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Oso
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10 yrs ago
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Been sick last 4 days.
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10 yrs ago
Laptop's wireless is fried, need to take to shop, using friends tablet for now.
10 yrs ago
Cannot post for up to the next 7 days.
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10 yrs ago
BUSY weekend for me, Reno today then valentines weekend.
11 yrs ago
At hospital for the night, no postings.
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*tik-tikatika-Kssshhhshshssssk!*
"Alright you guys, and galls... Line UP!"
The assorted ten made their way to a hastily sprayed down line of paint in the seaside warehouse. The three galls and seven men wore a gamut of clothes from all over the city as they faced off with one of their bosses who had a club over one shoulder as he wore the clothes of a dockhand instead of his 3 piece suit with a baton and a ball in his hand.
"You all actually got what it takes to want to know a little more. You want in on the big scores, you got to put a bigger bet on the table. This, is a baseball bat, tool of the American game as well as completely legal to keep in your car with a ball and a glove."
The old man spun around to get full momentum as he swung the club into a quick toss of the ball in his off hand. There was a resounding crack as it sailed off across the length of the storage. "It can also launch a half pound ball four-hundred feet. This, is a grenade." At this point the ten on the line run for cover behind crates while the clearly crazy old man pops the pineapple up and sends it flying into the crates to bounce around as a dud.
"YOU NEO-NAZI-NEANDERTHAL!" One of the prospects popped off behind the safety of a crates animosity, a white boy with a large nose barely past his bar mitzvahs. Apparently he has heard some of the truth of the rumor mill as the wildcat strolled over with a tuneless whistle and tapped the side of the crate he was hiding behind."You know...I like that one, I'll keep that and you keep this." He tossed an unpulled grenade in the kids lap and watched him freak out in his own ignorance.
"If you want to be the best, then you got to work with what you have. You are caught in a raid with a SWAT officer down, you take his grenade and nightstick so you can knock the grenade off to the side for a distraction or send those teargas cans right back at them! If you want to be better than the rest you got to be able to do more than what they will, you have to work around the long odds.
We are going to start with two teams, five on five then eight to two changing up the odds each time around. We are going to start with simple buyers exchange with one of you trying to ambush the other and the others trying to prevent from being ambushed. Kane, Finger, Miller, and oneil, one team. Wolfman, Breyfogle, Morrison, Sprang, team two. You two, come with me for a second."
He pulled the siblings to the side as he other four for each side went to opposite sides of the warehouse to start the first of the twelve hour training day... Wildcat wasn't pleased with some of Selinas methods so he had taken it onto himself to try and make something of an 'elite guard' to keep her safe. These ten would become the leaders of the next ten under them in a para-military fashion in order to keep a structure in the diamond claws.
"Alright you guys, and galls... Line UP!"
The assorted ten made their way to a hastily sprayed down line of paint in the seaside warehouse. The three galls and seven men wore a gamut of clothes from all over the city as they faced off with one of their bosses who had a club over one shoulder as he wore the clothes of a dockhand instead of his 3 piece suit with a baton and a ball in his hand.
"You all actually got what it takes to want to know a little more. You want in on the big scores, you got to put a bigger bet on the table. This, is a baseball bat, tool of the American game as well as completely legal to keep in your car with a ball and a glove."
The old man spun around to get full momentum as he swung the club into a quick toss of the ball in his off hand. There was a resounding crack as it sailed off across the length of the storage. "It can also launch a half pound ball four-hundred feet. This, is a grenade." At this point the ten on the line run for cover behind crates while the clearly crazy old man pops the pineapple up and sends it flying into the crates to bounce around as a dud.
"YOU NEO-NAZI-NEANDERTHAL!" One of the prospects popped off behind the safety of a crates animosity, a white boy with a large nose barely past his bar mitzvahs. Apparently he has heard some of the truth of the rumor mill as the wildcat strolled over with a tuneless whistle and tapped the side of the crate he was hiding behind."You know...I like that one, I'll keep that and you keep this." He tossed an unpulled grenade in the kids lap and watched him freak out in his own ignorance.
"If you want to be the best, then you got to work with what you have. You are caught in a raid with a SWAT officer down, you take his grenade and nightstick so you can knock the grenade off to the side for a distraction or send those teargas cans right back at them! If you want to be better than the rest you got to be able to do more than what they will, you have to work around the long odds.
We are going to start with two teams, five on five then eight to two changing up the odds each time around. We are going to start with simple buyers exchange with one of you trying to ambush the other and the others trying to prevent from being ambushed. Kane, Finger, Miller, and oneil, one team. Wolfman, Breyfogle, Morrison, Sprang, team two. You two, come with me for a second."
He pulled the siblings to the side as he other four for each side went to opposite sides of the warehouse to start the first of the twelve hour training day... Wildcat wasn't pleased with some of Selinas methods so he had taken it onto himself to try and make something of an 'elite guard' to keep her safe. These ten would become the leaders of the next ten under them in a para-military fashion in order to keep a structure in the diamond claws.
Threaten catwoman, He'll break it in ways it cant be healed and need to be amputated... For storyline reasons only, of course.
Well, I find that the difference between a teacher and self-teaching/experience is the practicality of it all. You don't ever follow the instructions on the back of a box of coffee because it'll turn out horrible and everyone has their tastes and quirks. You need to be taught how to read and write because there is one definitive way to do it, and it is usually the most effective way to learn.
With fighting, I divide it like this. A martial artist versus a street fighter. The Martial Artist has learned a certain form that has been passed down for generations. It's a fighting style, but its treated more like a dance, not normally deviated or altered unless they are in a grave situation. On the other hand, a street fighter is flexible and normally aware of their surroundings. They alter and change all the time to fit where they are the best.
But when it boils down to the core of things, all of it is preference.
I agree but there are good teachers who shape their methods for their students, versus those regurgitate the orders from above and force others to regurgitate it back. I plan for him to be able to shape the gang into cohesive para-military, at least better than street-thugs and tommy-knockers.
Adjusted his skills a little. removed the redundancy of 'fighting-fighting-fighting" from his abilities and replaced it with 'teacher' and 'experience' Because those can be just as useful as heatvision.
Appearance:
Six foot, two. Eyes of blue. Two thirty two. He is at an Olympic athlete in fitness, able to lift twice his bodyweight over his head. He has no ring finger on his left hand, Bast gave him nine lives and took his hand forevermore.
Name:
Theodore Grandt (Americanized to Ted Grant)
Age:
93
Gender:
Male
Occupation/ Employer/ Rank:
Former army officer, current gang enforcer/lieutenant
Skills/ Abilities:
Powers
Resurrection: Ted Grant possesses the ability to return from the dead, a total of nine times. These "nine lives" are characteristic of the mythical properties of average house cats. Ted apparently acquired this power when he defended the Bast statue from destruction for nine days and nights. He at one point believed he had used up all nine lives, but was later informed him that he always has nine lives unless he is killed nine times in a single 'cycle'.
Decelerated Aging: The process that enables Ted to return from the dead has also retarded the aging process, enabling him to keep himself in peak physical condition.
Enhanced Vision: In addition to the superfluous lives, Ted Grant also has preternatural eyesight that allows him to see in the dark. He once claimed to have guided a doctor to perform open heart surgery in total darkness.
Abilities
Experience Having spent over fifty years in Gotham with much of it in the Falcone family, he has seen it all rise and fall. He knows more about gotham history and its layout that nearly anyone else. Ear to the ground and shoulder to the wheel. He's the one who 'knows a guy'. It isn't always easy, it isn't always cheap, and its hardly ever legal.
Teacher (Advanced): Ted Grant is a master combatant and has used his skills to train others how to fight with a focus in boxing. He is of the rare breed able to teach others what he knows as long as they are willing to learn.
Martial Arts: His favorite, foremost and first learned combat skill was and always will be boxing. No matter how big the opponent or how seemingly impossible the odds might be in or out of combat Wildcat will always solve the issue with boxing.
He has also mastered other fighting styles like Muay Thai, Capoeira, Krav Maga, and Hapkido.
Small Arms Pistols to sniper rifles, sub to heavy machine guns, hand grenades to rocket launchers. He's used them all to survive.
Driving More than just a pretty face, he can move most land based vehicles from motorcycles to semi-trucks to tanks. A good wheel-man is always hard to find.
Medic By no means a doctor, he was a corpsman in ww2 and kept on top of his medical training by CONSTANTLY having to patch himself and others up over nearly a century.
Equipment:
New tech for old techniques...
Gloves might seem over the top for his line of work and the mark of someone trying to bring attention to themselves. If he has to put these on then the situation is already there. Steel reinforced gauntlets let him deliver even more power to each blow with electrical resistant materials. He has plans down the pipeline to get something that shocks them with each hit.
His Suit might seem out of form for him, and it is. But, there is a certain respectability he has to hold up for Selina's presence If that means he wears a monkeysuit that can take a 45 at point blank, then he wears a monkeysit that can take a 45 at point blank, so she doesn't have to.
A Knife he got from a captain he helped out of a jam. You stab someone and it blows the injection site full of air, capable of taking off a limb or blowing out someones innards. Not a nice way to go but it leaves a messy impression of shock and awe to scare others.
He doesn't like guns, but he still carries a gun. A revolver capable of shooting 45 long colt, 45 acp, and .410 Shotgun rounds all in the same cylinder, and leaving no shell behind. He has an oder coming in for some specialty ammunition and can't wait to see what happens.
Psyche:
Raised as he was, he had a very strong sense of what was right and wrong. Unfortunately that compass was being pulled in the wrong direction. He has had half a century to come to terms with what his people wrought and will never follow another despot. He hoped this draw to Selina is reciprocated and meant to pull her back to the side of humanity from the dark place her life has taken her too. Nothing nearly so noble as white picked fences. but more to the order of protecting those in her pack rather than a bunch of bitches for her use.
He is a solider, through and through. Just tell him what to do.
History: born in 1922 in east Germany to very loyal party members, he was one of the first crops of Hitlerjugend and did not know any better of what he was apart of to be anything wrong as he had been raised on the propaganda from youth. From 1936-1940 he trained at Bad Tolz and in 1941 he was sent as one of the youngest graduates to Afrika as a medic.
It was in an occupation in Egypt that he was holed up in a temple of Bast, sitting on one of their munition supplies in the holy walls when they were attacked. The other troops had fallen to poison from one of a dozen sources except for him (who had been busy with a local lady) and he had to hold off an invading presence with nothing but his own wits and enough guns for a full battalion.
After nine days and nights of nearly no sleep, he finally got shot in the heart right through one of his tattoos. He collapsed upon the alter as a sacrifice to the goddess whose hand broke off and clawed up his face. Nine days later he arose from behind the back of a building, missing the ring finger on his left hand as if it were never there and a pounding desire to get the hell out of there.
Declared legally dead, he immigrated to America and got his first job on the docks at Gotham and did his best to keep his head down while earning a dollar a day for the next fifty years while hardly feeling the weight of his age. He'd been a dock hand, truck driver, construction worker, taxi driver, Sewer worker, elevator operator All the bottom level jobs that never break four digits a month. He tried leaving Gotham a dozen times, but every time he left, he felt the pull and an innate wrongness in Star City or Metropolis or even other lands like Kazistan.
The chump change wasn't enough to make it by on by itself after the first decade so he got into underground boxing and that lead to organized crime. He was one of Falcone's enforcers for another twenty years before the dismantle under Wayne. He found himself being drawn inexplicably to the diamond claw gang's leader, constantly being at the same place at the same time, offering her a ride to loose the cops more than once.
Eventually she hired the old man on and he took to his place beside her with zeal. Something between a patriarchal figure simply because of his age and the handsy uncle because of that strange supernatural draw to her. He would fight for her, he would die for her. As certain as he can be, he thinks he might have already a few times before.
Six foot, two. Eyes of blue. Two thirty two. He is at an Olympic athlete in fitness, able to lift twice his bodyweight over his head. He has no ring finger on his left hand, Bast gave him nine lives and took his hand forevermore.
Name:
Theodore Grandt (Americanized to Ted Grant)
Age:
93
Gender:
Male
Occupation/ Employer/ Rank:
Former army officer, current gang enforcer/lieutenant
Skills/ Abilities:
Powers
Resurrection: Ted Grant possesses the ability to return from the dead, a total of nine times. These "nine lives" are characteristic of the mythical properties of average house cats. Ted apparently acquired this power when he defended the Bast statue from destruction for nine days and nights. He at one point believed he had used up all nine lives, but was later informed him that he always has nine lives unless he is killed nine times in a single 'cycle'.
Decelerated Aging: The process that enables Ted to return from the dead has also retarded the aging process, enabling him to keep himself in peak physical condition.
Enhanced Vision: In addition to the superfluous lives, Ted Grant also has preternatural eyesight that allows him to see in the dark. He once claimed to have guided a doctor to perform open heart surgery in total darkness.
Abilities
Experience Having spent over fifty years in Gotham with much of it in the Falcone family, he has seen it all rise and fall. He knows more about gotham history and its layout that nearly anyone else. Ear to the ground and shoulder to the wheel. He's the one who 'knows a guy'. It isn't always easy, it isn't always cheap, and its hardly ever legal.
Teacher (Advanced): Ted Grant is a master combatant and has used his skills to train others how to fight with a focus in boxing. He is of the rare breed able to teach others what he knows as long as they are willing to learn.
Martial Arts: His favorite, foremost and first learned combat skill was and always will be boxing. No matter how big the opponent or how seemingly impossible the odds might be in or out of combat Wildcat will always solve the issue with boxing.
He has also mastered other fighting styles like Muay Thai, Capoeira, Krav Maga, and Hapkido.
Small Arms Pistols to sniper rifles, sub to heavy machine guns, hand grenades to rocket launchers. He's used them all to survive.
Driving More than just a pretty face, he can move most land based vehicles from motorcycles to semi-trucks to tanks. A good wheel-man is always hard to find.
Medic By no means a doctor, he was a corpsman in ww2 and kept on top of his medical training by CONSTANTLY having to patch himself and others up over nearly a century.
Equipment:
New tech for old techniques...
Gloves might seem over the top for his line of work and the mark of someone trying to bring attention to themselves. If he has to put these on then the situation is already there. Steel reinforced gauntlets let him deliver even more power to each blow with electrical resistant materials. He has plans down the pipeline to get something that shocks them with each hit.
His Suit might seem out of form for him, and it is. But, there is a certain respectability he has to hold up for Selina's presence If that means he wears a monkeysuit that can take a 45 at point blank, then he wears a monkeysit that can take a 45 at point blank, so she doesn't have to.
A Knife he got from a captain he helped out of a jam. You stab someone and it blows the injection site full of air, capable of taking off a limb or blowing out someones innards. Not a nice way to go but it leaves a messy impression of shock and awe to scare others.
He doesn't like guns, but he still carries a gun. A revolver capable of shooting 45 long colt, 45 acp, and .410 Shotgun rounds all in the same cylinder, and leaving no shell behind. He has an oder coming in for some specialty ammunition and can't wait to see what happens.
Psyche:
Raised as he was, he had a very strong sense of what was right and wrong. Unfortunately that compass was being pulled in the wrong direction. He has had half a century to come to terms with what his people wrought and will never follow another despot. He hoped this draw to Selina is reciprocated and meant to pull her back to the side of humanity from the dark place her life has taken her too. Nothing nearly so noble as white picked fences. but more to the order of protecting those in her pack rather than a bunch of bitches for her use.
He is a solider, through and through. Just tell him what to do.
History: born in 1922 in east Germany to very loyal party members, he was one of the first crops of Hitlerjugend and did not know any better of what he was apart of to be anything wrong as he had been raised on the propaganda from youth. From 1936-1940 he trained at Bad Tolz and in 1941 he was sent as one of the youngest graduates to Afrika as a medic.
It was in an occupation in Egypt that he was holed up in a temple of Bast, sitting on one of their munition supplies in the holy walls when they were attacked. The other troops had fallen to poison from one of a dozen sources except for him (who had been busy with a local lady) and he had to hold off an invading presence with nothing but his own wits and enough guns for a full battalion.
After nine days and nights of nearly no sleep, he finally got shot in the heart right through one of his tattoos. He collapsed upon the alter as a sacrifice to the goddess whose hand broke off and clawed up his face. Nine days later he arose from behind the back of a building, missing the ring finger on his left hand as if it were never there and a pounding desire to get the hell out of there.
Declared legally dead, he immigrated to America and got his first job on the docks at Gotham and did his best to keep his head down while earning a dollar a day for the next fifty years while hardly feeling the weight of his age. He'd been a dock hand, truck driver, construction worker, taxi driver, Sewer worker, elevator operator All the bottom level jobs that never break four digits a month. He tried leaving Gotham a dozen times, but every time he left, he felt the pull and an innate wrongness in Star City or Metropolis or even other lands like Kazistan.
The chump change wasn't enough to make it by on by itself after the first decade so he got into underground boxing and that lead to organized crime. He was one of Falcone's enforcers for another twenty years before the dismantle under Wayne. He found himself being drawn inexplicably to the diamond claw gang's leader, constantly being at the same place at the same time, offering her a ride to loose the cops more than once.
Eventually she hired the old man on and he took to his place beside her with zeal. Something between a patriarchal figure simply because of his age and the handsy uncle because of that strange supernatural draw to her. He would fight for her, he would die for her. As certain as he can be, he thinks he might have already a few times before.
Added some simple equipment and psychology. I can make something a little more superhero-ish if you like.
fixed the background, can I get a re-review?
"Good plan, while you help everyone, find out if anyone knows where we can conjure the parts we need. I'd rather not bleed just my contacts, you know?"
With that plan in motion, he set off for the engine to wonder what hell of the holy dragon happened to the engines. He unslung the multi-took from the hook on his hip as he hung the heavy brown coat on a nearby nut like he already belonged. In the left pocket was three goose eggs for anyone who went looking.
The door opened to both a grizzly and lacking sight as he pulled out a bowens miner mask. To anyone else the place was covered in soot, black from head to toe. Those that knew what instantaneous cremation looked like, it was a different story.
What happened was fairly simple: When a ship preps to leave atmo, it pulls in the last air and activates all the vacuum seals to make it tight as a drum. Now if something happens to the compressors, the air grows heavy from the pressure and usually nothing occurs. But, Something as simple as a blocked intake vent, with shorted compressors because someone is defragging the ships hardrive, while someone cooks in the galley... astronomical odds. All the intake of air came to the engine room as it prepped to make the jump and the oxygen rich area compressed into an explosion like the piston in an old car.
Whatever could burn did burn, the old mechanic probably went up like a microwaved battery with instant death being the best thing to hope to Buddha for as his chemical remains painted the engine room in the black oil of his misted body. Gideon started flushing the air vents by blowing the air compressors to bleed dry before starting on electrical to see which wires melted together from the burst of heat. Every wire that had to be replaced was going to be time consuming more than anything else. Hours were out the window, days of they were lucky and could sleep on the ship.
With that plan in motion, he set off for the engine to wonder what hell of the holy dragon happened to the engines. He unslung the multi-took from the hook on his hip as he hung the heavy brown coat on a nearby nut like he already belonged. In the left pocket was three goose eggs for anyone who went looking.
The door opened to both a grizzly and lacking sight as he pulled out a bowens miner mask. To anyone else the place was covered in soot, black from head to toe. Those that knew what instantaneous cremation looked like, it was a different story.
What happened was fairly simple: When a ship preps to leave atmo, it pulls in the last air and activates all the vacuum seals to make it tight as a drum. Now if something happens to the compressors, the air grows heavy from the pressure and usually nothing occurs. But, Something as simple as a blocked intake vent, with shorted compressors because someone is defragging the ships hardrive, while someone cooks in the galley... astronomical odds. All the intake of air came to the engine room as it prepped to make the jump and the oxygen rich area compressed into an explosion like the piston in an old car.
Whatever could burn did burn, the old mechanic probably went up like a microwaved battery with instant death being the best thing to hope to Buddha for as his chemical remains painted the engine room in the black oil of his misted body. Gideon started flushing the air vents by blowing the air compressors to bleed dry before starting on electrical to see which wires melted together from the burst of heat. Every wire that had to be replaced was going to be time consuming more than anything else. Hours were out the window, days of they were lucky and could sleep on the ship.
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