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16 days ago
Current Ever had that moment were you've just lost a battle of wills with your dog and think to yourself, "maybe I should be the one sleeping on the floor"? I have. It's oddly liberating.
3 likes
11 mos ago
My Lit Lecturer used Matt Fraction's Hawkeye run to display the effect of narratology in class today. It's the first thing he's spoken about all term that I've actually read.
1 yr ago
How good is the Punisher in Netflix's Daredevil series? "Just some guys who are about to walk into a diner for the last time." That line is so manly it could make a toddler sprout a beard.
1 yr ago
The Justice League trailer is giving me mixed emotions. On the one hand, I desperately want to get hyped. On the other, Snyder and co have burnt me too many times in the past. I'm a conflicted mess.
2 likes
1 yr ago
What? The Lethal Weapon tv show isn't utter garbage at all, instead being an enjoyable watch. What the fuck is the world coming to?
1 like

Bio

For all you know I'm handsome as hell. Let's keep it that way.

Most Recent Posts

@Star Lord Don't worry about contributing to the OOC, the real trick is surviving it, as the last page and a half proves.
Between Clark and Iris' combined speed, I feel like they could have multiple victory wanks in full view of the SHIELD people without anyone knowing the wiser.


Genuinely can't wait for this post.
Ya'll ready for the crossover of the Gawd-dayum-motherfuckin' century?

because I am. I am very ready.


Yeah, but how am I supposed to crossover with Green Arrow if GG's computer is still on the fritz?

Oh...

MB already made this bad joke...

I'll see myself out.
I forgot how well Hillan and anyone he meets get along...


FTFY

EDIT: On reflection I probably could have gone either way with that joke.
Nobody let @Hillan in. He'll stink up the place.
<Snipped quote by Hound55>

You jest, but the Bosch books turned me on to the recently deceased Polish trumpeter Tomasz Stańko. A name like that meant he destined to either be a Jazz musician or cannon fodder for John McClane.


Are you kidding? That's high class porn star name material if I've ever seen it.


Star City, Gardner’s Grove High, Mid-Morning



The address that Ted gave her for his contact was for Gardner’s Grove high, a school located in the Glade’s that had survived the earthquakes and riots that rocked the area virtually – miraculously really – unscathed, and so had been converted into a refugee centre for those left destitute and homeless by the chaos.

She walked in the front gates and made her way towards the largest building on the complex, which she figured for the gymnasium. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going to find Ted’s friend, a retired doctor by the name of Charles McNider, but according to Ted he was the de facto head of the centre, so the smart money said he’d be somewhere near the hub of the action, where he could best keep an eye on those under his care.

Children were playing outside in the school’s yard, chasing a battered soccer ball with the kind of wild abandon that only the young can achieve. Contrary to the energy that fueled their play, their laughter was quiet, subdued like they were afraid if they got too loud somebody would take the ball away. Their clothes were dirty, their faces pinched and cheeks hollow. Her eyes stung just looking at them. How could the rest of the city just turn its back on these kids? They ignored them, hoping the problem would go away on its own. Most of the city had already written the Glades and its people off, an attitude fostered by Star’s very own mayor, Malcolm Merlyn. Dinah picked up her pace and entered the school.

The gym was stuffed to bursting with bodies. And yes, bodies did seem the right term for the drawn out, lifeless, worn out creatures currently inhabiting the school. The men and women in the room couldn't seem more withdrawn from the children outside if they had tried. Whether they slumped upon the fold out cots that lined every inch of the court floors, or shambled aimlessly from one corner of the room to another, the people here all shared one thing in common; they’d given up. Too much had been taken from them, and too quickly, until without quite realising it they had nothing left. Sure, they had their lives, and their families, but people take those kinds of things for granted all the time. Why would crisis make that any different?

The only people acting with any kind of certainty was the medical staff and aid workers, and they seemed hopelessly outnumbered by those they were trying to help. Most of them were young, college aged kids – she thought of them as kids because of their fresh faces and earnest expressions, though they must have been around her age – though there were a few older faces sprinkled in too. One such woman, a thirty something dusky skinned brunette, seemed to be in charge. Dinah made her way over and grabbed her attention.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for doctor McNider. A friend of his sent me here.” The woman looked her up and down quickly before turning her attention to a clipboard that a teenaged boy showed her.

“If you’re here to help,” She answered without looking in Dinah’s direction, “I’ve got plenty of jobs you could do, all without bothering the doctor.”

“Just tell me where the doctor is lady.” She tried to keep the heat out of her reply, and very nearly succeeded. The woman studied her once more, far more critically this time.

“You’re not going to leave until you get what you want, are you?” She asked, obviously annoyed, but maybe a little amusement mingled in the mix there too.

“I don’t usually.” Dinah replied. The other woman shook her head, but then turned on her heel and gestured for Dinah to follow. She led her out of the gymnasium, down some twisting corridors, to the headmasters office door. A light tap upon the frame earned a faint call to enter. The older woman opened the door, stepping aside to allow Dinah entry.

“A visitor for you doctor McNider.”

“Thank you, nurse Temple. Please, don’t let us keep you.”

The old man within pushed himself up from behind his desk, sprightly for his age and made all the more impressive by the pair of blacked out spectacles he wore. Dinah cursed softly. Ted hadn’t mentioned his friend was blind. His thick, curly hair was considerably more grey than blonde, his face careworn and tired, but there was a definite spark to the old man, an essence of youth that his years hadn’t managed to blow out yet.

“It’s good to meet you doctor McNider. Ted’s told me a lot about you.” He hadn’t, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. The doctor’s sightless eyes swung in her direction.

“Charles will be fine.” His voice was incredibly deep, and warm like fresh summer honey. “And you must be Dinah. Don’t look so surprised young lady, Ted’s told me a lot about you. I’ve been expecting your arrival all day.” There was a playful lilt to his voice, giving Dinah the distinct impression that he knew more than she was comfortable with him knowing. The old man held his hand out towards her. She was surprised by how firm his handshake was.

“Not everything, I hope.” She replied, an edge to her voice. The retired doctor smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“Just everything prudent to your being here, young lady.” Dinah blanched, taking an involuntary step back, her knuckles clenched tight. Ted, that bastard. He had no right telling her secrets. She had no idea who this doctor was, or whether he could be trusted or not. For all she knew he could have blabbed in the wrong ears already. He certainly seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Her eyes flickered towards the exit. She had to get out of here. She was just about to make for the door when McNider, somehow sensing her distress, held up a placating hand.

“Please understand, I am very passionate in the defence of this building, and of its residents. The people out there have suffered much. I would not willingly heap any more horrors upon them, nor court the prospect of disturbing what little stability this facility supplies, not without tremendous good cause.” As he spoke he shuffled slowly, awkwardly almost, to the chair behind his desk. After settling himself into its plush yet worn depths he released an almost contented sigh and waved her towards one of the chairs opposite. She refused it, still not sure if she would need to make a quick exit from here or not.

“Now Ted Grant, as good a man as he is, is not in the habit of sending me volunteers. Not because he isn’t a charitable man – for he is and has proved that fact time and time again throughout his long life, giving of himself to others – but because the type of young men and women he fraternises with are invariable fighters training under his purview. As I am sure you are aware he has long held the position that a fighter’s warrior edge should dull if said warrior is to be confronted by the kind of hapless human degradation and misery on show within these doors. After all, it can be difficult to maintain the desire to physically assault your fellow man when you have witnessed the depths to which he can fall. Only a true monster would wish to inflict pain on others after witnessing suffering at its purest, basest level.”

Without quite making the decision herself, Dinah sat. There was something about the doctor’s rich baritone that was putting her at ease despite her reservations. She was still ready to book it if she had to, but she was at least willing to hear the old man out first.

“So, you must understand that when I received the call from Ted saying that he knew a young woman who wished to volunteer with my staff, who wanted to ease the Glade’s suffering, well I knew it was out of the norm somewhat and expressed my reservations. After some spirited debate I convinced Ted to trust me with your true purposes here. He told me about your mother and your father, about your upbringing and time away from our fair city, and finally he got to what you consider ‘your purpose’, and how you have been spending your nights of late.”

A sharp intake of breath whistled between Dinah’s teeth. That punch-drunk old idiot had actually done it. He’d actually told this bizarre, blind doctor her secret. Who knew who else knew because she had been stupid enough to trust bigmouthed Ted Grant. She rose to leave, but McNider kept on speaking as if she hadn’t moved. Sure, now he was acting like a blind man.

“I owe Ted Grant my life. Ten times over, in fact. I would never willingly do anything to endanger the trust he has placed in me. Be safe in the knowledge that because of the faith he has placed in me I now consider your secrets as sacrosanct as my own.” He leant backwards in his chair, long fingers steepled across his lap, blind eyes watching her with all the intensity of a hunting owl.

Through gritted teeth she managed to force a response. “A long-winded way, doctor, of telling me to trust you because I have to.” McNider’s caterpillar like eyebrows jumped up his forehead. Silence reigned supreme in the small office space. Dinah was on the verge of leaving once more when the blind man began to laugh. Rich, sonorous, peals of laughter that reverberated around the room, and bounced from Dinah’s stony visage. For a moment she seriously considered throat punching a blind retired-doctor. His laughter petered out soon after, but his mirth lived on in the craggy lines of his grinning face.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he chortled, “It’s just that for a moment there it was like looking into the past and seeing a younger Ted. He was always something of a ‘straight-shooter’ himself.”

“But better looking, I hope.” She replied before realising who she was speaking to. Ask a blind man if he thinks you’re pretty. Your banter is off the hook, Lance. To his credit McNider breezed past the comment with an easy smile and nod. Off-guard once more, though slightly less on edge after the laughter, she thought to regain some control, and maybe learn about more about Ted’s guarded past.

“So how does a retired doctor and a former heavyweight champ know each other? Did you stitch him up or something?”

“Yes, I suppose I did, but that wasn’t how I met the Wildcat.” He put a definitive emphasis on Ted’s old ring name, like it had some hidden meaning to him. “We belonged to an exclusive club, Ted and I. A Society of sorts, you would have called it.”

“A society –” She began to question, but the doctor cut her off. He seemed as fond of his secrets as Ted did his. A shame they both seemed so set on sharing hers, then.

“Now I don’t expect you to trust me simply because Ted does. Instead all I ask is the opportunity to earn said trust.”

Dinah spread her palms across the edge of the doctor’s desk and leaned forwards. “And how are you proposing to do that?”

“By supplying you with information and aid.” He replied. Dinah’s brows narrowed. What information could a blind doctor possibly give her that would be relevant to her situation? Thankfully the old man didn’t miss the chance to flap his gums some more and provide an answer.

“This facility has been beset upon at all sides by the kind of unscrupulous men and women who you have chosen to … make your prey,” She wasn’t sure she liked the way he worded that, but she didn’t interrupt. “The people here are already pushed to the edge of human endurance without those devils leading them astray, or taking advantage of their misfortunes. The vertigo peddlers are a particular and consistent nuisance. That filthy drug promises a bliss that it delivers with frightful alacrity, only to demand a terrible price in return. Its dealers are similar in that regard.”

“We, that is the staff here and I, have tried to chase them away, but to no avail. It seems pointless to speak it aloud, but the rapscallions just aren’t afraid of the repercussions that defying an old blind man, a young nurse, and several medical students can bring.” The old man smiled again, but this one seemed forced and tired, an edge of bitterness at the spiderweb lines around his eyes. For a moment it seemed like he had checked out of the conversation, as if he had found something more interesting in his memories to capture his attention. Dinah decided to fill in the blanks herself.

“So, this is where I come in, right? Give the pushers the push off? Something like that?”

He started gently, as if just now realising where he was. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“Good.” She replied simply. Savagely. This, she could work with.

“Tell me where I can find them, and they won’t bother you, or your people again.”
<Snipped quote by BlackSam3091>
First UDC crossover event. Black Mask had distracted Batman with bombs planted all over the city that would blow in 24 hours. The Joker decided to use the crisis to promote anarchy and chaos with everyone coming to Robinson Park to burn money. Two Green Lanterns, The Question, Talon, The Teen Titans, and a few others decided to show up. It was a mess and a lesson of "just because you can doesn't mean you should".


All that, and you still don't regret it? You make me sick, @Superboy
What was Robinson park and why does it keep coming up?
F L A M E B I R D

Manhattan, New York

January 1st, 2052 | 6.05pm | Carlyle Hotel


The words are barely out of my mouth before Mar has wrapped her arms around my neck. Growing up there had been a distance between me and my half-sister, walls that we had both put up to keep the other out. I don’t know, maybe all siblings who don’t share the same mother or same father go through the same thing. Right now, with my big sister’s arms around me, warm and safe, pulling me in so tight that it almost feels like she’s never going to let me go, I’m just happy that somehow, we’d managed to get it together and bridge that chasm. I feel something catching at the back of my throat and have to pull away before I start making a scene. Us manly tights types aren’t supposed to cry. Mar give’s me a knowing look, like she knows why I’m retreating from her. There’s a half-grin pulling at her lips. Clearly, she feels I’m trying to hard to be like grandpa Bats too.

I want to say something to her, but I don’t know what. A moment like this, words don’t seem to lack the strength to convey my emotions. I’m still struggling when Wonder Woman’s fist crashes into my shoulder. She probably meant it as a friendly tap, but when you consider the fact that she’s an amazon and I’m just a Joe regular it hurts a lot more than she intended. I shift my gaze to her, meeting her glare, taking in the summer sky-blue eyes, the long falls of cornfield blonde hair, the porcelain skin, the high, perfect cheekbones. Even when she’s pissed off, she’s still beautiful. It’s a trait that runs on her mother’s side of the family.

“You didn’t think to call? Let us know you were still alive? We buried you James!” She asks the questions so Mar’i doesn’t have to. Sure, Lyta wants to know the answers too, but she’s an old hand at the superhero game. She knows that almost as often as not that when we capes die, we don’t stay dead. She wouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, not until after I’d got settled back in and was ready to answer those kinda questions. She’s only voicing them now because she knows my sister will want to know, but won’t want to ask me while the miracle of my being here is still fresh. Us bat brats don’t always respond well to emotional confrontations, not nearly as well as we do the physical ones - that would mean dealing with our emotions, after all, and the prevailing family wisdom is to bury those – and the fear for Mar’i will be that if she confronts me too soon I’ll stonewall her, with either jokes or silence, depending on whether I’m feeling more like dad or grandpa.

I go for the third option, and ignore the question.

“I’m sorry Lyta.” That takes her by surprise. She isn’t used to me apologising for anything. For a moment she looks like she’s going to call me out on my bullshit, but then she shakes her head and smiles. She grabs me by my costume front and pulls me in close before kissing me on the lips. Hard. We grew up together, me and Lyta, and while everyone half-expected for the future Wonder Woman to end up with Jonathan Kent, it was me she ended up with. Kind of. I mean, we’ve had the on’est-off’iest of on-off relationships, but as far as a free-spirited descendant of the Olympian Gods and the Justice Leagues answer to 007 (if I do say so myself) can be said to have steady relationships, we’ve had a steady relationship.

She tastes of papaya and strawberries and pulls out of the kiss far too soon for my liking, leaving me craving more. There’s a playful twinkle in her eyes that makes me think she’s all too aware of that.

“It’s good to have you back James.” She says. “Come, we will return to ambassador Demir’s side. The Legion may still be planning something, and you can tell us about your adventures in the comfort of his hotel room. Cass will be just as interested in hearing them as we are.” I blanche at that. I had no idea Cassandra Cain was going to be here. The former Batgirl has always unnerved me. Something about the way she watches you, like she knows what you’re thinking, and finds it incredibly boring. As a spy I’m all about keeping secrets, and just thinking that she might no mine always puts the willies up me. The fact she would absolutely destroy me in a fight, even without superpowers, probably has something to do with it too.

We take the elevator up, Lyta radioing the rest of her team about the new developments. Spitfire, acting as mobile air-support, predictably complains about being left out of the loop while Vulkan squees in happiness at the news I’m alive. It’s a bitter smile my face forms at that. I don’t even have to see my face to know the truth of that. My old Titan’s team, the one I led on L-day, is all here.

What’s left of them, anyway.

We enter the ambassador’s suite. The man himself is sitting at the table next to the window, looking out over the New York city skyline, his gaze empty, while Cass stands in front of the tv, flicking through news channels. Most of it is fixated upon the events in Thailand, but if it was bothering Demir having to listen to the chaos ravaging his home country he wasn’t showing it. Probably a little desensitised to the violence already. It’s amazing what humanity can adapt to, given time.

I stand next to Mar’i, feeling sweat begin to form on my palms. I came here for a reason, I remind myself. I’ve made my choices, and have to live by them. No backing out anymore. The ambassador is talking, but I’m barely listening.

“Wonder Woman, do you think we can –” I’m not sure what it was he was going to ask for, because Cass interrupts him before he finished.

“No. This is not right.” I look up. She’s staring straight at me, her eyes wide and staring, like she almost can’t believe what she’s looking at. That shock, that disbelief, it’s the only chance I’ll get now. I’m moving before she can make sense of what she’s looking at, before she gets a chance to warn Lyta and Mar’i.

“Stop!” Cass commands. I ignore her, hand slipping to my utility belt, pulling forth a bird shaped throwing knife. A wind-ding, dad calls them, though Tim always preferred the term birdarangs. I just think of them as knives, because that’s what they are, really. Give them as many funny names as you want, they’ll always be knives.

And their purpose will always be to cut.

The ambassador has turned to face the commotion, though he doesn’t have Cass’ gifts for reading people. He’s surprised, obviously, not really sure what’s going on. My knife comes up under his jaw, and I force it through the skin and flesh up into his brain. Demir dies quick. He dies surprised. It’s not a noble end, but at least it’s painless.

I stand there, panting, despite the fact I only moved a few paces.

“James …” I hear Mar’I say.
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