranged date. That said, she wasn’t left with much else either...
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Hillan
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Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.

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Battle of Narvik, 9th April 1940.

"The Germans are coming! The Kraut bastards are invading!" The middle aged, balding man dressed in a field coat, a rifle slung over his shoulder shouted as the bell rang in the small village off of the coast of Narvik, a port town in Norway. The only un-iced port in all of Scandinavia that lead directly into the northern Atlantic. It was the only way for the iron deposits from Kiruna, in northern Sweden to move their iron into the rest of the world. It was possibly the singular most important position in all of Europe at this stage in the war.

And the Allies and Axis both knew it. The German destroyers and the British Cruisers were all lined up on the sea to fight it out, while the German forces invaded via land. Karl-Sven was of Swedish and Norwegian descent, his mother a Swede and his father a Norwegian, which explained his presence in the city. His father was a captain in the 6th Division of the Norwegian Army, the only one that was battle ready for this suprise attack from the german forces.

The German cargo ships breached the beaches and the tanks rolled out. Karl was only 16 years old at the time, but he would never forget the horror and helplessness he felt on that day when the German troops attacked his village, razing it to the ground before they headed to Narvik where his Father and his battalion held guard.

Aegnir, coast of Norway. April 24th 1965.

Njordgir crawled out of bed in the morning, his hut was the largest hut on the entire island, located a few kilometeres away from the other four settlements. It was his duty to protect them all and keep the peace, therefor, he could not belong to any one village, that had been the burden of the champion of Njord, Chosen by the mighty Baldur and accepted by the all-father Thor himself. Thousands of years of warriors had walked in his shoes, slept in his bed and fought wit his weapons, yet, Njordgir was the first of his kind.

He was the first outside to ever recieve the gifts bestowed to him by the island of Aegnir. The deities had touched the world through him, in a way they had never done with their native sons and daughters - a fact that some, such as Afsiv, the man whom was the same as as Njordgir - the man who for the first 19 years of his life, had been groomed to be champion, but was proven second-rate compared to Njordgir, or, as he was called at the time - Karl-Sven.

The middle aged warrior would get dressed, a pelt draped over his shoulders and a loincloth around his crotch, a pair of Birkenstock clogs - probably the only part of his human heritage he still cared for. While it had been over 40 years since he had been born, since he had undergone the trials and become a champion of the Norse Gods, Njordgir hadn't aged. Sure, he had gotten more rugged from the boyish 21 year old he had once been. His face had hardened, his body had new scars. But he hadn't aged. Not visibly yet, anyway. In another 40 years, perhaps he would have some gray hairs, not that anyone whom had walked in his shoes prior had gotten the chance to live that long. No champion of the Gods had ever gotten to die in their bed, that's what Njordgir's masters had taught him. He only had one way out.

And he was in no hurry to get there.

The alarm horn rang, and Njordgir let out a sigh. "Again? Second time this week, Bröthers!" He moaned, turning right back around, kicking off his clogs and changing into the battle armor he normally wore, a leather chest piece coated in a fur covering the shoulders, on the right shoulder a metal shoulderpad sat. Hide and fur leggings and matching shoes adorned with metal. It certainly wasn't fancy, it wasn't even regal. But it damn sure looked heroic.

He didn't wear his helmet today, he knew he wouldn't have to. He knew why the alarm rang today. He grabbed his shield the adorned, traditional yet ornate viking shield, Vågblad and the sword, Mörkbrytare. Both of which were infused with the finest magic the gods had ever blessed mortals with, giving Njordgir control over the very oceans. He ran out of his hut, towards the edge of the island, the horizon. Seemingly unburdened by the armor he wore.

He approached the beach and he saw the head of the reptile out in the water, attacking the poor fishermen of his village. A sea Serpent.

A sea Serpent that would soon regret ever trying to eat those fishermen.

Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Pacifista
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New York, United States, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:20PM GMT, 4:20PM EST

The later part of the day left the dockyard sluggish and quiet, the morning fuel burned in the crew that went about organizing its load for the next batch of ships arriving to be unloaded the next day. One container swung about on a crane, the operator slumping in his seat as he was forced to watch it swing like a pendulum before letting it settle, dropping it down properly. The innards too ticked, machinery laying dormant as a clock struck downwards, hands looming for the end of the hour.

---

At the end of her day, Tatyanna moored about the city proper, bumming about the shopping districts without much will to even spend. Window shopping was more or less her pass time. She enjoyed seeing folks mulling about, she enjoyed all the kinds of stores there were, though she had to admit she also enjoyed not having to be bothered by her mother, the aging widow being supported by her daughter in necessity. Tat certainly loved her but the requests and demands got old, so Tat spent her time literally anywhere else.

Slipping into a sporting goods shop, she was greeted with a smile before taking a look at all the gear. Seeing a white racing jumpsuit advertised, the thing having been here for ages, she felt a bit of a drag on her spirit. The other day she’d used her powers for the first time in a long time, and on purpose at that. She was glad for that but it hadn’t exactly gone with gratification either. And maybe that was for the best: Tatyanna wasn’t quite sure about her power becoming more well known. She’s heard rumors that strange things exists in this world, but being one of them? At least not openly. Her face twitched with amusement as she realized her mother might like that if it meant finding a suitor…

Marielle, France, May 8th, 1965, Roughly 7:10 GMT, 9:10 CET

Pulling open the trunk and hoisting out a small jug of oil, Greg stopped, lingering on a strange, round protrusion from underneath a tarp. Auburn eyebrow upturned, he reached for it, sliding out the base of a baseball bat. A wave of nostalgia came over him, suddenly gripped by memories of his last obsession. Hours upon hours over the course of days trying to practice baseball. He’d so dearly wanted to show that even having not been active once in high school, he could still make it professionally. So dearly wanted to show what he could do on his own. But he hadn’t even made it past the preliminary phase of the tryouts, and his bat had remained here ever since. Nostalgia become disappointment, he slammed the trunk of his car down, moving along.

Stance awkward as he was sure to keep the oil well away from his dress shirt, he refilled his car, mind full of considerations. Passions he’d once had that had fled him. Baseball then, superheroes now? He was en route to a training session he’d schedule himself, this late hour the only time it was really possible, yet despite going through all the hoops, here he was, managing his oil to allow himself an excuse to be late, the idea of arriving for more publicity training weighing him down. Bottle emptied, he rescrewed the cap before looking to a nearby trash can, tossing it. The jug hit the rim and bounced away, knocking to the ground. Hand running through is short hair in exasperation, he retrieved the container and chucked it properly before storming back to his car, closing the hood up before moving on, that failed through still pounding through his mind, one of many little things he couldn’t seem to stop from flitting about in his mind.
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