@Lady Amalthea Sounds good. ^_^ Maybe the arm ship will be reprised in this. :P Looking forward to seeing how Tryke operates in this RP!
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✨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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“Riddle me this, riddle me that...
...Who's afraid of the big black bat?"
The year is 2023. The Suicide Squad, comprised of the Task Force X team members, have successfully finished yet another mission. The monstrous entity, King Shark, has been returned to his home at Belle Reve Maximum Security Prison in Louisiana, and the world appears to be safe. Bruce Wayne, the ever so eligible bachelor, is invited to a charity auction the evening of November 5th. He will not appear. The board members of Wayne Corp. are not all too surprised, and his trusted butler, Alfred, makes a few hasty excuses.
Bruce Wayne's absence is not without reason. Donning the dress of the Dark Knight, Mr. Wayne wears Batman's identity. On that particular evening, he is in the Burnley District of Gotham, home to its university and WGTU radio. But tonight, the eyes of history are upon the hospital. A sinister figure is about, her feet not treading on the ground, as she glides instead. Her facial expression is vacant, and as she reaches each hospital room, a shriek follows her passing.
Her knock signals who is next to die. And in this hospital, with those on the edge of life, that death comes quicker for some. A few patients die within moments of her greeting, others last a full day. Time is a fickle friend and death awaits none. And so she continues on, moving from room to room, methodic and cold in her approach. It's just a job to her, nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to be particularly proud of.
But just as she comes for the nearly dead, the Gotham Bat has come for her. The struggle is violent and lengthy, yet it ends due to the most simple natural weakness. More than allergic to iron, the Bat quickly uses this against her, until she too is in chains, shipped to Arkham for evaluation. But they cannot keep her there, no. They cannot contain Mallory Grimmoire, and tortured with iron shackles, they ship her to the same hole in Louisiana, the same swamp of dead dreams.
Now the year is 2043. Now the guards do their rounds of the prison, walking down its winding labyrinths, until they notice they are one prisoner short. Mallory Grimmoire is nowhere to be found. And throughout the cells of Arkham, the prisoners newly freed from the hellish institution, faint knocks can be heard drifting down the halls. Always thrice.
Death has come.
Folly Quinzel
Location: Arkham Asylum (Isolation Ward)
Day of the Week: Wednesday
Day of the Week: Wednesday
There was no light for the figure to step into, but Folly hardly needed it to identify the speaker. Her mind betrayed her emotions and her instinct, insisting that the famed assassin was still operating within Gotham at large. Just last week, her guardian had expressed frustration at the murder of a prominent scientist at Deadshot's hands, and wished that the Gotham Bat would be able to achieve some justice.
Bruce Wayne, as far as Folly could tell, was a bit of a vigilante lover.
"Floyd as in...Deadshot?" Folly asked slowly, her jittery hands stilling, as her mind righted itself. The manic episode from before had vanished, leaving hardly any trace that it had occurred beyond the dried blood on her hands. The names of Gotham's many districts, from Otisburg to Bristol County, echoed through her mind, helping with the stabilization. Her breath slowed as well, allowing her poor heart to cease pumping excessively, as if it was going to burst.
"Yeah, that's me alright," the man said simply, without any embellishment or explanation. Folly couldn't explain what she was seeing or hearing. Her gut instinct was that it was real, but her mind told her it was impossible. She ran through the names of the districts again, her eyes shut. And by the time she opened them, the glowing red dart was still there. Deadshot was still there.
"Did they incarcerate you recently?" Folly asked, confusion obvious in her voice. "I thought you completed a hit last week?"
"Funny how that works, right?" Deadshot commented, with no trace of humor in his voice. "I've been locked up nice and tight in here, while some asshole's been using my name to get street cred. Does that seem right to you?" The assassin shook his head slightly, and in the dark, Folly heard the rustling as he removed his helmet. It was odd, she thought, that they had allowed him to keep it.
"Someone at the asylum did this?" Folly asked. Only silence answered her, and she took it as a yes. It was the only explanation she could think of, and with her own mother as an example, Arkham hardly seemed to be a healthy working environment. Perhaps another psychiatrist had gone rogue, and somehow managed to lock Deadshot away, and then take his place in the outside world. Still, she couldn't explain why they let him keep the mask. There was something wrong with the situation, something she couldn't understand.
"I'm not actually crazy," Folly blurted, blushing slightly.
@Pundii: On day 7
@BlueSky44 @Witch Cat @Nallore: Oi vey...This doesn't bode well, but fuck it, LLA decreed it so happen it shall. Seraphina attempts to kick the man in the head, but her foot slips and slides off of him. She is sent crashing to the ground, and the man takes advantage of her confusion, snatching the gun. From outside the shop, Sylvia can hear rapid gunfire. Two bullets hit their targets. Inside, Seraphina had been shot in the inside of the shoulder blade. And Katsumi, she had been shot through the kidney. Katsumi won't make it.
@Lady Amalthea @Pundii: The two undead, one of them looking like a waitress and the other a librarian's assistant, trip over each other. They try to attack the lovebirds, but somehow, the utter rejection of reality seems to be paying off. That, or LLA is feeling merciful after Katsumi's death. One of them narrowly misses tackling Javier, as the other had lunged towards Belladonna at the same time. It's almost like a circus routine with two clowns, attempting to fight and failing miserably...
Mercurial Crypt
Location: Outside the Burning Building
Interacting With: Eudora @Witch Cat
Interacting With: Eudora @Witch Cat
Mercurial raised an eyebrow, taking in the information from the forest witch. Hobos generally didn't have visions, those who did have them had some shred of talent, of a wasted magical gift. At the description of the man, Mercurial felt slightly at ease. It was no mystery stranger--it was likely just her father. He hadn't often been described as a devil, though she had read some historical accounts of his old friends, and the names they gave the man who refused to die.
"I assure you, Satan and I are on quite good terms. We're pen pals," Mercurial began, "but the person you described is my father. He may be a wicked beast, but he's as harmless as a firing squad."
The car zoomed towards them, before quickly passing them. Mercurial stared at it, watching as it went off into the distance. It was punctuated by the soft, subtle sound of gunfire. The town was already becoming all the better. It was a truly horrible day, and she wondered what other terrors were lurking in the darkness. At the witch's accusation of her being struck with fear, Mercurial left out a sigh.
"I too wish I was immobilized with terror," Mercurial said simply. "My parents try their best, but chainsaws and guillotines really lose their specialness after a few near death experiences." With her icy cold fingers, Mercurial broke the witch's grip, and then tilted her head slightly, as to pop her neck. Already, she was falling more and more behind schedule. The news that her father would be decapitated hardly phased her. Her father, Mercurial expected, would have much fun as a head--and her mother would be pleased, as he'd be incapable of wandering off by accident.
"Best of luck in hell," Mercurial wished, before adjusting her grip on her gas mask, ready to be on her morose way.
Aloise Zamora
Hanson put his head down, trying to hold back his laughter. As bleak as things were, Amy only cracked more and more jokes. She would have done well in standup comedy. As much as he tried to take her words seriously, he was just seeing the events of the day through Amy's eyes--it must have been about the weirdest Promposal she'd ever experienced.
"That's the catch, isn't it? We can't," Hanson grimaced. The supposed Marine and the Prophet seemed nice enough, but no one could be trusted now. Heck, he was still surprised that Amy had made the poor decision to trust him. It was the greatest irony he'd ever seen in his life.
Aloise listened carefully to Amy's words, even those meant for Hanson. She knew all about sacrifices, and making tough choices. But if she could avoid it, she didn't want to kill Amy. Besides, Lucifer was an angel. He'd simply just bring her back to life, unless they scattered her into tiny particles all across the universe, to the extent that she could never be recreated. Killing Amy would only buy the world seconds. It wouldn't fix the problem.
"My plan is to trap the devil," Aloise explained. "Put him back in the cage that contained him." She hesitated for a moment. Truthfully, Aloise hadn't quite expected to make it this far. She knew the theory--that the devil could be put back inside of the cage--but she wasn't sure how to accomplish it. All she knew was a few of the requirements for the spell, and they wouldn't be easy to come by. They'd require the expertise of a witch.
"And if we did kill you, he'd just bring you back," Aloise added. "He's the devil. He doesn't care if you die, he'll just snap his fingers and bring you back again. Killing you isn't an option--and not one I'd take even if it was."
Jaina & Sutton
Location: Ancorhead Spaceport, Bay D3
It hadn't been the first time that Jaina was hit. In her line of work, some of her targets would fight. She loved it when they attempted to hurt her, just as much as she loved it when they ran. It was the thrill of the chase, an animal like instinct. It was the same instinct that drove kids to play with their food, rather than properly consume it. But as Kayala's shock whip wrapped itself around her like a boa constrictor, Jaina gasped in surprise. The lick of electricity against her skin ripped a blood curdling scream.
The last place Jaina had felt the cold heat of electricity had been at the asylum. Her limbs convulsed as she continued to scream, struggling only mentally against her bonds. And then, she dropped like a rag doll, her arched back becoming flat and limp. She continued to draw breath, but her eyes were shut, and her skin clammy.
Sutton, meanwhile, watched as Kayala ignored the offered blaster. Well, she couldn't have expected much else. The woman was more experienced with the shock whip, and as she saw the crazy girl taken down by the Face, Sutton felt a little more at ease. There'd be no more random fire to deal with. She could hardly imagine why the Empire would have allowed such a person to be armed, but the Empire never made sense anyways. She should have known, after all--her mother had been one of their senators.
"I think 'crazy ex' is a bit of an understatement," Sutton said dryly, taking in the carnage. The girl had killed one of their officers, and Stehrr had taken down almost all of the storm troopers. With the girl taken down by Jaina, she figured now was as good a time as ever to escape. Whistling, Sutton motioned towards the ship to get Kayala's attention, and then she darted over towards where the Senator was hidden away.
"Come on, Senator, we're getting out of this shit hole," Sutton said gruffly, half carrying and half pushing the Senator back towards the Raven. She sent cover fire the entire time, glancing over to see if Kayala, Luke, and Stehrr were about ready to go. The wookie, she knew, could have easily continued on with the mayhem for another half hour--but that wasn't the smart thing to do.
It wouldn't be ages, Sutton realized, before the Empire learned what happened. She whistled again, twice this time, as a sort of hurry the fuck up we're losing our chance signal. The mission would have to be scrapped, but at least they were alive.
Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: The Park ---> Funnel Cake Stand
She heard the sound of shuffling papers, and what she assumed to be a heated conversation between Chris and one of his superiors. Making a mental note of that, Tuesday consciously plastered on a big cheesy grin, just to get her back into the proper intonation as Chris responded. "Super! I've been dying to find someone to talk to, will see you there...And if you see Marc or my sister, can you not tell them you saw me? You're the best!" She ended the call, glancing around down from her perch up in the tree. From what she could tell from Marc's texts, he was out looking for her.
And she had been cursed with bright red hair. It was like a neon sign, informing everyone exactly where she was. Plus, he likely had memorized exactly what she was wearing. She rose slightly from her perch, holding on tightly to the trunk of the tree, as she attempted to see if Marc was anywhere near the park. She bit her lip slightly, before sitting back down on the branch. Pulling her hair into a tight bun, Tuesday slid on a black beanie. Most of the vibrant red mess was concealed. With her jacket, she slid it off, and tied it around her waste. Her prison tattoos only completed the picture, almost a tribute to the 90s.
Slowly climbing out of the tree, Tuesday walked confidently. She had picked up a thing or two from her time bouncing from party to party, where the drug dealers and smugglers would boast about the techniques that they swore would always confuse the police. Her aim was to hide in plain sight, to give off no appearance of being on the run, or wanting to disappear.
Though, it was also that she didn't really give a fuck. Marc could look for her all he wanted, he could accuse her of being a runaway--but at the end of the day, Tuesday was an adult. She wasn't obligated to keep people informed of her current whereabouts. It wasn't long before she reached the fair, and spotting the funnel cake stand, Tuesday stood by it, scratching at her wrists. Hopefully, Chris would be able to give her some goddamn answers.
She wondered if the cameraman would even recognize her. It was probably for the best that he had specified a particular meeting spot. Otherwise, he very likely could have been awkwardly looking away, expecting the sweet little shy girl from high school, and not the felon.
@Lady Amalthea Awwww yeah :D Thanks so much. I've been missing posting for my grease monkey.
Jack Hudson
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center)
As the door of the Rec Center shut behind him, Jack felt like he was in a different world. It was as if he had walked in on a sacred ceremony, a dress rehearsal, a collection of high school theater nerds. The death and decay had been banished, practically, replaced with gleaming bowling pins and the soft aroma of well done deer meat. And Tatiana, Tatiana continued to take his breath away. If he could only live in this single moment, for the rest of his life, he would have never been more happy.
"Sweet enough to rot yah teeth," Jack quipped, grinning at his solovey. As she took a plate for herself, and one for Bazhooli, Jack set the other plates off to side, except for his own. "There's more dinnah over here, if anyone's hungry." He nodded towards Meg, shaking her hand with his free one, smiling at the woman. She seemed to be nice--but so did most everyone here in Newnan. "Name's Jack."
"You doing magic tricks?" Jack asked. "The only trick I evah learned was how to make my bank account balance disappeah." He noticed Tatiana's apprehension, but he was incredibly grateful that she seemed to be getting along with the Russian man. Bazhooli was a good friend for her, as far as Jack could tell.
Édouard Riviere
Location: Following Lyon
Édouard took in the information, thinking it over carefully. Well, he supposed Lyon had been telling the truth. It wouldn't have been unlike Alisanne to lie to him and torment him--it was pretty much the entirety of his relationship with his eldest sister. No one ever really stood up to her, not even Darcey. He frowned, mulling it over. It was almost painful to watch him think, but eventually, his mind darted off in a decidedly different direction.
Sana, Édouard deduced, must have been a somebody. Lyon wouldn't waste his time with a nobody, and for a moment, Édouard dreamt of reestablishing the Riviere empire, with Sana at his side. He'd be the beautiful face of the administration, allowing her to do the dirty work. He had to stop himself from letting out a happy sigh at the fantasy, as Lyon continued to walk, and Édouard quickly followed after him. The explanation of Lyon's was too neat, too tidy...He couldn't help but have a gut instinct against it.
After all, what sort of mobster would be a guidance counselor to rich kids? He scoffed at the idea. While in his hotel room, before his trip to America had become a disaster, he learned about what Americans called those who looked after rich kids. They wore suits and were called Moseby, and assisted in driving instruction. Félix had translated most of the dialogue for him, and by the time they were done, he felt well versed in American culture.
But Lyon, Édouard was certain, was no Mr. Moseby.
"C'est un travail très stupide," Édouard remarked. "Qui se sent concerné par l'état d'esprit?" He shook his head slightly. "J'était le meilleur de mes sœurs et moi. L'état d'esprit n'importe pas."
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