@Witch Cat I'll be posting an update tomorrow afternoon, so try to post before then if you can
Morose Member
✨Krakoan Prince✨
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7 yrs ago
My power grows exponentially each day as we come nearer to Halloween.
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Edwina Fairfax
Location: The Sewer
Interacting With: @Din Nyt
Interacting With: @Din Nyt
Edwina had a particular advantage when it came to the dark. Having rested her powers a bit since the fight with the Gotham Bat, she could see despite the darkness. While her powers didn't illuminate anything for anyone else, it provided her a bit of comfort, but she allowed Nyt to guide her nonetheless. She had a terrible sense of direction--something that she was convinced was supposed to be her Kryptonite, and instead, was more of just a pain in the ass.
So in the end, it was exactly her Kryptonite.
"That's--That's fucking fantastic!" Edwina cheered, though her voice was a whisper. She didn't trust that Waller didn't have something in the sewers already, perhaps having anticipated that was where the girls would hide. Glancing ahead of them, Edwina grasped Nyt's hand and helped her friend along the sewer path, allowing her alien friend to focus on throwing her voice to the Gotham Bat. She kept her eyes peeled, looking for some sort of service tunnel.
"If we're lucky, there might be a disused underground station or something down here..." Edwina explained, biting her lip. The odds didn't look too good. Even if the Gotham Bat came, what was to say he wouldn't side with Waller and her Death Squad? The entire world believed Waller's lie about the Powerbound Alliance, how they had been an active terrorist organization, and the immense threat posed by its only two living members.
Why wouldn't the Gotham Bat believe the lie as well?
Dorothy Pender
Location: Crash Site
Dorothy frowned, unconsciously straightening a bit. While she may have served in the Alliance army as a doctor, she still served in the military. Orders were orders, chain of command needed to be maintained, organization kept, records attended to, but above all else, they had to not be stupid. Her nostrils flared as Genevieve and Daphne both suggested remaining behind, in order to keep Gideon and herself company while the repairs were finished.
"You two best get gone," Dorothy advised sharply. "This isn't a picnic. The Captain needs all personnel at the ship that can be. I won't hear the both of you remaining here--Gideon and I are more than capable of handling ourselves. Don't forget, I know how to do more than save a man."
Her facial features had become a bit rigid, though she had no notion that she was doing so. She folded her hands behind her back, staring Genevieve and Daphne down, in order to prompt them a bit more firmly to return to the ship. They needed the crew members back there, especially the pilot. If an emergency arose, they would be stranded without Daphne. And Genevieve didn't even cross Dorothy's mind as being competent in any sort of fight, the girl more of a girl than a woman to her. It was harsh, but Dorothy wasn't thinking as a friend. She was thinking as a soldier.
"We can arrange a rendez-vous point in case something happens," Dorothy offered as well. "But get back to the ship, before someone else gets shot."
Nora Kingston
Location: Egyptian Museum
Nora couldn't help but smile dryly at the thought of the Pharaoh's Curse. She had already lived through a curse, having spent her childhood on the verge of death. She had been born into a world that did not accept her, with no other alternatives. And yet, she was not a fighter. She did not struggle and attempt to create change. Instead, Nora merely accepted fate, and went about minding her own business. With a stiff upper lip and a cup of tea, Nora couldn't care about the rules of the world, even the ones she was bound to obey. It was her quiet rebellion.
Yet throughout her life, she believed firmly in reason. There was no time for fantasy or magic, with her Penny Dreadfuls constituting a guilty pleasure. All the light show caused by Lady Munn's necklace informed her of was that Josephine was dafter than she appeared, and the journalist eager to please whomever he met. The pair of them irritated her beyond belief, yet she found something pleasant in Lady Munn. Perhaps if she had more courage, she would have liked to be more like her.
Perhaps in another life, another time, another place, another dream.
At the hieroglyphs, Nora flipped through her notebook quietly, in order to not draw any attention. The more symbols she found with context, the more she would be able to assist her father in his work. An assistant on paper, Nora fancied herself to be an amateur cryptographer. Finding puzzles and patterns was her life's work, the one thing she would gladly relinquish her life for. And while she was skilled in deciphering them, without the aid of her detailed notes in the small book she carried constantly, as well as other references, she could not read them.
"I have not had much occasion to visit the tombs, I am afraid. I have been on one occasion, in order to deliver papers and other items of importance to Dr. Kingston, but I do not get the chance to leave the city proper on too many occasions," Nora explained, her voice quiet, hardly above a whisper. She didn't feel the need to divulge her own training and expertise. If it became relevant, it would be relevant. In a room with such large personalities, Nora was content to be the quiet soul and to simply observe them. Of course, visiting the tombs in the company of strangers at such a late hour was hardly proper, she could not quite deny that.
But the branding...I must know what strangeness is at work here...
Without revealing her reluctance, Nora nodded to indicate her willingness to head to the tombs, or to perform whatever deeds must be done in order to speak with the goddess. She had no time for illusions and for magic, but it appeared today, an exception would be ultimately necessary. And certainly, if the hour grew too late, one of the fine gentlemen would be willing to escort her to her lodgings in Garden City.
Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: Riley's Apartment
Tuesday rolled her eyes at Marc, grimacing a bit at Felix, as if they were partners in crime, the pair of them. She was sick and tired already of Marc's judgment. It didn't matter to her very much everything he had done for her, all of the times he came to visit her in prison. Addiction and self loathing had blinded her, and instead she flashed a winning smile at Felix, enjoying the anonymity for a brief moment. She could be anyone she wanted to now, no one could tell her no. If she fancied herself to be a stripper or a rock star, Felix would be none the wiser.
Until, of course, someone pointed out she was fibbing.
"No, it's a day of the week," Tuesday laughed. She considered for a moment playing around with her fantasy. Perhaps she'd claim to be an undercover agent, an investigative journalist, a graphic novelist, a politician... "You should've heard what they called me after I stabbed a bitch." Winking a bit at the author, she couldn't help but hope for shock value. It was perhaps the best thing about her brief stint in solitary. It had given her credentials, almost, something to show she wasn't another trafficker addicted to their own product.
Following Marc over reluctantly, Tuesday realized with dismay that Marc would run into Ronnie. With most people, Ronnie was able to convince them that she was the saving grace of the Deadlight District, that she wasn't Tuesday the drug smuggler, and instead Chloe, the poor misunderstood child who made a mistake years back. "If we're going to talk about the traits of an adult, I'd like a joint first," Tuesday commented, mostly kidding. "There. That was honesty. Mark it in your notebook, won't be happening again until I die."
As Riley opened the door to the apartment, Tuesday quickly took in the scene. Some man--hopefully not a cop, but she wasn't very optimistic about it--and Ronnie were already present. No sign of Riley's creepy roommate/girlfriend. But as Riley pulled her into a hug, Tuesday tried to hide her dismay. She had been actively avoiding running into her sister while in Justice. And being at her apartment, it tended to spoil that effort. It wasn't that she didn't like her sister or anything...
She just couldn't stand the looks of disappointment from her twin. "Not too shitty, yourself?"
Cecily Ashworth
Location: the Morgue
Cecily frowned a bit. How had the head surgeon gotten the connections to work with Queensguard? And then, after Wallace was murdered in the hospital, Dr. Brinne had been sent here to replace him. She rubbed at her face a bit, and for once, she didn't admonish herself for the terrible lab practice. It was all too neat and too tidy, but too chaotic and too messy at the same time. It didn't make any sense, all of these people and all of these connections. And what sort of favor could Dr. Chang have possibly done for Queensguard? For a moment, horror gripped her. Had the favor been killing Wallace?
"Vatican cameos," Cecily muttered under her breath, wishing that she had stayed in Pittsburgh and gone to graduate school, instead of moving to Justice. She missed her old apartment, the safety, and knowing that her roommate, Casper, was 6'4" and could handle any danger. It had been a simpler time, when the biggest challenge in her life was reconciling conjugated pi bond systems in organic molecules.
Didn't Alicia work for Queensguard? Cecily frowned a bit, strumming her fingers. She didn't know whether or not Dr. Brinne could be trusted. Hardly anyone in Justice seemed to be innocent, and her old apartment back in Pittsburgh seemed more and more tempting. Student loan debt would have been a preferable fate to being gunned down in Justice. Pulling out her phone, Cecily's fingers flew across the keyboard, sending a text to Gregory.
Queensguard Industries Private Air Strip. At the morgue now. ETA? -C.A.
"That was really nice of Dr. Chang to fly you in," Cecily finally said, raising her eyes to meet Dr. Brinne's. "And yeah, trust me, you don't want this job. It's like George R.R. Martin is in charge of who lives and who dies. Like the last coroner? Murdered in the bloody hospital."
Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: the Station
Tuesday closed her eyes, tensing slightly as Riley put a hand on her. She didn't need her sister's sympathy, she didn't need it from anyone. They were all disappointed in her, in one manner or another. Good. Let them be. Her temper flared back up, catching her from her momentary fall in attitude. She had spent her entire life trying to please people, to be exactly who they wanted her to be. And what had that done for her? It had pushed her on the path towards medical school, when she couldn't stand the prospect of being a surgeon. As far as Tuesday was concerned, she didn't start living until she screwed up her life, ruining all of her chances, and watching as it went up in flames. She had been liberated by fire.
Keeping her face turned away from Tim, Roxanne, and Riley, Tuesday made a quiet resolution to herself. No more of this pretending, no more of this making decisions for other people. If she was going to be able to live with herself, she had to make her own decisions. Vowing to quit her job at the temp agency and embrace her lifestyle, Tuesday couldn't help that imagine the next time she saw Marc, she'd be behind bars once again.
Maybe I'll even get sent to max this time...Change of scenery, she pondered, joking slightly to herself. And no one would visit her in max, she was certain of that. There'd be none of this bullshit, this pity and sympathy, none of it! She'd finally be free. She'd be able to escape the shadow of her parents once and for all. Going to the reunion had been a stupid decision, she decided, but it was the most important one she had ever made. It opened her eyes.
However, she heard Tim go silent. Raising a bit of an eyebrow, she considered peeking over his shoulder, to see what could have brought him to a pause. How twisted it would have been, Tuesday realized, if one of their friends turned out to be the murderer. But as far as she was aware, Cynthia had to be rambling about a movie obsessed guy. And after ten years, she couldn't quite remember everyone who could quote films off the top of their head.
"What?" Tuesday asked simply. She bit her tongue, tempted to continue on, but her words would only be fueled with anger and resentment.
Jack Hudson
Location: Gilbert Street, in front of Building 1 ---> Eastern Outer Wall ---> Center West End of the Outer Wall
Jack had to stop himself from shaking his head. He couldn't get a read on Bridgette, but he wasn't going to be complain. Some people were just confusing at first, didn't make good first impressions. He could hardly fault someone for that. Grabbing the ladder, Jack gripped it tightly despite the protest from his cut hand.
"Bet he can go wicked fast," Jack commented, whistling slightly at the sight of Bridgette's steed. It was no different than the way he would have admired a car years back, marveling in the beauty and ingenious design. It was perhaps the reason no one had criticized Jack's masculinity--except, of course, to call him a mama's boy. They weren't exactly wrong, either.
"Last time a Jack cruised, somethin' sank," Jack joked, keeping pace with Bridgette. He continued to note the path, as well as glance around at the various sights. It still puzzled him that a place like this could exist. The last safe havens, he figured, had ended ages ago. It was as if he was an archaeologist, searching for an ancient civilization...only to find one that still existed. By the time they arrived at the breach, Jack grimaced a bit.
There was blood on the jagged edges, the metal bent out of shape. Glancing up at the wall, Jack narrowed his eyes a bit, in order to keep the light from blinding him. Even after being down south for ages, he still missed the windy grey skies of Chicago, and the unpredictable winters of Boston. His eyes tended to agree with him, needing a moment or two to get used to the light. Noticing where the guards on the wall were stationed, Jack sighed a bit.
"Don't suppose you got fohensics or anythin' that can figuhe out who got in," Jack murmured, half joking, and half hoping that somehow, the people of Newnan knew who it was that had entered through that breach in the wall. If the dead managed to rip holes in the metal, at least there wouldn't be any intelligent foes to fight. But he didn't fancy the idea of the dead being able to rip through at all, finding that possibility horrific. Equally horrific was the possibility that people had crawled on through the gap.
"So, what can I do to help?" Jack asked, carefully setting down the step ladder. "Let's get her done."
Édouard Riviere
Location: Heard County High School (Franklin)
Édouard rolled his eyes a bit. He couldn't believe that Lyon, the butcher, was giving him a lesson on morals. One of his college professors had attempted to do the same thing. Édouard had torn the pages out of the flimsy book on Nietzsche, and threw them around the city, shouting in French the entire time. A few students eagerly gathered around him, thinking it was some sort of protest, that Édouard was someone of merit and value.
That Édouard, essentially, was someone other than Édouard.
"Morales? Que sais tu?" Édouard snickered, dropping the towel for a moment as he shook his head. Édouard had never killed anyone--Félix didn't count in his book. He never murdered children, never terrorized the best and brightest in French society (he was, of course, referring to himself). His parents had adored him, showering him with praise and riches. Anything he wanted in the world was his.
And Lyon? He had to work for his power. Édouard couldn't help but hold contempt for the man, reminiscing about the old days, for a brief moment. Birthright used to stand for something. Blood used to be valued. Perhaps this was why the world had gone to shit, it was the fault of people like Lyon, acting out of their place. The thought befuddled Édouard, but he couldn't help but be more proud of it. He was enamored with his own idea, already imagining how centuries from now, he would be remembered as Édouard le Grand! Édouard le Saint! Édouard l'Héros de la France!
And Lyon, he was confident Lyon wouldn't even be mentioned. Filth and scum had no place in history books. They belonged in shallow graves, in ravines, at the bottom of la Seine. No, even that was too good for Lyon...He would have to orchestrate something perfect. And as his tutors often informed him, practice made perfect. There would need to be a rehearsal, a run through in order to work out all of the kinks.... He knew just the thing as well.
"J'ai fini," Édouard announced, flopping the rag onto the ground. It was perhaps the best he had ever cleaned anything in his life. Which was to say, of course, that it was hardly clean at all. He had more rearranged the blood and gore into new shapes and patterns, the same way children just rearrange the dirt when they wash a car.
@Pundii Sounds good, careful with the timer though -- on day 7
@Pundii: On day 6
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