Abysse said
I just realized...Why have none of us grabbed theme songs for our heroes? LAME. YOU'RE ALL LAME.
Funny you should mention that, I got the distinct impression that Killjoy's would be "Cherry Bomb" by Joan Jett.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Funny you should mention that, I got the distinct impression that Killjoy's would be "Cherry Bomb" by Joan Jett.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
MrDidact said
EDIT: Crap I missed that. Lemme edit.
No bigs, we were probably writing at the same time.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gasoline is to power prison vehicles and emergency generators. Guns are for situations exactly like the one we're in right now.
Obviously the prisoners wouldn't have ready access to them, but it's safe to assume they've busted into the fuel pumps and armory by brute force or careful planning.
Obviously the prisoners wouldn't have ready access to them, but it's safe to assume they've busted into the fuel pumps and armory by brute force or careful planning.
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12 yrs ago
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Brick didn't even notice me attacking him? Harsh.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SONJA
The thing that looked to have once been a guard was now mottled, already yellowing, just brainless instinct and snapping jaws. A zombie, a walking corpse that could barely tell friend from foe, brought to unlife by an experienced necromancer. Through dumb luck, it had escaped the spearhead thrust from the Founders, and now waited to take on the stragglers. It lurched towards the doors, following the loose orders it had been relayed. Something like satisfaction emerged in its simple mind as it spied an approaching chunk of meat, coming right towards it. It bared its teeth, lunged towards the approaching-
Sonja didn't even break stride for the zombie, catching it dead in the face with the Stan Musial bat. For an impossible fraction of a second, its head seemed to stretch and distort like someone tugging on a cheap Halloween mask, before the head completely separated from the newly limp body and flying off to some corner of the yard. "Bam! Home run! Go crazy, folks!" Sonja said with grim satisfaction as she kept on moving. The bat still had at least some of its mojo, good. Her other tricks were going to be much much weaker- her fireballs reduced to small spurts, her teleportation virtually impossible, her mentalist abilities requiring much more focus. Looks like hitting people was going to have to do.
She looked around, took stock of the situation. Cord, worryingly, seemed to have gotten separated from her. The girl obviously knew how to take care of herself, but still. Sonja shook her head. She'd find Cord if she could, but she had to figure out how best she could help with the general situation, which was feeling like World War Three. Sonja was relieved to see Hot Rod and Hi-Voltage had made it there, and both were mixing it up with the powered prisoners. She squinted in disbelief as she saw Volt taking on Boomer. Christ, that guy again. Hopefully Round Two would go in Volt's favor.
Suddenly, Sonja turned at a muffled cry of pain, and turned to see- Daredevil, was it?- being manhandled by the rogue known as Brick. The acrobat was clearly outmatched and in danger of being literally torn limb from limb by the bruiser. Sonja decided she might as well even the odds. Coming up behind Brick, she swung the bat full force into his lower back, hoping to force him to drop Daredevil. Hopefully her own (admittedly limited) strength and proper batting technique would at least fractionally offset some of the weapon's diminished efficacy. "This is the League, bitch!" she heard herself yelling. "You step to one of us, you step to all of us!"
The thing that looked to have once been a guard was now mottled, already yellowing, just brainless instinct and snapping jaws. A zombie, a walking corpse that could barely tell friend from foe, brought to unlife by an experienced necromancer. Through dumb luck, it had escaped the spearhead thrust from the Founders, and now waited to take on the stragglers. It lurched towards the doors, following the loose orders it had been relayed. Something like satisfaction emerged in its simple mind as it spied an approaching chunk of meat, coming right towards it. It bared its teeth, lunged towards the approaching-
Sonja didn't even break stride for the zombie, catching it dead in the face with the Stan Musial bat. For an impossible fraction of a second, its head seemed to stretch and distort like someone tugging on a cheap Halloween mask, before the head completely separated from the newly limp body and flying off to some corner of the yard. "Bam! Home run! Go crazy, folks!" Sonja said with grim satisfaction as she kept on moving. The bat still had at least some of its mojo, good. Her other tricks were going to be much much weaker- her fireballs reduced to small spurts, her teleportation virtually impossible, her mentalist abilities requiring much more focus. Looks like hitting people was going to have to do.
She looked around, took stock of the situation. Cord, worryingly, seemed to have gotten separated from her. The girl obviously knew how to take care of herself, but still. Sonja shook her head. She'd find Cord if she could, but she had to figure out how best she could help with the general situation, which was feeling like World War Three. Sonja was relieved to see Hot Rod and Hi-Voltage had made it there, and both were mixing it up with the powered prisoners. She squinted in disbelief as she saw Volt taking on Boomer. Christ, that guy again. Hopefully Round Two would go in Volt's favor.
Suddenly, Sonja turned at a muffled cry of pain, and turned to see- Daredevil, was it?- being manhandled by the rogue known as Brick. The acrobat was clearly outmatched and in danger of being literally torn limb from limb by the bruiser. Sonja decided she might as well even the odds. Coming up behind Brick, she swung the bat full force into his lower back, hoping to force him to drop Daredevil. Hopefully her own (admittedly limited) strength and proper batting technique would at least fractionally offset some of the weapon's diminished efficacy. "This is the League, bitch!" she heard herself yelling. "You step to one of us, you step to all of us!"
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Maybe one of the inmates with a name knows?
Name: Cooper Harley
Age: 25
Appearance: Harley is a painfully thin Caucasian male. With his weathered face, sunken cheeks, scrubbed hands, and yellowed teeth he looks to be about fifteen years older than he actually is. His brown hair is long and unruly, always escaping from the rubber band he uses to tie it back. His narrow face is dominated by a large nose, that at some point in the past was broken and set up poorly. He tries to compensate for his ravaged appearance with expensive clothing, particularly business casual wear like polos and Oxford shirts, but it never quite seems to work- his clothes are too loose and poorly fit, not to mention he doesn't really know how to coordinate.
Personality: Harley is naturally standoffish. He attempts to come across as personable and businesslike, but no one is fooled by the act and his patience usually wears thin trying to maintain it. He's not the type to yell and scream when he's angry, more just whine petulantly and make sarcastic remarks. While he would never admit it, Harley is a submissive coward, unwilling to face the consequences of his own actions or hang around anyone stronger than him. He knows in his heart that he is unlikable, but continues to try and convince people otherwise- a self-sabotaging course of action.
Statement:
1. "We were buds. I sold her meth. An ounce two or three times a week. One of the best customers I ever had."
2. "Where was I? I don't remember, dude, don't you think it's a little weird everybody seems to know exactly where they were at any given time? Nobody does that."
3. "Why would I kill her? She owed me money. Make no bones about it."
Hope that's okay, let me know if you require any changes.
Age: 25
Appearance: Harley is a painfully thin Caucasian male. With his weathered face, sunken cheeks, scrubbed hands, and yellowed teeth he looks to be about fifteen years older than he actually is. His brown hair is long and unruly, always escaping from the rubber band he uses to tie it back. His narrow face is dominated by a large nose, that at some point in the past was broken and set up poorly. He tries to compensate for his ravaged appearance with expensive clothing, particularly business casual wear like polos and Oxford shirts, but it never quite seems to work- his clothes are too loose and poorly fit, not to mention he doesn't really know how to coordinate.
Personality: Harley is naturally standoffish. He attempts to come across as personable and businesslike, but no one is fooled by the act and his patience usually wears thin trying to maintain it. He's not the type to yell and scream when he's angry, more just whine petulantly and make sarcastic remarks. While he would never admit it, Harley is a submissive coward, unwilling to face the consequences of his own actions or hang around anyone stronger than him. He knows in his heart that he is unlikable, but continues to try and convince people otherwise- a self-sabotaging course of action.
Statement:
1. "We were buds. I sold her meth. An ounce two or three times a week. One of the best customers I ever had."
2. "Where was I? I don't remember, dude, don't you think it's a little weird everybody seems to know exactly where they were at any given time? Nobody does that."
3. "Why would I kill her? She owed me money. Make no bones about it."
Hope that's okay, let me know if you require any changes.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I don't know what she's going to do.
Guess we need to find who put it up in the first place and take care of him/ her/ it.
Guess we need to find who put it up in the first place and take care of him/ her/ it.
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SIXGUN
Already a direct assault on the Outfit, and already Sixgun was considered in the top ranks of muscle. It had been quite a night, and it looked to be just getting started. Trying to put Bender out of his mind, and realizing that he was going to need to watch his back around the Bosnians now, he went on over to the Road Kings president and reclaimed his jacket and weapons before snatching his Panama hat off the ground. "Alrighty, gents," he said, looking over at the expert assassins he had been teamed with as he checked the load on his revolver. "Time to be a-hootin' and a-hollerin' down at some kind of voodoo lab. Best be loadin' up, yeah? Look forward to seeing how y'all operate up here in Chicago," he said with a toothy smile, still thinking of the look in Bender's eyes as he had rolled around trying to squeeze his throat back open. "Show the way, Tony," he said to the capo.
Something then occurred to him. If the League had been called out, who was going to back him up in case of danger?
No one, probably. Pariah probably wasn't too happy with how he had handled Bender anyway. Maybe support had been withdrawn altogether. Maybe he had been left to his own devices.
This was going to be a long night.
SONJA
The VTOL lurched heavily as it approached the besieged prison, the sheer size of the battle below enough to displace massive amounts of air. The Windy City was living up to its name, a literal breeze blowing through the streets, pushed by explosions and fire. Sonja felt her stomach drop as Zenith mentioned a dampening field for supernatural beings. Right as she was thinking about how she could be useful in the rear lines when Zenith ordered the top-tier sorcerers to go in as well.
Oh crap.
Apparently that included her, from what Olympia and Destiny and several others had said. Sonja didn't feel top-tier. Her tricks were just that, spells best suited for a stage or a parlor, the absolute basics of magic. Granted, she did them really really well, but still. It was like comparing someone who knew how to throw a single type of punch to someone like Bruce Lee. And at a time when she was already on the downslope. This was going to be rough.
Still, she had advantages, she knew. Volt and Hot Rod would be watching her back, as always, and of course she'd look out for them. Sonja smiled at the new girl, Cord. The teenager had been brave enough to come along to this Hell- the kid was definitely earning Sonja's respect just for that alone. "Stick close, Cord," she whispered. "You watch my back and I'll watch yours, and we'll get out of this in one piece. Or two. Or, uh, three, I guess," she said with a glance at the girl's shadow.
The VTOL bumped again, this time making contact with the ground to disgorge its passengers outside the walls. Sonja flicked her wrist, and the Stan Musial baseball bat slid out of her shirt cuff into her hand. She had some confidence in this weapon, at least- its power depended less on the enchantments Thomas had placed on it as a safeguard and more on it being a symbol of hope, goodwill, and righteousness- raw emotional power contributed by two million St. Louisans and concentrated into one Louisville Slugger. This simple piece of hickory could deflect bullets, shatter concrete, overturn trucks. The field might dampen its force somewhat, but even so the bat would be a formidable weapon. Hope can't be quenched, not completely.
Holding the bat, long fingers crossing over the sweat stains and autograph of Baseball's Perfect Knight, Sonja felt a hell of a lot better as she ran towards the melee at the prison walls, hoping to batter through and aid Olympia.
The air suddenly turned freezing cold to her left, and Sonja threw herself aside before where she had been standing congealed to a formation of snow and ice. A stray shot, not aimed at her, she thought as she rolled on the ground. To her horror, she landed on something soft and fleshy. Covered in Spandex, not fatigues or prison oranges. One of theirs.
Sonja looked down, sadly seeing the smoking hole where the man's left eye had once been. The poor bastard hadn't even made it inside the jail. She recognized the costume. Bluegrass, a young and excitable man who had protected Nashville. Sonja remembered him as somewhat ridiculous, a little klutzy, the very face of wounded dignity. But nice, always holding a door for someone or trying to organize a canned-food drive. A man who believed in heroes. With a pang, Sonja realized she didn't know Bluegrass' real name. She was going to find out after this, she resolved.
That was it. It was only going to be Bluegrass. No one else was going to die on her side. Not today. Not ever.
She cracked her neck, twirled the bat in her hands, loosened her wrists. "Welcome to the International House of Pain Cakes. My name is Sonja and I will be your server today," she muttered, taking off towards the walls at a dead sprint.
Already a direct assault on the Outfit, and already Sixgun was considered in the top ranks of muscle. It had been quite a night, and it looked to be just getting started. Trying to put Bender out of his mind, and realizing that he was going to need to watch his back around the Bosnians now, he went on over to the Road Kings president and reclaimed his jacket and weapons before snatching his Panama hat off the ground. "Alrighty, gents," he said, looking over at the expert assassins he had been teamed with as he checked the load on his revolver. "Time to be a-hootin' and a-hollerin' down at some kind of voodoo lab. Best be loadin' up, yeah? Look forward to seeing how y'all operate up here in Chicago," he said with a toothy smile, still thinking of the look in Bender's eyes as he had rolled around trying to squeeze his throat back open. "Show the way, Tony," he said to the capo.
Something then occurred to him. If the League had been called out, who was going to back him up in case of danger?
No one, probably. Pariah probably wasn't too happy with how he had handled Bender anyway. Maybe support had been withdrawn altogether. Maybe he had been left to his own devices.
This was going to be a long night.
SONJA
The VTOL lurched heavily as it approached the besieged prison, the sheer size of the battle below enough to displace massive amounts of air. The Windy City was living up to its name, a literal breeze blowing through the streets, pushed by explosions and fire. Sonja felt her stomach drop as Zenith mentioned a dampening field for supernatural beings. Right as she was thinking about how she could be useful in the rear lines when Zenith ordered the top-tier sorcerers to go in as well.
Oh crap.
Apparently that included her, from what Olympia and Destiny and several others had said. Sonja didn't feel top-tier. Her tricks were just that, spells best suited for a stage or a parlor, the absolute basics of magic. Granted, she did them really really well, but still. It was like comparing someone who knew how to throw a single type of punch to someone like Bruce Lee. And at a time when she was already on the downslope. This was going to be rough.
Still, she had advantages, she knew. Volt and Hot Rod would be watching her back, as always, and of course she'd look out for them. Sonja smiled at the new girl, Cord. The teenager had been brave enough to come along to this Hell- the kid was definitely earning Sonja's respect just for that alone. "Stick close, Cord," she whispered. "You watch my back and I'll watch yours, and we'll get out of this in one piece. Or two. Or, uh, three, I guess," she said with a glance at the girl's shadow.
The VTOL bumped again, this time making contact with the ground to disgorge its passengers outside the walls. Sonja flicked her wrist, and the Stan Musial baseball bat slid out of her shirt cuff into her hand. She had some confidence in this weapon, at least- its power depended less on the enchantments Thomas had placed on it as a safeguard and more on it being a symbol of hope, goodwill, and righteousness- raw emotional power contributed by two million St. Louisans and concentrated into one Louisville Slugger. This simple piece of hickory could deflect bullets, shatter concrete, overturn trucks. The field might dampen its force somewhat, but even so the bat would be a formidable weapon. Hope can't be quenched, not completely.
Holding the bat, long fingers crossing over the sweat stains and autograph of Baseball's Perfect Knight, Sonja felt a hell of a lot better as she ran towards the melee at the prison walls, hoping to batter through and aid Olympia.
The air suddenly turned freezing cold to her left, and Sonja threw herself aside before where she had been standing congealed to a formation of snow and ice. A stray shot, not aimed at her, she thought as she rolled on the ground. To her horror, she landed on something soft and fleshy. Covered in Spandex, not fatigues or prison oranges. One of theirs.
Sonja looked down, sadly seeing the smoking hole where the man's left eye had once been. The poor bastard hadn't even made it inside the jail. She recognized the costume. Bluegrass, a young and excitable man who had protected Nashville. Sonja remembered him as somewhat ridiculous, a little klutzy, the very face of wounded dignity. But nice, always holding a door for someone or trying to organize a canned-food drive. A man who believed in heroes. With a pang, Sonja realized she didn't know Bluegrass' real name. She was going to find out after this, she resolved.
That was it. It was only going to be Bluegrass. No one else was going to die on her side. Not today. Not ever.
She cracked her neck, twirled the bat in her hands, loosened her wrists. "Welcome to the International House of Pain Cakes. My name is Sonja and I will be your server today," she muttered, taking off towards the walls at a dead sprint.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Absolutely. Just wanted to be clear.
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