Hound55

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

<Snipped quote by Hound55>

<Snipped quote by Hound55>

What do you consider to be a gap?

@Sep

Evidently a single post by anyone else.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Officers Dixon, Ellis, Bendis... Roll out!

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

*Starts flooding the game, dropping posts filled with single name NPCs just to fuck with @Master Bruce*

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Marc Spector looked at himself in the mirror. A button-down white short sleeved shirt and a pair of khakis. Felt underdressed for this place, but it couldn’t be helped. Borrowing “house trunks” made him feel enough of a bum without asking for clothing from Samuels.

He might be accommodating out of a sense of duty, but he didn’t really want to ask him for anything if he could help it. Didn't want to create another excuse for him to look at him side-eyed.

Marc gently opened the door to his guest room and looked up and down the hallway. Nothing. He was the first one dressed and ready.

Perfect. An opportunity to look around and try and get some kind of a read on this place and the players involved.

He walked down the hallway and saw quaint side tables with flowers, massive framed art pieces on the wall and ornate fixtures and fittings, such as the sizeable chandelier that hung over the sitting room.

The wealthy. They have a room for sitting. Because of course they do.

The sitting room contained numerous pieces of classic red velvet antique furniture, and a framed portrait of a man with a beard and his wife hung over a fireplace. It had a mantlepiece that looked bare, yet dust free and other contemporary art pieces hanging on the walls.

Marc left the sitting room and started to inspect the other rooms; library, lounge room, conservatory and Grant’s own personal office, and found an interesting trend.

The man had no photos of himself anywhere. At all. Marc realized he still had no idea what his mysterious potential employer looked like. Furthermore his office was immaculately kept. But he could find nothing of interest. That may not be terribly surprising, however. Samuels seemed quite proactive about cleanliness and the needs of guests.

The mansion was enormous, there was no way he could search the entire place before dinner, but with only a handful of rooms left on this side of the complex, Spector decided he’d finish searching this hallway before rejoining the others for dinner. He opened a door... hup... bathroom, and quickly closed it. Two doors to go. Marc opened the next door; another guest double bedroom, it dogleg'd slightly around the door and it’s length swept all the way to the side of the building, with an awkward sized window overlooking the grounds on that face. This room hadn’t been used in some time. Looked like it had only really been entered in order to dust and maintain basic cleanliness. Marc walked back out and closed the door quietly behind him.

One to go. Marc crossed the hallway and opened the door. Another guest bedroom. It mirrored the last one. Down to the same awkward sized window. Marc threw a cursory glance and a glint of yellow caught his eye. He moved to the window for a closer look.

It was the yellow taxi cab that brought them here. Marc furrowed his brow. Samuels had said earlier that he was returning that car. Now he was either lying to create an alibi for his own absence for some time that couldn't be accounted for, or-- or what? Marc left the room, and once again gently pulled the guest room door closed behind him.

Then he stopped. He looked at the end of the hallway.

The two shallow doglegs didn’t account for the amount of space at the end of the hallway. There was something beyond the end of the hallway. External wood cellar, only accessible from the outside? Maybe. But something told Spector he should give the wall a closer look. The art was different. Didn’t fit the rest of the decor in the house. He recognized it, which was rare enough. He didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror, but this was a piece by Norman Rockwell. He could tell the artist, but didn’t know the name of the piece. It depicted a working class man standing before his peers at a town meeting like a character portrayed by Jimmy Stewart in a Frank Capra film.

It didn’t match the rest of the up-market decor in this place, and that made Marc think he might just be on the right track. He moved closer to the wall and wrapped gently in different places, then he found a seam. He moved to the other side of the wall and upon close inspection found heavily disguised hinges. Another door WAS here! He felt around the wall and then found the door handle disguised as an ornamental moulding, he twisted it and then pulled and the door gave way…

To a long depressing squalor. The room was long and fairly open plan. On one side there was a small area with a sink and tiny oven. There was a portable hotplate plugged in, but not switched on. A basin with faucets. A small card table acted as somebody’s dining room. Laundry was spread everywhere. On one wall was a painting of dogs playing poker. In a corner was a depressing rollaway bed which faced a tiny 12 inch tv.

“The Hell is this place?” As he pushed through the room he managed to get to an external door. He twisted the lock and applied the snib so it wouldn’t lock behind him as he stepped out into the darkness of the early evening. He saw the cab. It was parked over a stretch of flat worn grass. Suggesting it or a similar sized car was often parked there. Marc turned to go back into the mansion and looked up, stunned at what he saw...

It was a brownstone facade. This whole side of the mansion had been done up like a Hollywood set to look like an entirely different building. But why? Why in the Hell would anyone send their property value into a freefall doing something like this? He could see those awkward windows in the guest bedrooms had been part of this makeover, to make the entire side of the house look like a few inner city brownstone apartment blocks.

All of this asked more questions than it answered. And with this being the case, there would be no avoiding the direct approach. He went back inside, closing the door behind him and crossed the room of squalor, turning the ornate golden door knob (which may have been worth more than anything in the room), stepped back through the looking glass and into the mansion to quickly rejoin the others in the dining room.

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑

Flint’s car halted to a stop and the detective traded laying rubber tread, for rubber heels as he ran down to the station of the officer-in-command.

“Flint. Central Detectives. What’s the latest?”

“Captain Dixon. Well, Flint. We’ve cleared everyone off the street and managed to remove the injured from the area and paramedics have them en route to St Joseph’s. Now there’s obviously people in the residences, but we’ve told them via loudspeaker to stay indoors, away from doors and windows and to barricade those egress points if safe to do so.”

“OK. What exactly is the issue and where is it?”

At that moment a howl drew everyone’s gaze to a rooftop silhouette of a man-sized wolf baying to the moon either from instinct or hunger.

“Yup. New York gets Spider-women, Gotham gets Dracula, we get goddamn werewolves.”

Flint’s hand dropped to his hip for his piece.

“And you can forget about that. I got three officers who claim to have tagged him with sidearms, and Bendis over there shot it center mass with a goddamn shotgun trying to get it away from bystanders.”

“And?”

“And it got him away from bystanders, just to turn and go after Bendis! If Ellis over there hadn’t hit him with his squad car, Bendis’d be kibble right now.”

“And not the good kibble either, like Acana Regionals. Your fat ass’d be that homebrand kibble made up of ground up mule assholes.” Ellis ribbed Bendis, punching him in the arm.

“So any plans to engage?”

“Honestly, Flint. Our plan was to sit here and try not to piss it off too much before SWAT gets here. D’you have a problem with that?”

“No problem at all, Dixon. Just got sent down by BK to get the lay of the land. I’m not here to play hero or tread on toes. In fact, orders were to wait on Tactical. If you need another pair of hands, hit me up, but I’ll be debriefing Central over in the car.”

Flint walked back to his dark green BMW with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his long coat. He threw the car door open and sat in the driver’s seat for a beat to think.

The long silence was over. Chicago had joined the community of American cities to have been visited by the strange. Goddamn werewolves. Flint slapped open the glove compartment and took out a flask, taking a quick hit of bourbon. He imagined the worst case scenario of disbelief from the Burger King when he reported in, took another hit of bourbon and used the radio to call in.

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

I've got quite a few posts in the bank. I'm trying to find gaps to put them in though, so I might come close myself.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Marc stood at the side of the pool looking down. The man had a heated Olympic sized swimming pool with an inground pool bar, complete with cemented in seats, a conjoined jacuzzi and sauna, shower and steam rooms off to the side. Because of course he did.

“Come on, Marc! The water’s great!”

Marc Spector tied off the drawstring on his borrowed swim trunks. Samuels had intercepted them heading for the pool and given them both “house gear”. Marc now had a pair of borrowed lime green trunks, and Marlene had a form fitting red two piece, which she wore spectacularly.

Spector thought to himself what kind of man kept form-fitting swimwear that specifically fit women whose measurements matched the lovely Marlene Alraune. Almost sensing Spector’s speculation, Samuels had chimed in with “Mr Grant often entertains various philanthropic interests.”

Because of course he did. Spector began to wonder what philanthropic interests out there involved free bikinis for women who looked as good as Marlene and why they never door-knocked in his area, until he realized that for all he knew they could have and he’d forgotten about them.

Marc took a deep breath and dove in, he allowed himself to drift underwater before throwing out a few frogkicks, by the time he surfaced he’d swam a good 40 metres before he surfaced on the other side of the pool from Marlene.

“Wow! Did you know he can do that?” Marlene asked DuChamp, who was wearing a suit and standing in the dry area tending the pool bar. Biting down on a cigarette holder with the side of his mouth, deep in concentration as he filled a cocktail shaker.

“What? Swim? Of course he can swim. He’s a Marine.”

Marlene looked quizzically at the Frenchman for a minute and wondered if the word “marine” was lost in translation and he thought he was in some type of completely aquatic corps, or if he was referring to the training of the the Marine corps as being rounded in its physical requirements.

She decided to allow both of them to keep their dignity by not asking the question.

“Marc, did you know you could do that? You just swam almost a full lap without taking a breath.”

Spector looked at her blankly. He’d just been swimming, he hadn’t really put any thought into it.

He climbed up out of the pool and took a few breaths, he dove in and swam full smooth strokes, trying to remain calm and control his air usage. He passed his previous mark and saw the edge approaching. He tumble turned and pushed off the wall, letting himself glide efficiently before returning to smooth strokes. He started to wonder whether this was normal, or right. More gliding strokes, and he made a second tumble turn, pushing off and gliding again. He saw Marlene’s legs under the water and surfaced.

“About 120? Is that-- should I be able to do that? I think I could have kept going too.”

Samuels walked in on the three and left towels for all in attendance, before turning and leaving. Marc could have sworn he saw him eyeballing him as he walked away, but then his French friend interrupted his suspicions.

Jean Paul chimed in “Don’t do that. It’s one thing in training, but I don’t want to have to jump in to save you when you pass out. If you want to black out I have stuff over here that’s more fun. Pull up a chair, I’m going to make the pair of you a Pepa.”

“You make a cocktail with Dr Pepper?”

“No, you uncultured swine. A Pepa. It’s named after the famous actor Pepa Bonafe.”

The pair looked at him completely baffled as if he was inventing words.

“Oh don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Pepa Bonafe." He looked to the younger woman. "Marlene? Oh no. Him I understand, even before he lost his memory he always had questionable taste, but you, sweet girl?”

DuChamp started assembling liquor bottles and pouring in cognac, vodka and brandy as he explained. “Pepa Bonafe was a silent film actress from the 1910s and 20s. She was in Shylock and Redenzione.”

“Was that a silent movie?”

“Two! They’re two different classic silent French films! Sacre bleu!”

“So I should know her because she was in 2 movies almost a hundred years ago?”

“She was in a whole bunch of movies! Those two are just classics that everyone should have heard of!”

“Well-- her drink’s good anyway.” Marlene chimed in, having grabbed a glass whilst Jean Paul was ranting with full patriotic exasperation.

Samuels returned, seeming somewhat nervous. Something was making him act particularly anxious in the last half hour. Was he upset they were using the Pool Bar or was it something else.

“Sir, Nedd-- Uh, Sir. The Cook has now returned. Unless anyone has any specific requests dinner can be served in an hour.”

Sweat was pouring off his brow, and not just because of the humidity from the heated pool.

“Thank you, Mr Samuels. We’ll finish this and then get changed for dinner.” Marlene called out, raising her drink.

Satisfied, Samuels scurried away.

Marc picked up his glass and downed the whole thing.

“Hey! You need to taste it!” complained DuChamp.

“I’ll see you lovely people at dinner. I’d better get ready.” Marc said. “And also run my eyes over this place that keeps feeling so ‘off’.” He thought to himself.

He swam across to where Samuels left one of the towels as the pair watched on.

“So… does he know?” Marlene asked.

“Quoi? Eh? What are you talking about?”

“That you’re gay. You are gay, aren’t you, Jean Paul?”

A wry smile creased across the French spy soldier’s face. “I knew I liked you, girl...”

“So does he?”

“No. Don’t think he suspects a thing.”

“Aaand…”

“Oh, he’s as straight as they come. More’s the pity. I think that’s probably why he doesn’t suspect, to be honest. There was a time where it hurt, honestly, but I’ve moved well beyond that.”

Marc had reached the edge and started to pull himself out as water dripped off a battle sculpted body as he reached for a towel.

“Still, it doesn’t hurt to look. And he is certainly easy on the eyes. I know you’ve noticed too, Mademoiselle…”

Marlene looked across the pool and noticed she was biting her lip. She returned her attention to her new French friend and the pair clinked glasses and shared a knowing laugh.

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑

“Flint! Get your ass up!”

Detective Flint looked over his computer monitor to Captain Brennan-Kasser who was barking for his presence.

“Yeah, Chief?”

Captain Miles Brennan-Kasser, often named Captain BK, Two-Dads or the Burger King by any detective who believed they were out of earshot was a man whose heft certainly fitted the fast food franchises moniker, and whose personality suggested either severe constipation or resentment of the inevitable heart attack which had his name on it. He’d long since replaced maintaining his physical fitness for the field with an appreciation for the bureaucracy and mastering the second language of Police Buzzwords to a level of fine precision.

“Don’t call me ‘Chief’. ‘Captain’.”

Flint sucked on the inside of his teeth on one side of his mouth and acquiesced.

“What did you want, Captain Brennan-Kasser?” he said, the last part between gritted teeth.

“The… animal control incident… from yesterday has moved North. It’s reportedly in Lincoln Park as we speak, has killed four and wounded a half dozen more. I want you out there ASAP.”

Flint swept his long coat and hat off his desk and fired a final inquiry at his Captain.

“Shouldn’t that be more of a uniformed officer issue? Or, worst case, Tactical?”

“Uniformed officers are en scene, and I believe they’re requesting SWAT backup. However there’s still the intel situation where we don’t know exactly what the damn thing is in the first place at present. We’re getting conflicting reports that it’s a bear that’s wired on angel dust, an oversized wolf, a giant alsatian or…”

Flint looked back.

“Numerous eyewitness accounts claiming that it’s a werewolf. I know, I know… But Police Officers have largely devoted efforts to clearing the area, securing a perimeter and ensuring public safety. Get down there, find out what you can and wait on tactical. I don’t want to burn two detectives on a damn ‘werewolf’ or ‘animal control’ situation.”

Flint slapped the button for the elevator.

Two minutes later he was in his dark green BMW 3 series, reaching out the window at 50mph to set up his flashing light. With business taken care off he called for his L-Phone for Lexy to play Tom Waits “Rain Dogs”. The program took him literally and played the specific song rather than the whole album, but Flint didn’t mind. He tapped his fingers on the wheel to the heavy percussive beat and barked out the lyrics, imitating Waits bourbon and pack-of-smokes-a-day growl.

“Oh how we danced and we swallowed the night,
For it was all ripe for dreaming,
Oh how we danced away all of the lights,
We’ve allllways been out of our minds.”

🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑

---

Songwriter: Thomas Alan Waits
Rain Dogs lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Since we're in the habit of starting random conversations, I figure I'd get today's in.

With the One Universe concept in mind, not necessarily even for this game, which heroes (or villains) do you think would make a good couple?

I struggled for awhile to settle on someone for Batman to romance, given I've seen games where he's shacked up with Black Cat and Elektra and didn't want to repeat that, but it's surprisingly hard to think of a good pairing for him.

Meanwhile, when I was playing Superman way back when, I set up a potential pairing of Clark and (at the time, Carol Danvers as) Ms. Marvel.

@Master Bruce

Batman and Tigra. Why settle for a woman in a catsuit when he can get the real thing...

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>

Just be glad we haven't started shipping our IRL selves yet.

(Actually, I guess Wieg and Twy from the Basement did exactly that)

@AndyC

Well, @Morden Man is a co-GM here because we can't leave @Master Bruce and @Byrd Man in charge alone without the thread constantly smelling like tawdry sex, sweat and shame. Some questions are best not posited.

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

Wait are we shipping our characters or comic characters?

@Lord Wraith

Both. Anything, everything!

CLOSED - Ultimate One Universe: Season One

So far no one in the game is worthy of Gwen's affections.

Also she's a teenager so that doesn't help.

@HenryJonesJr

*@Byrd Man's Riddler hitches up his pants*