Current
A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ►The Hornet Armour - Hobie's current costume is a modified version of his Prowler Suit. The key differences are that utilising pneumatic blasts and drafts, caught by his glider cape, he is capable of short-distance flight. It also utilizes sedative 'stingers' which are also fired pneumatically, effective to aim over about forty feet, assuming regular weather. His suit still has precautionary grappling hooks in each gauntlet, and impact-resistant boots, capable of allowing him to withstand falls and harder landings. His boots also possess the pneumatic means to allow him to leap great heights, useful if conditions aren't the best suited for a ground based take-off. ►Skills - Whilst Hobie is a genius of sorts, he's still a specialised one. A self-made man who found his own innate gifts for working with pneumatics & fabrication, he is a creative and innovative thinker in his field. He is currently using his skills to function as an investigator/detective work, and his own skills and genius don't really transfer that way. He can make obvious inferences, and see blatant connections, but he is neither Batman, nor Vic Sage. He has no training for it, and no natural aptitude in that regard. He's just able to gain access to information by use of his brilliant suits, and feels they should be put to good use. Holding bad people accountable. - Hobie is a moderately good hacker. Again, self-taught. But he's not a miracle worker in this regard. - Hobie is a surprisingly good melee fighter for a regular human of his mere size - he attributes this to being the youngest of nine brothers who 'thought they were the Wutang Clan'. -
That's what we're getting here. Hobie was spared, given a second chance and made good with it. He has a solid career, that never happens if he goes to prison, and 'made it out'.
Now he's hellbent on crushing those who would exploit people who grew up in similar circumstances - to try and give those people the chances that he had. The chance to make good. The chance to 'be more'.
Captain America, the Avengers, maybe even Spider-Man bring hope. Hobie brings down giants who trample people like ants.
T H E H I S T O R Y O F H O B I E T H E H I S T O R Y O F H O B I E
The youngest of nine brothers, Hobie was born to Tyrone “Tiger” Brown and Josie “Jo” Brown in Harlem New York.
Before Hobie can remember, his father went off to war. He is MIA and the family was receiving payment and benefits, but with nine kids they struggled to stretch so far. Only one parent with her hands full with nine young boys, in the background of the ‘crack wars’ of the mid-to-late 90s.
Jo was shot in a home burglary, in an unsolved crime committed by someone doubtless seeking fast money for drugs. Rushed to Emergency, she was given a blood transfusion which was poorly screened. The transfusion infected her with HIV, back in the days when the diagnosis was viewed as a certain death sentence.
Facing an impossible choice of fighting a prolonged legal battles he certainly wouldn’t live long enough to see the end of, she accepted a cash settlement for the medical ‘mishap’, and the family used the money to buy a sizable home in South Bronx. At tremendous cost, she had managed to provide and get her boys out.
Their oldest brother, Abraham, had left the home already for opportunities overseas. He would return packages of money for the family periodically, as they remained in correspondence. As their mother was approaching her end, the family reached out to have him brought home, but he didn’t make it back in time. Before ‘Jo’s passing, she made the brothers swear to look out for one another – this resulted in the eight remaining boys, always remaining in close proximity. Even as some left home, they would still remain in the Bronx.
The eight boys had a ‘hustle-life’ attitude to money and its procurement, but had formed a zero tolerance attitude to drugs and gangs, all having seen the impact that they had indirectly had on their own family – the drive for money for drugs which resulted in their mother being shot, and the gangs who peddled drugs to one who shot her. Direct confrontation from all eight of the Brown Boys any time someone was foolish enough to attempt to recruit one on their own, saw an unsteady truce where the family and gangs both left well enough, and each other, alone.
Hobie, the youngest of his family, and in many ways the most fortunate, with seven older brothers watching over him and pushing him to meet his potential had the best grades of the group and was their hope to be the family’s first chance at going to college. He was a natural talent in many sciences and mathematics. A mishap with one of his inventions, saw him lose the opportunity as intent was read into the disaster, and he was suspended for the remainder of the school year. He later completed his schooling and got his GED, but school’s which had courted him distanced themselves after the incident, despite his pleas of innocence.
He revelled in making her uncomfortable, that much was clear.
Or at least he tried to.
It took a lot to shake a former investigator of H.E.L.P. Particularly one who had seen the kinds of things Zara Catrell had seen over the years.
But he tried nonetheless. Singing that damned song, leaning into his thick brogue with the shanty.
The Irishman. Ste Aisling.
"There was ol' Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute, When the ladies lined up for a set. He was tootin' with skill for each sparklin' quadrille, Though the dancers were fluthered and bent, With his smart witty talk, he was cock of the walk, And he rolled the dames under and over. They all knew at a glance, when he took up his stance, That he sailed in the Irish Rover."
He was onto about his third verse or so by now. Part of her wanted to see how long he'd continue this charade of nonchalance. But as the song seemed ever longer her patience had begun to wane.
"Nice. Rhymes. Are you going to keep on telling me how unbothered by all of this you are, or are we going to actually talk about what you know?"
He paused his song and rocked his neck back a second.
"What makes you so convinced a fella like me knows anythin', darl?"
She smirked. He was all front veneer and tough guy trimmings.
"You're very intent on having us belief you're a hard man, aren't you." There was no question in it.
"Am a well hard man." He corrected. "But still don't know nothin' 'bout this."
"Was playin' poker with the lads. Then I heard the Captain actin' the maggot as shit all went arseways."
Zara pulled her notepad.
"The lads being?"
"Dougie, Parkers and Tim. The three having committed the horrible crime of having money that was as yet not in my possession. So... poker."
"Not at all concerned with having to get back to work?"
"What work? We weren't meant to cast off yet. Wasn't nawt for me t'do. The others on late night crew and the radio. Again, nawt t'do til cast off."
Zara nodded as details began to check out. Except for...
"Fair enough. Except I'd heard that your poker game got put on hold after the Captain checked on you all, and asked you all if you could have been doing something."
"Bah! He was just doin' his rounds checkin' on everybody. You're makin it sound like we all scattered and dashed off with our winnin's. Some of the losers were just pleadin' poverty and trying t' get out of another hand, s'all. We were all still milling 'round and talkin'."
"And you heard the shot?"
"Heard a whole lot of effin' and blindin' as it all was goin' arseways. That much was true. But couldn't see nothin'. We were all playin' poker on the seaward side."
"Starboard?"
"Aye."
"Captain and the craziness was mainly on the port. Tryin' to cast off and get us movin'. Good job he did too, I hear. Quinn could've been all've us."
"Mmm." Zara murmured in a non-committed fashion, acknowledging the opinion.
Zara looked across at his hands. They were unblemished, uncalloused. A smirk crossed her face as she once again felt justified in her first take on Ste, all front and the perception of hardness. These weren't the hands of someone who'd seen the hard work in life. She remembered the Chef's opinion of him, and her statements regarding his efforts to get out of work and socialise. A picture of the man opposite was forming ever more clearly in her mind with every word that fell out of his mouth.
Something the Chef had said came to her mind, and she briefly looked up to check the time, before returning her sights to the subject.
He smiled at her. But it never met his eyes. Those eyes.
"There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee, There was Hogan from County Tyrone, There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work, And a man from Westmeath called Malone, There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a mule, And Fightin' Bill Treacy from Dover, And your man, Mick MacCann, from the banks of the Bann Was the skipper of the Irish Rover..."
"You quite like your song, don't you?"
His grin only broadened further and his head rocked at the neck, as if answering her were more effot than it was worth. No. More effort than she was worth.
"Tis a fair ditty, t'besure. Guessin' I just feel that when at sea it calls for a shanty. Eh?"
There was more going on here. She could see that much. He was guilty of something, if not this. His mannerisms were weary and tired, but it never met his eyes. Those penetrating eyes. If he wasn't getting enough sleep it wasn't affecting those eyes.
"If you've been a fan of it so far, somethin' tells me you'll love the next verse..."
His mouth opened and she caught a flash of a leer.
She'd enough experience in interrogations and interviewing subjects to know there was intended cruelty coming, and wasn't disappointed in her decision to harden herself as he once again broke into song.
"For a sailor its always a bother in life, It's so lonesome by night and day, That he longs for the shore and a pretty young whore The leer flashed once more as he added emphasis. Who will melt all his troubles away, Oh the noise and the rout, swillin' poitin' and stout, For him soon is done and over, Of the love of a maid, he is never afraid, An old salt from the Irish Rover..."
She wouldn't give him the pleasure of a reaction.
Deliberately, needlessly provocative. Looking for any control in a situation where he felt he had little to none. Grasping for any power in the situation he could find.
And in the absence of a reaction from Zara he laughed at himself, sensing nobody else would.
"Of course, what you're telling me... it's not entirely the whole truth is it?"
He snorted derisively, this was her reaction to the song, he was sure. Accusing him when she had nothing.
"Yeah, how'dya figure that, lass?"
"The Starboard side. Had a clear path to the stern. In fact, its the clearest path there. And the Port side, where the Captain was, wouldn't have had visibility of anything happening on that side, would he?"
The Irishman's brow furrowed into a scowl.
"True. But the three people I was playin' poker with and probably a half dozen people all in all would have, if I'd done what y'r claimin' I did. But you know that. It's just a baseless shot across the bow because you got your feelings hurt."
Zara hesitated to think of another question, before Ste's brogue filled the vacant air once more.
"...and I think one stray shot gettin' caught by an innocent fella is enough, without firin' off more. Or am I wrong?"
That one stung. And lengthened the pause in her response.
"What's the matter, dryshite, got nothin' else for me?"
This time she chuckled. Far enough away from the moment of real irritation. He kept leaning in further and further, practically making a parody of a charicature of himself.
Poke him once more. Hit his ego and his masculinity and see what rattles out.
"So, playing poker with three guys. The Chef doesn't seem to think much of you, but I guess that shouldn't be too much of a surprise. Don't suppose you keep much company with women. Can't imagine you--"
She didn't even finish the comment and he'd already leaned forward like he was stung by a hornet. Full of bluster and outrage.
"What're you gettin' at, you dozy dose?! Back ashore I was up ta ninety with the beours! Couldn't keep 'em off me, I couldn't. A man plays poker with the lads in a spare five and he's suddenly the Lonesome Loser. Trust me, I'll do alright for m'self. I'd be more worried about yourself. Can't imagine this'd get you anywhere, or is this how you meet all your blokes, eh? Prefer a captive audience. Well from this side of the table I'll tell ya you'd clean up better if you smiled once in a while."
"You do alright for yourself, huh? Lilly Marks or-- Suze Scrivener?" She quickly threw in the name of the next female subject, having the foresight that the Chef Celeste Boucher would unlikely be his type.
He gave a wider leer still, and even fired off a wink. "It's a long cruise, like."
Now THAT she bought. He might not have it in him to shoot someone, but at that moment he could absolutely see that he was exactly the kind of disgusting type who would take any advantage with a woman that he could get.
And maybe already had, or was.
He knew she had little desire to hear any more from him, comfortable in the knowledge he knew nothing about the case at hand. But Zara did make a mental note to ask the next subject, and perhaps a few more of the women on board about him. And Quinn as well. Mistaken identity and self-defense had become a possibility in her mind. Stranger things had happened.
His leer returned once more as he rocked back in thought as he finished his ditty.
We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out, And the ship lost its way in the fog, And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two, Just myself and the Captain's old dog. Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord, what a shock, The bulkhead was turned right over, Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned, I'm the last of The Irish Rover..."
A crooked little smile, she tucked her dress behind her knees as she sat opposite Zara.
She raised her eyes to the investigator opposite and tried to widen her smile with warmth, but it was clear that everything about proceedings was uncomfortable for her.
Suze Scrivener, Zara noted. She'd yet to hear a negative word about her amongst the ship's crew, and what little interaction she'd had with her herself, she'd shown herself to be affable, and if anything a little too eager to please.
Some might even consider it 'sweet'.
Zara wasn't one to think in such terms.
When you'd seen the kind of things that the H.E.L.P. Investigator had seen, read as many of the reports on what the worst in society had done. It wasn't on her scale of the spectrum of humanity. She thought more in terms of guilt. More in terms of what information she could pry, an what leverage to utilise to crack a subject open like a nut to reveal those kernels of enlightenment.
What Zara saw was a person primed for being knocked off balance. Open to intimidation. But was aware of what the affect in doing so early, when that action would likely to impact the actions of the crew as word of mouth travelled faster outside of these walls than her questioning could spread through the subjects at hand.
She'd prefer to be interviewing this one later, to counter that response. Or to re-call her. But with her being kitchen crew it had been made clear the Captain would want this handled earlier.
His interference in her interrogation was grating on her more with every subject, with every minute.
"No morning service, so I suppose this was the last best opportunity to catch you while you're well rested." Zara Catrell smiled, attempting to at least open the interview with some kind of levity.
Suze's smile, barely cracked open to show a hint of pearl, as she nodded, considering her response.
"Hardly relaxing though, considering events." The smile rapidly disappeared from her face, and Zara silently cursed herself for not making better use of the first swing, to draw more of a response. She'd likely be more guarded now.
So long away from her work, she was out of practice.
Suze again took her time, before she gave a solemn solitary "No..."
"Did you know Quinn at all?"
Another pause.
"I think we saw each other once or twice in the Alumni village. At Mrs Millett's shop, getting groceries. Just... friendly 'Hello's and waves, if anything. I knew him by sight, but not very much about him."
Zara could feel the weighty pauses, controlling the tempo of the interview, and didn't care for them at all. She was dictating tempo. To give herself time to formulate a lie if she had to? Perhaps. Or maybe not. Regardless, it didn't serve her well to allow it to continue.
She sped up her voice as she snapped back a follow-up question. Trying to elicit a speedier response from the social tension it would create.
"Were you aware what his hyperhuman power was?" It wasn't a question who's answer would give a lot of weight to anything, it's purpose more to manipulate the tempo than gain anything meaningful in response.
"No. I don't think so. Like I said, we never spoke much. And I never thought enough about him to ask anyone el--"
She re-gathered herself as the physical manifestation of her exclamatory comment exploded between the pair.
Zara's brow lowered at the response. It was so large it had almost forced her out of her chair, and stood in stark contrast to the temperament of the girl seated opposite.
"I'm so sorry, that's so terrible, you must think I'm awful, that I didn't really--"
"It's alright. It doesn't seem to be an uncommon situation for most I've spoken to already."
Maybe a bit more survivors guilt than most, though. Demonstrative?
Zara recalculated the motivation behind the pauses. Perhaps they weren't solely for this interview. She wrote a 'P' and a '?' as shorthand in her notebook, before continuing with her questions. She lacked complete control of her powers. And in her case that could mean a potential breach on secrecy. Could it be that she had she said something that was seen by the wrong person?
Zara knew better than to ask herself what possible darkness this unassuming girl in her dress, who was so quick with a disarming smile, could possibly behold. For an opressed people, darkness could be found in even the brightest appearing hyperhuman. Well masked by years of practice.
"A few people have said it was your response that first gave the indication that something was wrong at th time, and finding the body of Mister Spence. Could you tell me what you were doing when you found Quinn? Was there anybody else already there?"
She thought for a moment.
"Well... I think Jason was technically closer. He'd struggled to get himself to the shelter of the starboard side because, well, I think he pretty clearly didn't feel well. He'd turned a pretty nasty shade of pink, from his usually nice red hue. But I don't think he actually saw anything, I think he was just trying to get somewhere safe whilst not throwing up."
Zara considered this, and was about to make a note that she was the first on scene to discover the body, when she continued.
"...but, being the closest, doesn't mean I was the first. I just... was the first to say anything, and I was pretty shocked to find him like that."
"Yes. The Captain did say your-- comment-- was the first sign that he had that anything was wrong."
"Oh..." Suze said, turning a similar shade to Jason McGee from the other direction, before re-gathering herself, but with some sign of relief on her face.
Zara recognised what she was looking at and made a mental note if only to try and make use of it later. Still, she was a co-operating subject, and willing to provide what information she had at present.
Zara looked to keep momentum.
"So... what other crew members did you see there who would have discovered Quinn's body just before, or just at the same time as you had?"
Suze sobbed gently once more, at the reference to 'Quinn's body', and Zara cursed herself for being out of practice, and made a mental note to keep it more just objective and refer to it as 'the body' to prevent the bubbling over of feelings slowing her interview process.
"Well, you weren't far behind. And Vee and I had been talking. She was a bit behind because she was busy with the cloud cover. But there was Rafe, and young Tash, who helps Vincenzo. Oh, and one of the boys. I don't really know them very well."
Zara's brow furrowed at the cloud over this piece of information. She probed on clumsily.
"Do you know his name?" She said, more forcefully than was comfortable for the conversation.
Suze withdrew slightly. Not wanting to accuse anyone just by their presence alone. Especially just because she didn't know the person well. The Alumni Village was a small place, and most knew each other, but with people travelling in cliques it was not always the height of familiarity. One of the friends of Ste. Which meant it wasn't really someone she would make it her business to be around. They'd been playing some type of cards earlier, and the Irishman gave a leer that made her uncomfortable as she passed by with Viola, who very loudly put him in his place at the time. But Suze didn't like to be so provocative.
You never know how people could and would react.
"I'm sorry. I don't know his name."
Zara's watched Suze's face with deep scrutiny, and as HZEs swirled, her mind calculated and she had this mystery 'boy' down to one of two people.
She considered her next path as she wrote the assorted list of names down on her pad in rough shorthand.
She felt comfortable she'd given everything she 'would claim' she knew quite willingly. But she had a decision to make here. She could 'burn' the subject, probably risk her treatment souring the crew to her investigation - many of whom, didn't seem to particularly care for it in the first place either because of its prying nature on their own privacy, or due to following the Captain's sentiments like sheep. But it would give her an answer, one way or the other. And cement some of what she knew, and what she felt her powers had deduced to meaningful information.
It was barely a question. She wrestled her expression to a flat, neutral state, before hitting the girl between the eyes with what would take her off balance.
"So how long have you felt this way about the Captain?" She quickly fired, in a flat tone.
Zara immediately followed it up with another question.
"He'd be quite old for you. What would that be? Almost a fifteen... twenty year age difference. Does he know?"
Suze's face had fallen to shock. She was trying to gather herself, but kept getting peppered with a new hit every time.
"If the Captain wanted you to cover for him would you do it? Sorry. What exactly would the Captain have to have done in order for you to be willing to cover for him?"
Suze tried to take her time to regain her balance. "...I-- I didn't. ...I wouldn't."
Sensing it was the time to pivot to get what she was truly after, Zara swung the point of attack.
"So what did the boys do to 'make you forget'? Where di--"
Suze's facial response was quite mild. Not outrage. Not shock at a discovery coming to light. Zara scanned for every twitch, every involuntary tell, but the reaction wasn't the same as when she posed the question about the Captain.
"What? They didn't? As if I'd let--"
The pointed questions didn't seem to hold the same truth. Draw the same effect. aybe she'd regained control. Covered her motivations. More stress was called for tob e certain.
"Was it here on this ship, or at the back of Millett's shop where they cornered y--"
"That never happened, what are you--?"
"Did they threaten that they'd be back. That next time they would-- he would--"
Suze's face had twisted with baffled confusion. The whole interview had changed pace, and while at first she was nervous that she saw through one of her secrets, now it was just baseless wild swings at complete falsehoods. Whatever integrity her investigation held, and respect for process she may have once had was now a distant memory for this subject.
"Is this-- How you used to investigate people? You just make up stupid stuff that never happened and hope something sticks?"
Zara circled the two symbols she had drawn and pot a dot in the circle. Her confidence in that had grown, even if she had lost something else here in this room.
Nothing else mattered in the pursuit of the truth.
"I think I've got all I need."
"You've been very helpful, Miss Scrivener."
Just outside, a gull landed on the railing and peered into the interview room through one of the many portholes which provided light. The scavenger took two beats, and left of its own devices, unclear whether it was satisfied in getting whatever it cme for or not.
The Thorpedo surged ever onwards through mild chop.
New York City. A glittering labyrinth of steel, glass, and shadows. The very pulse of the city beats in rhythm with millions of hopes, struggles, and secrets. Every day brings with it a new tale waiting to be written, a new twist around every corner. Here in the big city, where ordinary men and women walk in the shadow of masked giants, life is rarely as it seems, though. Beneath the lights of Broadway, where the glow of Times Square fades into the gloom of the boroughs, the city becomes something else—a battleground where power is the only language spoken.
On the streets of New York, crime doesn't just survive—it thrives.
The story of the Bronx isn't just one of history and culture, but also of power. Tombstone, one time common thug turned fledging crime boss, runs his operations out of Harlem, turning the area into a stronghold of violence and intimidation.
Brooklyn is the epicenter of dangerous ambition. Madame Masque, the deadly and calculating woman with a face of gold, proves she's not just a player, but a force of nature pulling the strings behind the scenes as the borough becomes her criminal playground.
In Queens, grittiness is the law of the land. Hammerhead, a ruthless gangster known for his unbreakable skull and even tougher demeanor, has claimed a mansion in the heart of the borough as his personal fortress from which deals can be made in blood.
Staten Island bubbles with tension. The Maggia, a collection of crime families who once thrived in Little Italy, have now taken hold on the island—turning it into a quiet nexus for smuggling, racketeering, and power plays.
Manhattan. From the bustling avenues of Midtown to the sleek corridors of Wall Street, this is where the city's heart beats strongest. At the center of it all is Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin himself, whose reach extends far beyond his imposing Tower.
In New York, every alley tells a story. Every building, every block, every dark corner has a role to play in this tale of never-ending struggle for power. Here, crime runs rampant, and the law is just another game to play.
Welcome to the real Streets of New York, where heroes fight to keep the darkness at bay, and the villains are always one step ahead.
# Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood…. Hop a flight to Miami Beach, or to Hollywood…. But I'm taking a Greyhound, on the Hudson River line…
…I'm in a New York state of mind #
Marvels: Streets of New York is a roleplaying game based loosely in the Marvel Comics universe - specifically, in that universe’s version of New York City, and even more specifically, at the street level. The heavy-hitters of this world – the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the X-Men – are all still very much still around, battling intergalactic conquerors and supernatural terrors and unraveling global conspiracies… but that’s not where our stories take place. This game is focused on the city itself, the heroes and villains who populate it, and the conflicts, crises, mysteries, romances, power struggles, team-ups, betrayals, falls and redemptions that happen in the Big Apple.
# In New York Concrete Jungle, where dreams are made of, There’s nothing you can’t do, Now you’re in New York, These streets will make you feel brand new, Big lights will inspire you, Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York… #
The Marvel iteration of New York is one of the most lively cities in all of fiction, vivid and dangerous and oozing with character. And unlike the likes of Gotham City, it isn’t tied to a specific character, or even a specific mood– on any given day, you might see a rooftop duel between Daredevil and Bullseye along the blocks of Hell’s Kitchen, get caught up in some wacky hijinks with Squirrel Girl in Central Park, find a human trafficking ring shot to pulp by the Punisher in the Bronx, kick a few bucks to the Heroes for Hire to clear out a gang hideout in Harlem, and get saved from a collapsing construction site in Queens by your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, all before making it home to turn on the Yankees game and open up the latest copy of the Daily Bugle.
From a game perspective, while the Five Boroughs and their dozens of individual neighborhoods should give everyone plenty of sites to see and people to meet, keeping things contained in the city should also encourage more interaction and collaboration, since crossing from one hero’s “turf” to another is usually as simple as walking a few blocks.
# New York isn't New York without you, love So far in a few blocks, to be so low And if I call you from First Avenue Well, you're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me #
Players can pick and play as any relatively “street-level” Marvel hero or anti-hero. By ‘street-level,’ we mean any character whose usual sphere of influence doesn’t expand outside of New York itself. Captain America might only be able to punch through a wall, but he goes on globe-trotting adventures and fights global threats all the time, so he’d likely be out. Meanwhile, someone like Jessica Jones could theoretically be a world-level hero, but she almost never operates outside the city.
This game also takes a fairly loose approach to canon, but re-imagined or OC characters are not allowed. While the exact details of a character don’t need to adhere to one particular iteration, the character should still be recognizable as their canon counterparts. You are welcome to pull from the 616 or Ultimate comic books, the MCU, the various animated series, or some amalgamation of them, as long as its basis is in some version of official Marvel lore.
# New York's alright if you like drunks in your doorway! New York's alright if you wanna freeze to death! New York's alright if you wanna get mugged or murdered! New York's alright if you like saxophones! #
Something’s always going down in the big city, whether you’re ready for it or not. In that spirit, the GMs will sporadically generate events that will happen in the various Boroughs. Some of these might be quick one-and-done emergencies like a runaway train or someone like Rhino going on a tear, some of them might be more involved mysteries like tracking down a serial killer, others might be long-running metaplots such as the never-ending power struggle between the city’s various crime lords. Players will be encouraged to participate in these events, but not required- if one event doesn’t spark your imagination, maybe the next one will.
New York City. A glittering labyrinth of steel, glass, and shadows. The very pulse of the city beats in rhythm with millions of hopes, struggles, and secrets. Every day brings with it a new tale waiting to be written, a new twist around every corner. Here in the big city, where ordinary men and women walk in the shadow of masked giants, life is rarely as it seems, though. Beneath the lights of Broadway, where the glow of Times Square fades into the gloom of the boroughs, the city becomes something else—a battleground where power is the only language spoken.
On the streets of New York, crime doesn't just survive—it thrives.
The story of the Bronx isn't just one of history and culture, but also of power. Tombstone, one time common thug turned fledging crime boss, runs his operations out of Harlem, turning the area into a stronghold of violence and intimidation.
Brooklyn is the epicenter of dangerous ambition. Madame Masque, the deadly and calculating woman with a face of gold, proves she's not just a player, but a force of nature pulling the strings behind the scenes as the borough becomes her criminal playground.
In Queens, grittiness is the law of the land. Hammerhead, a ruthless gangster known for his unbreakable skull and even tougher demeanor, has claimed a mansion in the heart of the borough as his personal fortress from which deals can be made in blood.
Staten Island bubbles with tension. The Maggia, a collection of crime families who once thrived in Little Italy, have now taken hold on the island—turning it into a quiet nexus for smuggling, racketeering, and power plays.
Manhattan. From the bustling avenues of Midtown to the sleek corridors of Wall Street, this is where the city's heart beats strongest. At the center of it all is Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin himself, whose reach extends far beyond his imposing Tower.
In New York, every alley tells a story. Every building, every block, every dark corner has a role to play in this tale of never-ending struggle for power. Here, crime runs rampant, and the law is just another game to play.
Welcome to the real Streets of New York, where heroes fight to keep the darkness at bay, and the villains are always one step ahead.
# Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood…. Hop a flight to Miami Beach, or to Hollywood…. But I'm taking a Greyhound, on the Hudson River line…
…I'm in a New York state of mind #
Marvels: Streets of New York is a roleplaying game based loosely in the Marvel Comics universe - specifically, in that universe’s version of New York City, and even more specifically, at the street level. The heavy-hitters of this world – the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the X-Men – are all still very much still around, battling intergalactic conquerors and supernatural terrors and unraveling global conspiracies… but that’s not where our stories take place. This game is focused on the city itself, the heroes and villains who populate it, and the conflicts, crises, mysteries, romances, power struggles, team-ups, betrayals, falls and redemptions that happen in the Big Apple.
# In New York Concrete Jungle, where dreams are made of, There’s nothing you can’t do, Now you’re in New York, These streets will make you feel brand new, Big lights will inspire you, Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York… #
The Marvel iteration of New York is one of the most lively cities in all of fiction, vivid and dangerous and oozing with character. And unlike the likes of Gotham City, it isn’t tied to a specific character, or even a specific mood– on any given day, you might see a rooftop duel between Daredevil and Bullseye along the blocks of Hell’s Kitchen, get caught up in some wacky hijinks with Squirrel Girl in Central Park, find a human trafficking ring shot to pulp by the Punisher in the Bronx, kick a few bucks to the Heroes for Hire to clear out a gang hideout in Harlem, and get saved from a collapsing construction site in Queens by your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, all before making it home to turn on the Yankees game and open up the latest copy of the Daily Bugle.
From a game perspective, while the Five Boroughs and their dozens of individual neighborhoods should give everyone plenty of sites to see and people to meet, keeping things contained in the city should also encourage more interaction and collaboration, since crossing from one hero’s “turf” to another is usually as simple as walking a few blocks.
# New York isn't New York without you, love So far in a few blocks, to be so low And if I call you from First Avenue Well, you're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me #
Players can pick and play as any relatively “street-level” Marvel hero or anti-hero. By ‘street-level,’ we mean any character whose usual sphere of influence doesn’t expand outside of New York itself. Captain America might only be able to punch through a wall, but he goes on globe-trotting adventures and fights global threats all the time, so he’d likely be out. Meanwhile, someone like Jessica Jones could theoretically be a world-level hero, but she almost never operates outside the city.
This game also takes a fairly loose approach to canon, but re-imagined or OC characters are not allowed. While the exact details of a character don’t need to adhere to one particular iteration, the character should still be recognizable as their canon counterparts. You are welcome to pull from the 616 or Ultimate comic books, the MCU, the various animated series, or some amalgamation of them, as long as its basis is in some version of official Marvel lore.
# New York's alright if you like drunks in your doorway! New York's alright if you wanna freeze to death! New York's alright if you wanna get mugged or murdered! New York's alright if you like saxophones! #
Something’s always going down in the big city, whether you’re ready for it or not. In that spirit, the GMs will sporadically generate events that will happen in the various Boroughs. Some of these might be quick one-and-done emergencies like a runaway train or someone like Rhino going on a tear, some of them might be more involved mysteries like tracking down a serial killer, others might be long-running metaplots such as the never-ending power struggle between the city’s various crime lords. Players will be encouraged to participate in these events, but not required- if one event doesn’t spark your imagination, maybe the next one will.
Whilst his body had well and truly healed he still felt ghost pains from that night. He'd turn and twist trying to find a way to sleep which would ease the pressure on his ravaged body which didn't have a scar to bear.
The size of the bed did nothing to help, either.
He was used to single beds and cots and swags, and in this pampered preppy school everyone got their own huge bed. A bed that was far too soft, and he could lie well across without covering the area.
He'd piled clothes on it just to try and take space. Make it feel less sparse, open and bare. Some nights it was more effective than others.
Life since he'd left the infirmary was just as uncomfortable. His Community contribution at the Collegiate library saw him inundated with a swarm, a horde, of girls who'd gossip and seemingly double in number with every passing day. Something weird was going on. Had been ever since the incident.
Calliope was acting... irregularly... around him. Inconsistent with how she'd been speaking with him before that night. She'd said she had wanted to take time to get to know him, she seemed to try to avoid him at times, but then things would run hot and cold when they were actually together, noticeably hot in particular, and she wasn't backwards in making physical contact. But she'd said earlier she didn't want things to just be physical, or her using him for that or whatever.
His life seemed almost... split... between his time before and after the infirmary.
He needed someone to talk to about all of this, but he didn't really have anyone. Old mate Butler would probably just give him shit and be less than no help. Elle kind of dodged him a little since she did the good legwork of getting Calli back in touch after they'd tried to deny him visitors. Just the thought of a repeat performance from the Hyperhuman terrorist Hyperion had been more than enough to put the wind up her a bit. That day seemed to impact everyone else pretty heavily. Probably because they were still left in the thick of it whilst he was quickly ragdoll'd in seconds. Barely had the time to regret his words... as if that were a thing he would ever do in the first place. Ground was under him. Then it was WAAAAY under him. Then it was very quickly rushing towards him.
But with Elle creating distance he just realised he didn't really have anyone to talk to about it. Most people he knew, he just didn't really have that kind of relationship with to talk about this kind of stuff. His own inexperience and Calli's seemingly strange, inconsistent behaviour. Not that he was complaining about the hot and cold treatment, it just would have been nice to have some kind of understanding about what the Hell was going on. Not like he could talk to anybody else.
Least of all his roommates. Any discussion on this would, well, kind of just be seen as rubbing their faces in it.
But still, it left him confused and isolated... whilst ironically never being more popular. It probably wouldn't last, sure. He'd do something knuckleheaded eventually and things would return to the usual status quo eventually. Inevitably. But it didn't make things any less frustrating now.
He kicked the quilt off the bed with a deep sigh.
Drink. Get something to drink. Reset. Maybe then sleep will find you.
He staggered from the bed in his boxers, to the communal kitchen and the coffee machine.
He had one eye half squinted open from beneath the unnegotiable bramble which was his hair, as he scratched his chest and considered his options.
No coffee. That'd be dumb. Warm milk's too bland... He checked the chocolate powder in the shaker, and didn't give anyone else a second thought.
"That'll do..."
Not coffee. Not at this hour.
He upturned the shaker over a mug and holding it in place, he gave it a good shake until he felt he had enough powder.
Something rustled.
He straightened slightly, a perplexed expression penetrating the exhausted face. He froze. The chocolate powder was communal. For dusting. Not for what he was doing.
The noise had stopped though, whatever it was. Somewhere in the darkness. Not that Zimmerman would ever let him have it if he found what he was doing with the chocolate powder in the first place. Big Steve wouldn't want to wake everyone over it either. He'd just hear sullen bullshit and passive aggression in the morning, that was more his M.O. The instinct of getting caught just got to him in the moment. He yawned broadly and scratched his chest again, slowly feeling more secure.
He did hear something though.
Fuck it. Whatever it was wouldn't be important.
He hit the 'Hot Milk' button on the machine, with his mug in place to cover the pilfered powder. It started it's obnoxious cacophony as it performed its task.
Then he felt it.
A-- cat--? Its tail slowly entwining itself around his calf and lower leg. He straightened again in confusion.
'When did they get a cat?'
But that didn't make sense for more reasons than one.
For one thing cats are normally furry or fluffy.
He felt someone's gaze upon him in the darkness.
This is more-- scaly.
A feminine smirk from someone he'd never seen before, barely outlined from the dim light of the coffee machine. He caught a brief glimpse of a forked tongue flicking at the air. The corners of her mouth creased even wider.
"Oh shi--..."
Before his sleep deprived mind could finish the thought, he was off his feet. The strong tail dragging him to the one room in the dorm he'd never set foot in.
Interaction(s):Former P.R.C.U transfers to The Foundation
Previously:Horses
"No." She said flatly.
"Well, that's somethin' I guess." He half-jogged at an awkward pace to keep up with her. "I mean, I'm not surprised they lumped you in the beige brigade as well, but I was worried they might make your life even--"
"No. I mean 'No. Stop talking to me.'" Shoshanna's scaly arms crossed her chest as she pushed on.
"You think they're watching us..?" Banjo quickly turned and looked around, trying to spot the surveillance.
"No, you idiot. I mean stop talking to me. I finally have a chance to start over and make a new first impression after you and that bitch played a prank on me and ruined my reputation at our last school."
"Prank? You think I pranked you - a person I had never met and never think, nor thought about - to try and commit sexual assault on me? Some prank." Lawyer Banjo flashed his head.
"Ssssssh!" She tried to silence him, unable to cover her natural lisp as she hushed him. She hoped the words wouldn't travel across the open ocean to find her here. "Sure. Is that why you bragged about it?"
"Bragged abou--?! I never told a damn soul."
"Then how'd it follow me around school for five years?"
"I. Don't. Know. Not from me. I'd just been tossed away like a used Kleenex in front of everybody into a hospital bed like it was nothing, you think I wanted people to know you were able to drag me into your bedroom and I wasn't able to do a damn thing about it?"
"Her then. Before she got expelled. She must have told everybody."
"Elle didn't get expelled. She stuck out the full four years. Course she stopped talking to me. Probably over this. Who could blame her? Believe me, she would have been just as embarrassed about the whole thing as we both were."
"That still doesn't explain why you keep trying to talk to me now."
"I told you... you've got to watch yourself here. They have... a different way of seeing hyperhumans like yourself. They see you as-- less than. 'Sub-species' is the term they use for it. Haven - girl on my team - has been on the receiving end of it. It went so far as one psychopath trying to--" He stopped. The thought was still too raw, after what happened to Calliope.
"They have some... different views about certain types of hyperhumans. Different types of views about a lot of things, by the looks..." He generalised.
"So? I'm supposed to think you care? You never cared enough to speak to me before."
"You shut yourself in your room or went out. And I didn't exactly blame you for doin' that. After everything, I kind of feel its best to respect your bloody privacy. And there's a difference between caring enough to be a friend to a person, and caring about their basic fundamental well-being and that they not be ravaged and have their shit harvested by some lunatic fringe nutbag. You'll notice I'm not asking about your day, am I?"
"That's exactly what you were asking me." She smirked back, skepticism still deeply imprinted on her face.
"From an angle of a person who doesn't want to see you get your shit harvested! 'Hey, have you come across anybody saying anything like 'Cor, check out the scales on that sub-species.'" He snapped back with no small amount of exasperation.
"Look... all I'm saying, is that if you notice anyone being particularly, I dunno, cruel over your-- whole-- deal. Or acting weird."
"Weird?" She levelled him with a look that suggested she was looking at such a person as they spoke.
"Ha. Ha. By our standards, 'weird'. Even if it's just you feel someone looking at you funny. I want to know about it."
Shoshanna snorted dismissively. Her tongue whipping out in a flash, before returning home, so quickly a bystander could scarcely tell it had happened in the first place, as she shook her head.
"What?"
"You just live such a charmed life, don't you? Do you have any idea how many people and how often I get 'looked at funny'? Even back in our old school?"
He went to reply, but it was clear she wasn't done with what she had to say yet.
"Even just studying I could feel eyes on me. Always. And after what happened with..." She sighed, and focused inwards, as if fighting off an outburst that could be a public spectacle. "After THAT it was all the time from everyone. And whispers. Always whispers. Could you imagine what it's like when you've waited so long to get into a place where you might finally be accepted for what you are. WHO you are. And then have that first impression trampled on, just to become a-- a FREAK in everyone's eyes again. Some monstrous thing that can't control herself? You both STOLE that from me."
"I. Did. Nothing. To you. I was as much a victim of what happened as I came to realise you were. Many would unfairly claim 'moreso'." He crisply fired back.
"You are just the worst--"
"--person you ever attempted to mate with against their will? Cheers. It's an Honour." He shot back, leer on his face.
Her quickened gasp, made it clear his instinctive response was a tactical error.
As she turned and ran down the hallway, he cursed at himself. "Stupid."
He'd just put more space in between himself and probably the most vulnerable target in this place. There was no way she'd trust him enough, if anything worth reporting did happen to come up and threaten her now.
No leads, few allies and his horse stirring up a tempest in his gut.
If he was honest with himself it was stirring more out of fresh guilt than ill-preparation or the origin of the meal.
He'd since formed the conclusion that on that night there were two victims. The nature of Shoshanna's hyperhuman powers and physiology went beyond skin deep. The 'reptilian brain' was more developed in her, the reptilian brain which was more susceptible to the natural urges that came from pheromone dispersal than the average person.
He found himself under direct physical threat - of sorts... - that night, but she had fallen victim to a situation beyond her own control as well.
He just hated that somehow she was attempting to blame him for it. There were enough things in this world that people COULD fairly blame him for, without concocting new ridiculous things that he wasn't responsible for. It triggered the persecution complex that drove his lawyer brain into overdrive.
Time was, Zimmerman would be able to get to work putting out his fires on this one. Quiet hushed conversation through her closed over door. But that was more complicated here and now. He was going to have to let time scab that wound and hope nothing befell her in the meantime.
She did raise a reasonable question about how it spread across the school so fast. He always just chalked it up to being such a small island, nothing stays hushed long. Some rumour snuck out of faculty somewhere into some student's ear and then it spread like wildfire. Perhaps the 'real reason' of Elodie Miller's departure. He'd never really given it much thought, because that rumour was a long forgotten one in the cacophony of gossip and scuttlebutt that surrounded him and his actions. He'd had five years of questionable behaviour which swirled those waters since then. Shoshanna had-- well, she'd always tried to keep quiet and to herself. So that one never left. And was the only thing many knew about her. It became a label, that forever stuck to her. However unfair as it may have been.
Regardless of how her actions did nothing to help people forget or move on from it, it still wasn't fair that she be viewed as little more beyond that. Her vulnerability to the pheromones he'd been unknowingly doused with making a victim of her as well.
The best indicator he had for spotting sentiments similar to those shared by Daedalus in this place was running from him and viewed him with a level of disdain that wouldn't soon be repaired.
Zara rounded the table, she felt the fine ridges in the underside, the laminate on the top. Familiarising herself completely with where they all would sit. What they would each in turn feel and experience as she asked her questions. Probed their motives and whereabouts.
The subjects.
It had been a while since she'd done anything like this. Since she'd been allowed to.
H.E.L.P had sidelined her quite a while ago, even before the pressure on the organization ramped up. The lack of faith-- no. The lack of trust was a sleight she had found more than difficult. It was one thing from the humans, their fear of the different was a defining trait. To be expected. But her own people? This was something beyond.
"So, you want coffee? Tea? Somethin' stronger, whilst you play the disaffected detective?"
Zara smirked, her neck straightened, recognising the voice before seeing its source as her back was still to the door. The Australian Captain.
"Or do you still not trust me and view me as a suspect in this whole infernal bloody investigation?"
Turning her head to the side, she scanned his face from profile for his reaction as she told him. "You were never a real suspect. Running around the whole ship in full sight of everyone, desperately trying to pull away from shore. Killing someone at that time would have taken a level of sleight of hand that nobody would reasonably believe you to be capable of."
"But suggesting it got you exactly what you bloody wanted, didn't it?" He spat in disgust. "So quick, clean and quiet. With your ego trip. Whatever last grab at glory you call this."
He was enraged, but she could tell she'd just confirmed suspicions he already had. She briefly wondered what could have tipped her hand before it immediately came to light.
"So how'd 'bullet retrieval' go on a through-and-through, anyway?"
Ah. There it was. If anything, she should have been surprised more didn't pick up on it, although they were probably distracted by the situation. For most, a murder isn't an everyday thing.
"Judging by wound diameter, I suspect we're looking for a .38 special or 9mm round."
Zara walked back around the table towards the side that she would actually be sitting in. Facing the entrance. Back to the wall, as she was accustomed to.
He sneered, unimpressed by her deflection and choice in ignoring his point.
She expanded further.
"A .38 special or a 9mm round would mean a revolver or pistol of some kind. Can you picture many humans going Hype-hunting with a handgun and firing off blindly at distance into fog? What do you think they'd expect to hit?"
"Probably some poor bastard on stern deck about Quinn Spence's size..." The Captain muttered as he walked away.
Zara poured a glass of water for her side of the table and sat and waited for the first person she'd requested to arrive.
She entered with an unwillingness to talk, even beyond her capacity to do so.
Lilly Marks slapped a notepad and pen down on the table top and rocked back in her chair, irritated by the whole process.
Zara maintained the silence, which seemed to irritate the woman opposite even further. Ink drew from her shoulders and swirled, until forming a clear, yet cursive 'What?' across her own forehead.
She didn't seem particularly impressed by this entire endeavour, and Zara's investigation had split the crewmembers. Not the least because of--
"The Captain asked that should I need to speak to you, I speak to you and Ms Boucher first, to not keep you from other duties. He doesn't much care for the fact this investigation is taking place, and what he views as the possible negative effects it could have on the people on this ship. I take it you feel this time could be better spent getting back to those duties as well?"
The ink on her forehead swirled and took the form of a picture of a brain. Before the word 'Smart' appeared underneath it.
Zara exhaled sharply, the sides of her mouth curling slightly at the sullen visual response.
"You like the Captain, don't you?"
Lilly's brow dropped slightly, not liking where the insinuation was going with the much older man.
She picked up the pen and started to scrawl, her handwriting much less aesthetically pleasing than the writing she could produce with her own ink and flesh. Zara sipped at the glass of water, just for something to do whilst she wrote her response.
She slapped the pen back down sharply, tore off the page and turned it, sliding the note paper to the former H.E.L.P investigator.
He's a good man. After all, he's the reason most of us have anywhere to go now at all. He seems to genuinely care.
Zara read the note and then looked at the woman seated across from her. Taking in her body language.
Lilly gave her something else to read. The ink on her forehead swirled again before spelling out. 'Probably including you.'
Empty speculation, but Zara's takeaway was different from Lilly's intent.
Deflection.
'He's funny.'
"And how did you know Quinn Spence?"
More scrawling on the notepad.
I don't really. Got introduced because he was going to be working in the kitchen. We haven't really had service yet though, so never even worked with him yet. Our prep work has been different and separate. Chef would know him better.
"Chef being Celeste Boucher?"
The ink once again swirled on her forehead to once again show the brain. This time throbbing. 'Genius' formed beneath it in pristine formal cursive.
The Chef was next. The Captain eager to let the kitchen staff be allowed to get back to work.
"Chef Boucher. What's your opinion of her?"
The question seemed to amuse Lilly. Rapid scraewling, as the smirk broadened across her face.
I think if she was the one who turned up dead, you'd have a lot more questions for me. As well as anyone who ever had to work with her and knows her personality.
Slap. Turn. Push.
Zara read the note and smirked herself.
"You mean 'personally'."
The ink on her forehead swirled and took the form of emboldened all caps 'NO.' as Lilly shook her head twice with her lips pursed. She knew exactly what she meant to say.
"Look. You were in the dining room at the time. Witnesses place you there as well during the entire incident. Main reason I wanted to speak with you first was to get whatever early impression of the victim I could, from someone who could be comfortably written off as a suspect and get your interview out of the way. Captain's orders."
Lilly shrugged, and pointed her thumb to the exit with her brow raised. The body language clear. 'So I can go?'
"Of course. You didn't do this. We both know that..."
Lilly got to her feet and made for the door.
"...of course, the question is, would you lie to cover for someone else? The Captain?"
The young mute woman stopped in her tracks and turned her face to profile. She scratched her cheek, and ink swirled around her wrist, before illustrating a perfect middle finger on the back of her hand. Less than subtle.
But then so had Zara's statement been. And needlessly provocative, by design.
If they were going to create a schism over this, become adversarial, the least Zara could do is use it to her advantage. She felt little for her fellow crew, and so would be completely unapologetic for her methods. Her investigation was still very much in its infancy, so much so she'd not even had to employ her 'special skills' yet. Nothing but the psychological training at this point.
It remained a little frustrating that she had little knowledge of the victim at this point.
Quinn Spence. Five feet eleven inches. One hundred and sixty pounds. Hyperhuman power: An immunity to radiation. Tasked with working in the kitchen, under the next subject - Celeste Boucher. Known associates: At this point none.
Frustratingly bare knowledge base.
Sure, there were things she could extrapolate from the body, but character witnesses add far more 'flavour'. Motivations and goals, personality traits, before you even get to potential background knowledge which may lead to motive for the killer.
Condensation had formed on the outside of her glass of water.
Just the first thing at this table she expected to see sweat.
Celeste Boucher stood formally at the door, awaiting acknowledgement and permission to take her seat opposite.
"Take a seat." Zara permitted.
"Would you prefer 'Chef' or 'Ms Boucher'?"
Even seated, Celeste Boucher seemed less than relaxed in nature. Completely unperturbed by the questions which may come, but more a preparedness to snap to attention. Like the very act of being stationary was itself disagreeable to her very nature.
"'Chef' in the kitchen. As for here, I leave it to your discretion." She replied simply.
"Do you feel you have anything of value to add to this investigation, Chef Boucher?"
"Yes."
"And what's that?"
"I did not do this, and, whilst I can't vouch for her on a great many other things, Lilly Marks did not do this either."
Zara dwelled on the Chef's phrasing for a moment. Tenting her fingers momentarily, she re-phrased the unasked question for the surrendered statement.
"So you are saying that this wasn't any of the kitchen staff?"
"I didn't say that. I said that I know that I didn't do this, and I can also account for the whereabouts of Lilly Marks. As for the other kitchen staff - the dishwashers - I'd granted them their leave, along with Quinn since it was general prep and there was no service at hand. We weren't anticipating an early cast-off."
Zara nodded, as if confirming a suspicion.
"An interesting choice of words regarding Lilly Marks, as well. What's your impression of her?"
The Chef considered what she was being asked, and the context her opinion had been requested in. She clearly didn't think particularly highly of her, but...
"She didn't do this. And this is meant to be an investigation looking into who did. So my thoughts on her are irrelevant."
Zara smirked at the backpedalling. Very willing to speak ill of her, until called to direct question.
"And those thoughts would be?"
"She floats. She's content to be far less than what she's capable of being. I can't respect a person without a work ethic. Especially someone who is so capable of more. A person without any sense of drive or ambition. It may win her friends, but it does not impress me."
As if sensing Zara's categorizing her statement, Celeste continued.
"...Like I said, irrelevant to the matter at hand. Speaks nothing to who killed Quinn Spence."
Zara took a sip of water and considered her statements. If nothing else, this subject seemed honest and direct.
"And if you asked her of me, I don't doubt that her response would be that I'm a cold, hard bitch."
And very willing to surrender statements to character. Especially when left with uncomfortable silence. Possibly due to seeing herself as a social 'outsider'. Eager to get her own views seen and heard.
"And you spoke of the dishwashers earlier, they also had been granted free time. What's your impression of them, and are you aware of how they got along with Quinn?"
Celeste seemed to give the question some thought. Her hand raised to her chin and her eyes lowered, as she tried to search for anything of interest pertaining to the people who were to be working in the kitchen.
"As far as I'm aware, they'd both only just met in the last few days. Ste, the Irishman. He's another floater like Lilly Marks. Made worse by the fact that he's loud. But the other girl, Suze. She tries, and she's eager to please, she's just a little... flighty. Prone to making mistakes. At the biggest moments too. But both had only just met him. We still hadn't had a service yet, for them to really interact a lot either, and as far as I know, neither of them really 'hang out' with Quinn either."
Zara made a mental note of the Chef's impression of her workers and considered what else this subject could possibly have to offer.
She'd been boxed in to speaking to the kitchen staff first, the Captain eager to provide early access so they could return to their duties with minimal disruption. Now that they were out to sea, preparation and food services would be more regular and their workload more intense. It wasn't an ideal way to run an investigation, the likelihood of solving a homicide drops to half after the first forty eight hours, and usually an investigation builds its own natural organic momentum. These early forced sessions of questioning broke that organic momentum, but they also gave important background, in a situation she admittedly knew too little about.
And most homicide investigations don't see all major players trapped in a singular location for presumably well over those first forty eight hours.
Whoever it was, the killer had nowhere to run to.
...but that could also lead to more desperation. And in turn, potential future victims.
The uncomfortable silence was whittling away at Chef Boucher's 'cold hard bitch' exterior, but she was clearly uncertain of what more she could add to break the silence.
"The Irishman will be working nights. Suze in the mornings. Actually..."
She'd finally found something else she could offer.
"Ste was quite insistent that he be working the night shifts. Which is quite irregular in the service industry. Most would prefer to work the earlier shift, get their work done, and have their nights to themselves. Especially a..."
Celeste Boucher hesitated to choose her words carefully.
"Especially someone with Ste's work ethic and personality type."
Insistent. Zara considered. Insistent on having the time available which aligns with time of death.
"That should be all we need, Chef Boucher. I'd like to thank you for your co-operation with our investigation." Again, Zara chose her words carefully.
"Well, hopefully you get to the bottom of whoever murdered poor Quinn.
Zara nodded solemnly in return. Her eyes not meeting the Chef's as if to consider the loss of the poor hyperhuman at the center of the investigation.
No closer yet. But with the formative background information from a few subjects who could not have committed the act, she was prepared for the investigation to roll downhill and find its own momentum now. With more flexibility to call people for questioning to come.
D E F E N D E R S O F T H E E A R T H D E F E N D E R S O F T H E E A R T H
"An athlete, a traveler and a mad desperate scientist. Alone against an empire. But Dale never gave an inch. You had two hands, breath in your lungs. It doesn't matter what changes from there. Whether it takes a few days or ninety years. You keep fighting the fight. And then the next one. Until they're all saved, every one of us." - Doctor Hans Zarkov to and of Flash Gordon. "Magic, my friends, is simply the art of illusions. Of course it's always important to spice up illusions with a little razzle-dazzle." - Mandrake the Magician "You never find the Phantom. He finds you." - Old Jungle Saying "Always figured Prince was just a name. Took a white bloke in purple to tell me I'm actually African royalty. Dear old Dad never had that talk with me, did he?" - Prince 'Lothar' Diallo
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
_________________________________________________________ Alex "Flash" Gordon _________________________________________________________ King of the Impossible, Saviour of the Universe _________________________________________________________ Pilot, athlete, adventurer | Interplanetary Freedom Fighter Open
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Collegiate All-American athlete Flash Gordon, one of three earthly survivors of a plane crash in the Dark Woods near Bangalla. Upon proving their adaptability and ability to survive, Zarkov incapacitated the other pair for their 'true journey' to travel to the planet Mongo - 'mad' scientist Hans Zarkov desperately sought backup after investigating a signal related to a string of horiffic global natural disasters with strange origins. Alongside of Zarkov, and fellow post-grad academic Dale Arden, herself a cartographer with a strong knowledge in geology and biology, the three stumbled upon the planet and it's authoritarian ruler Ming the Merciless who had his own plans for the trio, as well as horrible designs for the earth.
Aided by three other Earthly heroes; The Phantom, Mandrake the Magician and Lothar, as well as a S.W.O.R.D Science team comprised of the expertise of Adam Strange and Adam Brashear. Flash Gordon, Dale Arden and Hans Zarkov were able to relocate the planet Mongo to another goldilocks orbit of a distant star, far beyond Ming's allies and vassel states, lost to all he knew and unable to locate the earth to seek vengeance, and escape Mongo's clutches in a ship of Zarkov's design.
Now the trio explore space whilst fleeing Ming's grasp and his seemingly limitless robot army, all whilst trying to find a way home which won't lead the monstrous Ming the Merciless back to earth's doorstep. -
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Mandrake the great illusionist is a master of a rapid form of hypnotism who can have subjects seeing illusions in moments, with nought but simple gestures and hand movements, and focused force of will.
Being a man with such a focused interest on magic and illusion, Mandrake has a natural curiosity and can seldom see a trick he doesn't want to understand - this interest has seen him move into the field of detective work and crime solving. But given the fact he has also dabbled in actual mysticism and possesses both some degree of actual magical ability, as well as numerous magical items which have possessed remarkable properties and powers, he often finds himself squaring off with actual supernatural sorts and beings foreign either to this planet, dimension or reality.
Mandrake lives in the high-tech mansion Xanadu in upstate New York, with his wife Narda, his friend and co-worker of the stage the strongman Lothar, and his chef and live-in housekeeper who he pried away into early retirement from Interpol, Hojo.
Hojo's intel connections still remain, and were proven of great importance on a specific occasion where Mandrake was able to thwart an attack on the U.N, which threatened amongst other U.N. officers, one Diana Palmer. This was the first occasion Mandrake met Kit Walker, "for there are times when the Phantom leaves the jungle and walks the streets of the town like an ordinary man"#.
Mandrake also owns an upscale apartment in the city of Mawitaan, the capital city of the African nation of Bangalla. This comes in particularly useful when looking into Lothar's heritage, or reuniting with an old friend... -
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
_________________________________________________________ Kit "Walker*" The Phantom _________________________________________________________ The Ghost Who Walks, Man Who Cannot Die _________________________________________________________ The Bane of Pirates Everywhere | Jungle Protector Open
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► In the jungles of the African nation of Bangalla, there is a myth about "The Ghost Who Walks", "The Man Who Cannot Die", The Phantom. Because he seems to have been around for generations, people around the world believe him to be immortal. In reality, the Phantom is descended from twenty previous generations of crime-fighters who all adopt the same persona, the same creed. When a new Phantom takes up the mantle from his dying father, he has to swear the Oath of the Skull: "I swear to devote my life to the destruction of piracy, greed, cruelty, and injustice, in all their forms, and my sons and their sons shall follow me."
Today's Phantom is the twenty-first in the line. Secretly he has no superhuman powers, relying only on his wits, physical brawn, skill with his weapons and fearsome reputation to fight crime.
Two signatures of the character are the two rings he wears. One has a pattern that he leaves on visitors to his region he approves of, called "The Good Mark" which marks the person as under his protection worn on the left hand, closer to the heart. The other has a skull shape and is worn on his favored punching hand, called "The Evil Mark", which leaves a skull-like scar on the enemies he punches. Furthering the myth and legend of the Phantom amongst bad men.
His base is in the Deep Woods of Bangalla. The Phantom lives in the fabled Skull Cave, where all previous Phantoms are buried, and the chronicles of The Phantoms past and present are kept and written. So that each generation may learn the lessons of the past. This written knowledge has also helped continue the myth of the Phantom as an immortal figure. For how could this seemingly ageless man remember facts and details from events so long ago?
The Phantom is also the Unknown Commander of Bangalla's world famous Jungle Patrol, and has been for over a hundred and fifty years. Tying him in to receiving law enforcement information, furthering his ability to fight crime. His written orders are usually delivered to a safe - wired which emits a signal to alert the second in command (currently Colonel Worubu) that orders have been left. He also has the encrypted 'X Band' radio as a form of contact.
The Deep Woods are protected by the local Bandar pygmy tribe, whose proximity have them far more aware of the true nature of the Phantom - not that they would ever tell. The Chief of the Bandar tribe is Guran, Guran has been the current Phantom's friend since childhood, and remains a close friend to the 'Walker' family to this day. Guran was the best man in his wedding to Diana Palmer.
The remainder of the 'Walker' family, consist of the twins, Kit (because of course) and Heloise. They also have an adopted older brother Rex King, who has recently had to spend more time away from the rest of the family learning his own responsibilities - he is the Crown Prince of neighbouring Kingdom of Baronkhan. He struggles with these responsibilities even more than most, having only known the jungle until a later age than children of the Phantom would usually leave for purposes of expanding their education. But whilst he lacks in formal education, he has a great heart and sense of justice, as one would expect in a child of the Phantom. The twins love their older brother and the feeling is mutual, with all three being raised with the same love of their parents.
The Phantom has three animal helpers, a mountain wolf, Devil, who seldom if ever leaves his side, and a horse, Hero. He also has a trained falcon named Fraka, which generally remains with Guran in the Skull Cave.
The Phantom shares a sense of justice with Mandrake, and as Lothar's royal heritage came to light, is one of the people Mandrake knows who is best suited to learning of his responsibilities and expectations from a people he has unfortunately had little connection with, beyond the blood that pumps through his veins from his father.
The Phantom lended Flash Gordon aid when their plane crash-landed in Bangalla, before his forced trip to Mongo with Dale Arden at the hands of Zarkov. -
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
_________________________________________________________ Prince "Lothar" Diallo _________________________________________________________ Strongest Man in the World _________________________________________________________ Former Performing Strongman | Adventurer and Crime Fighter Open
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Prince 'Lothar' Diallo was raised in Liverpool by his father. He was always, less than forthcoming with the details of where exactly they came from beyond the broadest 'Africa'. His father struggled to make ends meet in their new home, but did what he could to put food on the table, with never a complaint.
Young Prince used his schooling as an opportunity to branch out and find his interests. And those interests came in the form of sports and theatre.
He found himself loving to perform, and with a natural ease in putting on muscle he found numerous sports clubs seeking his service.
As he became more time short, he cast aside the sports clubs to focus on his love of theatre, but continued working out for its own sake.
Strangely he found his practical strength just keep improving with the work, regardless of whether he had need for it. His strength almost seemed purely natural... until it seemed virtually supernatural.
Then the serious roles dried up, but he found himself in different areas of demand in the business of show.
He found work as a strongman/muscleman in various travelling shows, and took the paid gigs. But didn't see the purpose until a touring magician explained what service he can provide.
'Misdirection is pivotal in magic. Controlling the audience's focus. The eye naturally wants to gravitate to you, and if given just the smallest nudge by a truly proficient illusionist... Well, with you, my friend, I could hide the Brookly Bridge.'
Mandrake noted that whilst he was working as a strongman, he was a stage-trained actor. And Lothar appreciated it, for most couldn't see beyond the muscles. He'd even taken to developing an accent, to maintain expectations, playing up his African roots, even though he couldn't remember ever being south of London. He had a good scowse down, for parts, but his true voice was more proper than 'proper'.
He became a permanent addition to Mandrake's own show and toured the world with him, and as such he began to become embroiled in Mandrake's own extracurricular pasttimes and distractions. And all the way his prodigious strength became incredibly useful, and proved to be the difference in many cases and situations.
It was just before a tour of Africa, where Prince Diallo finally asked his father where in Africa they came from, and that he might take the time to look old family up, when the whole story came out. In one tearful outpouring.
'Prince' wasn't just a name. His father was the son of the Wambesi Chieftain. And his mother had been the daughter of the Chieftain family of the Llongo and Osi-Wey tribes, in an effort to bring peace after a recent war.
What he left out was that Lothar was 'Prince of the Seven Nations'.
As Lothar attempted to reconnect with his roots and made it too publicly known that he was indeed looking for the tribal lands of his birth, plots and conspiracies began to be formed, as will happen with such power-shifting news.
But no news in the jungle escapes the ears of the Phantom. As he went to meet and warn the newly returned 'Prince of the Seven Nations' he attempted to thwart an assassination attempt.
Only to find that Lothar, with his incredible strength, had thwarted it himself.
He was no less appreciative for the effort however, and formed a friendship with the Phantom in his own right. As well as a special kinship with another who had found themself in a similar position - the Phantom's adopted son Rex.
Lothar generally lives and follows Mandrake around, often calling him 'Mandrake the Mealticket'. But their movements have often been swayed by Lothar's recent need to come to terms with his responsibilities as the 'Prince of the Seven Nations', for people he is struggling to reconnect with despite sharing no lived experience with them, who he must find a way to lead. -
Three Heroic selfless defenders of justice and humanity find that the fight for justice is on an even bigger scale that they never considered.
The boys names were Tim Tyler and 'Spud'.
Mandrake, known as a man who could find justice and someone whose interests in challenges spanned wide, was approached with a request to find the two orphaned runaways. As always, he put the case forward to his friend, former performer and compatriot Prince 'Lothar'.
The trail led them through India and Africa, as the boys last whereabouts put them working for the Ivory Patrol - a small, poorly funded group who task themselves with the destruction of the poaching industry.
As the case delved deeper, and Mandrake used his many and varied means to attempt to find the boys, it looked like they had been taken, as the poachers' paths found themselves delving deeper into jungle, towards the almost untouched and unknown grounds of the Bandar - a little known pygmy tribe scarecly touched by the ever-probing hands of modern civilization.
A tribe with their own interesting lore, myths, legends, and sayings.
The echoes of drums became ever more prevalent as the men reached deeper into the jungle. For the Phantom has a thousand eyes and ears#.
Finding the boys later, unharmed but with a strange story to tell, the natives who had lent them aid and their murmurings of a purple ghost who protected them unseen from the depths of the jungle.
The tale sounded absurd, but with the boys returned completely unharmed, beyond all reason for the dangers of the jungle it left little doubt in Mandrake's mind that indeed some kind of trick was at hand. And nothing piqued his curiosity like a trick he could not yet understand.
With that, his interest in the strange happenings in the Deep Woods of Bangalla began.
But answers were slow in trickling out.
More came his way back home, when Mandrake and Lothar thwarted an attack on the U.N., and the pair met the Bangalla representative to the U.N. and had the barest glimpse at the mysterious visage of her husband from the shadows. Who thanked the pair for their help.
It wasn't until much later that a trip to Bangalla for the pair saw Mandrake and Lothar come face-to-face with the man who would be legend. The myth which somehow had spanned back to the 1500s, yet still stood before them.
The trick's methodology did not get past Mandrake. But true to the magician's code, he never told a soul.
A new friendship borne, amongst allies with shared values, and what would be a very useful resource on the ground in making sense of Lothar's familial past and responsibilities, as his father told a tale which unravelled his own ancestry and revealed him to be 'Prince of the seven Nations'.
This was not the strangest thing to happen that year, however.
A small aircraft crashed in a clearing in the Bangalla jungle; the survivors, a brilliant scientist of questionable stability and notoriety, a collegiate cartographer with a vast knowledge in geology and biology who had been interviewed by many private companies looking into space exploration, and Alex 'Flash' Gordon - collegiate All-American student-athlete, majoring in sociology.
The trio found themselves surviving the depths of the dark jungle, with few questioning how there happened to be a convenient clearing in what otherwise looked like untamed forestry. The scientist, Zarkov, found himself satisfied with the pair's ability to keep themselves safe from the trials and perils of the jungle. Strangely, he seemed to act as if his approval and satisfaction was something they should seek under the circumstances, but 'Flash' was too distracted by another question which plagued him.
It all seemed too easy. The worst of dangers seemed to be cleared. And he could have sworn he saw movement in the shadows.
Under the pretense of foraging, Flash separated himself from the others and waded deeper into the jungle alone. Until a voice held him. A voice which could chill the bones of lesser men. A masked figure clad in purple stepped from the shadows.
Both men had questions.
And as the Phantom explained his purpose as a protector in these parts, and Flash explained how the trio came to be in the jungles of Bangalla, Flash began to discover his own concerns and queries about the scientist amongst them, Zarkov, as he spoke them aloud. Thoughts he hadn't previously given proper mind.
The Phantom agreed that he would lead them from the jungle to Mawitaan, and watch over the trio, paying special attention to Zarkov from a distance.
...but it was in two days that a secret rocketship blasted from the jungle, tearing through the sky and beyond.
Zarkov had brought the pair here to test their abiity to survive and lend support for a theory he had. A theory which would see him build a rocketship with the intention of going to the planet Mongo - for the fate of the Earth!
Upon Mongo, Flash Gordon, Dr Zarkov and Dale Arden came face to face with Emperor Ming the Merciless, a cosmic authoritarian figure of immense power, resources and with vassel worlds all across the galaxy! In this world power and desire reined supreme, and ran the whims of its highest class of royalty.
Upon meeting Dale Arden, Ming was instantly enamoured with taking possession of her, and saw little value in Flash Gordon, sentencing him to death on a whim like discarding rotten fruit - only for his cause to be pleaded for, by Ming's daughter the Princess Aura; who herself wanted to claim Flash Gordon for her own.
These earthlings seemed rich in spirit, and hope, having come from a world ignorant to the ways of Ming the Merciless. Playthings are always more valuable before they are broken... Few things seem more exotic than a plaything from a new world.
The trio discover that, in support of Zarkov's theories, Ming has been setting off a string of increasingly volatile and frequent natural disasters; earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanoes - in order to annihilate much of the world's population, and making it easier to subjugate it's survivining people into Mongo's new slave class, and stripping the earth of all of its valuable minerals, metals and rare earths.
Ming has come to claim this new world entire.
It is now twelve months later, and with the efforts of the Phantom and Mandrake, combined with the sacrifice of the intrepid three on Mongo, and the efforts of a 'home' contingent of Earth-bound S.W.O.R.D scientists by the names of Donald Brashear and Adam Strange, the threat has now been considered 'neutralised'.
An assault on Mongo headed by Flash's trusted compatriots Mandrake and the Phantom, saw Ming's forces pushed back as they were forced to defend themselves from a revolutionary front led by Flash Gordon and allies he found in strange places upon Mongo itself.
One final sacrifice from Flash, Dale and Dr Zarkov saw Mongo reloacted by newly discovered 'Zeta beam' technology to another goldilocks system, far from earth, adrift from Ming's allies and vassel planets in a corner of the universe unknown to him.
Mandrake and the Phantom broke free of Mongo in time. Flash, Dale and Zarkov could not.
The later trio find themselves hurtling through space, searching desperately for a way back to Earth, pursued endlessly by the vengeful Ming the Merciless.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Why do you want to play this character, what is the driving motivation behind both this desire and the character themselves. What do you hope to accomplish and where do you want the character's story/stories to go?
Possible Plots:
T H E W O R L D ( S ) O F T H E D E F E N D E R S T H E W O R L D ( S ) O F T H E D E F E N D E R S
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.</div>
xVampire3go
Antlers
Captain Uni
Master Bruce
Eddie Brock
Sep
Moon Child
CabbageAngel
Mole
