SONJA
The last battles in the courtyard began to wind down, as the superheroes, CPD, and National Guardsmen routed their foes. The battle was far from over, though- the prison buildings were for the most part still occupied. They would be tough nuts to crack, for sure, with plenty of blind corners and dark shadows. Plenty of inmates still ran loose. Not to mention the necromancer. While many of the other heroes shrugged at the mention of a necromancer, Sonja knew how truly dangerous that particular kind of magic could be. They needed to stay on guard.
Sonja spied a familiar uniform amidst the crowd and practically ran up to Hot Rod, still conversing with one of the creatures she had met in Destiny's lab. "Ryker! Thank God you're alright!" Having only met Light an hour or two previously, Sonja could barely pant out a "Good to see you" before rushing headlong into planning. "Listen, this ain't over. We've got to get into the buildings, I think Hi-Voltage and Apogee got one of them. Are you listening to this new voice, whoever it is? Situation doesn't sound great." She concentrated on the mysterious British-accented voice coming over her headset. "We've got some kind of pyrokinetic headed for the infirmary. I think we should get on that, guys. Let's move!" she said, already taking off for the infirmary. Hopefully Hot Rod and Light would follow- she knew how to work with Ryker and Light seemed pretty damn useful to have around.
SIXGUN
Ben knew that up the hill he could still be seen by the Outfit's men. Especially the Witchfinder, with the scope on his high-powered rifle. He was the one to worry about. So he had to make this look good.
Looking into some far-off shadow, Ben forced what he hoped would be interpreted as a look of complete and utter surprise and shock onto his face, as though something horrible lurked just out of sight. Maybe he even went pale, he didn't know. Instead he raised his revolver and fired twice into that far-off shadow.
If he had played his cards right, Chunk would take those shots as the signal to burst into the lab. But instead of a two-pronged assault, there'd just be Chunk coming in through the back- an easy target for the gunmen waiting inside, just the Irishman perfectly outlined against the open door.
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In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Well, hell, if you're not already swamped with requests you could do either of my characters.
She'll be right.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Guys, I'm just holding out for a Question miniseries based on the O'Neil run. Throw in Lady Shiva, Richard Dragon, Ted Kord's Blue Beetle, maybe Tobias Whale as a villain (he doesn't have any real strong ones of his own, so we need to borrow some). I'd watch this so hard.
Sorry to have kept you waiting, had to deal with some workplace emergencies.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SONJA
Sonja grinned as Daredevil got Brick in a chokehold. Nothing would keep that guy down, except maybe an upcoming cease-and-desist order from a certain company. The acrobat hollered for her to hit a home run, and Sonja happily obliged. She was Ozzie Smith winning at the bottom of the ninth, Enos Slaughter batting on the Mad Dash. Over the fences. Except she was aiming directly for Brick's gut. Didn't matter how big and strong the dope was, he was gonna feel this one.
SIXGUN
Ben Brady remembered Sundays at the isolated trading post he had grown up at it. His father would read a passage from the old worn Bible before supper. Ben had forgotten a number of the verses, but one story in particular stuck in his head. Uriah.
This might be a good opportunity to get rid of Chunk.
"Let Fletcher Ross think for a second," he whispered. "I'm thinkin' L-shaped ambush. You head round to the north side," he said, waving to the far side of the building that couldn't be seen by their grouped forces up the hill. "I stay here on the east. Soon as you hear me kick in this door, let off a few rounds, you do the same. Just try to tag one or two of them, then light out. If'n we run off in two different directions, hopefully they'll split their forces to run us down and making easy pickings for the rest of the guys. Or, they'll all run out the south door to get out of Dodge and our boy Wtichfinder can drop them as they leave. How's that for a slice of fried gold?"
Sonja grinned as Daredevil got Brick in a chokehold. Nothing would keep that guy down, except maybe an upcoming cease-and-desist order from a certain company. The acrobat hollered for her to hit a home run, and Sonja happily obliged. She was Ozzie Smith winning at the bottom of the ninth, Enos Slaughter batting on the Mad Dash. Over the fences. Except she was aiming directly for Brick's gut. Didn't matter how big and strong the dope was, he was gonna feel this one.
SIXGUN
Ben Brady remembered Sundays at the isolated trading post he had grown up at it. His father would read a passage from the old worn Bible before supper. Ben had forgotten a number of the verses, but one story in particular stuck in his head. Uriah.
This might be a good opportunity to get rid of Chunk.
"Let Fletcher Ross think for a second," he whispered. "I'm thinkin' L-shaped ambush. You head round to the north side," he said, waving to the far side of the building that couldn't be seen by their grouped forces up the hill. "I stay here on the east. Soon as you hear me kick in this door, let off a few rounds, you do the same. Just try to tag one or two of them, then light out. If'n we run off in two different directions, hopefully they'll split their forces to run us down and making easy pickings for the rest of the guys. Or, they'll all run out the south door to get out of Dodge and our boy Wtichfinder can drop them as they leave. How's that for a slice of fried gold?"
Cooper Harley, unlike several other people in this town, wasn't woken up by the phone call, because he had yet to go to bed.
"I know it's around here somewhere," he muttered, tossing aside yet another couch cushion in the cluttered living room. It be wrong to say he had torn the place apart looking for what he had lost, because the house was already a disaster zone. If the state governor had happened to pass by and peek in a window, His Excellency's first impulse may have been to mobilize the national guard and call FEMA- the place was really that bad. Rather, what Cooper Harley was doing was rearranging the mess slightly. When the distinct sound of his expensive cellphone reverberated through the living room, he groaned and ground his decaying teeth. "Jesus Christ," he said. The words hung in the air, unsure of whether they were a prayer or simply blasphemy, as the mobile chirped again.
"For fuck's sake, I can never find anything," he complained as he picked up the same couch cushion, expecting to miraculously discover his cellphone hiding underneath it. No such luck- just a lone sock, an empty pizza box, some drained AA batteries, and a broken dog collar decorated the nice hardwood floor beneath the errant cushion. Did he own a dog? He couldn't remember. Probably not.
The phone stopped ringing, going to voicemail, and silence filled the living room of the Queen Anne. A scant second later the ringing began anew.
"Piss!" Cooper Harley muttered, trying to force his matted hair back into the brown rubber band that halfheartedly and ineffectively restrained it. He looked around the cluttered room, trying to concentrate on the chirping ringtone. Damn this mess. Maybe he should clean up his house- or better yet, hire someone else to do it.
His eyes, or maybe his ears, lit on an empty, inside-out bag of potato chips. Somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, his phone had worked its way inside that bag. He upended it, caught the ringing, vibrating mobile in his hand as it fell out of the bag. Clearing his throat, he pushed the little green button and held it up to his ear.
"Cooper Harley speaking," he said in as polite of a tone as he could manage. He listened, still picking through the wreckage in search of the first thing that had gone missing. "A murder, huh? In this little town? How about that," he said tonelessly, tossing aside an old magazine and a flowerpot. Did he own any flowers? He couldn't remember. Probably not.
"Go down to the crime scene? Jesus Christ, dude, why the actual fuck would I want to do that? I mean, c'mon, let's just march up to some cops with a neon sign that says 'Hello, I am a drug dealer hanging out near the scene of a homicide, we cool?'" Harley lay down on his belly, checked underneath the coffee table. His horrid teeth broke in a wide smile. There it was. "No, dude, I'm staying right the hell where I am, here in the comfort of my own home. Don't call me unless it's important. Yeah. Bye." Hanging up, he lightly tossed the phone in a more or less random direction. The fact that this rigamarole would be repeated the next time he received a call did not occur to him. But ti didn't matter.
He had found his pipe.
Leaning back on the couch, he pulled a baggie from the pocket of his designer jeans. With the eye of a true connoisseur, he selected one of the whitish crystals inside, dropped it into the scarred bowl of the glass pipe, smiling in anticipation. The grin turned into a frown as he patted his pockets again, then looked around the trashed living room.
"Where the hell is my lighter?"
"I know it's around here somewhere," he muttered, tossing aside yet another couch cushion in the cluttered living room. It be wrong to say he had torn the place apart looking for what he had lost, because the house was already a disaster zone. If the state governor had happened to pass by and peek in a window, His Excellency's first impulse may have been to mobilize the national guard and call FEMA- the place was really that bad. Rather, what Cooper Harley was doing was rearranging the mess slightly. When the distinct sound of his expensive cellphone reverberated through the living room, he groaned and ground his decaying teeth. "Jesus Christ," he said. The words hung in the air, unsure of whether they were a prayer or simply blasphemy, as the mobile chirped again.
"For fuck's sake, I can never find anything," he complained as he picked up the same couch cushion, expecting to miraculously discover his cellphone hiding underneath it. No such luck- just a lone sock, an empty pizza box, some drained AA batteries, and a broken dog collar decorated the nice hardwood floor beneath the errant cushion. Did he own a dog? He couldn't remember. Probably not.
The phone stopped ringing, going to voicemail, and silence filled the living room of the Queen Anne. A scant second later the ringing began anew.
"Piss!" Cooper Harley muttered, trying to force his matted hair back into the brown rubber band that halfheartedly and ineffectively restrained it. He looked around the cluttered room, trying to concentrate on the chirping ringtone. Damn this mess. Maybe he should clean up his house- or better yet, hire someone else to do it.
His eyes, or maybe his ears, lit on an empty, inside-out bag of potato chips. Somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, his phone had worked its way inside that bag. He upended it, caught the ringing, vibrating mobile in his hand as it fell out of the bag. Clearing his throat, he pushed the little green button and held it up to his ear.
"Cooper Harley speaking," he said in as polite of a tone as he could manage. He listened, still picking through the wreckage in search of the first thing that had gone missing. "A murder, huh? In this little town? How about that," he said tonelessly, tossing aside an old magazine and a flowerpot. Did he own any flowers? He couldn't remember. Probably not.
"Go down to the crime scene? Jesus Christ, dude, why the actual fuck would I want to do that? I mean, c'mon, let's just march up to some cops with a neon sign that says 'Hello, I am a drug dealer hanging out near the scene of a homicide, we cool?'" Harley lay down on his belly, checked underneath the coffee table. His horrid teeth broke in a wide smile. There it was. "No, dude, I'm staying right the hell where I am, here in the comfort of my own home. Don't call me unless it's important. Yeah. Bye." Hanging up, he lightly tossed the phone in a more or less random direction. The fact that this rigamarole would be repeated the next time he received a call did not occur to him. But ti didn't matter.
He had found his pipe.
Leaning back on the couch, he pulled a baggie from the pocket of his designer jeans. With the eye of a true connoisseur, he selected one of the whitish crystals inside, dropped it into the scarred bowl of the glass pipe, smiling in anticipation. The grin turned into a frown as he patted his pockets again, then looked around the trashed living room.
"Where the hell is my lighter?"
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I no longer have any idea what anyone is talking about.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SIXGUN
"Alrighty, gents, here's the plan," the man calling himself Fletcher Ross said contemplatively. "Witchfinder, I want you up somewhere high, you're our designated marksman. Mr. President," he said to the leader of the Road Kings, "why dontcha get up with him and watch his back. Don't need any nasty suspicious folks stealin' up on ya, right?" he said with a showy wink to Witchfinder.
"La Sombra, you stay here with the Road Kings and the rest of these goons. Stay outta sight and wait for my signal."
"Fletcher Ross is gonna head on down there and take a quick look around, get a better idea what we're dealing with. Chunk," he said, pointing out the former IRA man, "you're coming with me. Everybody clear?" He got several nods and yeses, then set out on his reconnaissance, the Irishman close behind him. Staying low, his revolver at the ready, Sixgun whispered to Chunk, "So, Chunky boy, how'd you get into this line of work?" Anything he could learn about the man might be helpful.
SONJA
Sonja cringed as the man's massive fists fell, just barely managing to hurl herself aside as Brick cracked the pavement where she had been standing a moment ago. At least Daredevil was out of immediate danger, though being dazed and unresponsive in a battle like this wasn't much of an improvement.
Sonja blinked in surprise when, out of nowhere, someone bolted onto the scene, leaping into the air to grab Brick around the forearm. Was this insane person really taking on this mastodon unarmed and without using any powers? Jesus. There was brave, then there was crazy. At any rate, it was a vital distraction, which was exactly what Sonja didn't. Being smashed into raspberry jam didn't particularly appeal to her. Knowing brute strength wasn't an area she could match Brick in, she decided to get a little nasty. She remembered her mother giving her a few words of advice with dealing with muggers, rapists, the usual sort of thing a city girl needs to worry about.
And so, as the newcomer threw himself at Brick, Sonja swung the super-powerful bat straight upwards between Brick's legs, aiming directly for his groin.
"Alrighty, gents, here's the plan," the man calling himself Fletcher Ross said contemplatively. "Witchfinder, I want you up somewhere high, you're our designated marksman. Mr. President," he said to the leader of the Road Kings, "why dontcha get up with him and watch his back. Don't need any nasty suspicious folks stealin' up on ya, right?" he said with a showy wink to Witchfinder.
"La Sombra, you stay here with the Road Kings and the rest of these goons. Stay outta sight and wait for my signal."
"Fletcher Ross is gonna head on down there and take a quick look around, get a better idea what we're dealing with. Chunk," he said, pointing out the former IRA man, "you're coming with me. Everybody clear?" He got several nods and yeses, then set out on his reconnaissance, the Irishman close behind him. Staying low, his revolver at the ready, Sixgun whispered to Chunk, "So, Chunky boy, how'd you get into this line of work?" Anything he could learn about the man might be helpful.
SONJA
Sonja cringed as the man's massive fists fell, just barely managing to hurl herself aside as Brick cracked the pavement where she had been standing a moment ago. At least Daredevil was out of immediate danger, though being dazed and unresponsive in a battle like this wasn't much of an improvement.
Sonja blinked in surprise when, out of nowhere, someone bolted onto the scene, leaping into the air to grab Brick around the forearm. Was this insane person really taking on this mastodon unarmed and without using any powers? Jesus. There was brave, then there was crazy. At any rate, it was a vital distraction, which was exactly what Sonja didn't. Being smashed into raspberry jam didn't particularly appeal to her. Knowing brute strength wasn't an area she could match Brick in, she decided to get a little nasty. She remembered her mother giving her a few words of advice with dealing with muggers, rapists, the usual sort of thing a city girl needs to worry about.
And so, as the newcomer threw himself at Brick, Sonja swung the super-powerful bat straight upwards between Brick's legs, aiming directly for his groin.
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