Polyphemus Member
They/ Them
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- Old Guild Username: Vulture
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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- Polyphemus 12 yrs ago
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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
Maybe Frank Drebin will burst in and disrupt the proceedings of this Bad Dudes Convention.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I am literally cringing at the number of horrible people present at this meetup and the thought of potentially fighting them with nothing more than a revolver. So good job, D.
WatermelonTango said
This looks cool. It looks like it might be a little bit out of my comfort zone, but I'll never grow as a role player if I don't try new things.
I like your attitude, friend.
I'd be happy to contribute, feel free to send me any questions you might have.
Well, I'm a huge fan of organized crime games. The subject is kind of a personal hobby horse of mine. Long story short, I'm all up ons this and I look forward to this game.
Any NPC gangs that might present a threat? Irish, Jewish, and black syndicates were big movers and shakers in 30s New York, any of them present?
Any NPC gangs that might present a threat? Irish, Jewish, and black syndicates were big movers and shakers in 30s New York, any of them present?
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SIXGUN
He nodded as he heard the intelligent analysis, peculiarly distorted and accented as it was, coming from Wire. The Briton was off-putting to him. Smart and nebulously powerful, a dangerous combination. Not to mention there was no way to tell what he was thinking behind that helmet. He'd have to watch himself around this one.
"Thinkin' man there," he said with a broad smile. "Still, Fletcher Ross' point still stands, Fontana. Ya can't go sendin' us out into the field with limited intelligence. That's how we go and lose people, and it's not like we can ah-ford to do that li'l thing." He shrugged at Fontana. "So I'll ask again. Exactly which gangs are we meetin' with? You can tell us on the way, I'm ready to go," he said, clearing his breakfast dishes. He instinctively pulled his M1917 revolver, gave it a few fancy twirls before reholstering it. He missed his Rugers, but so far they hadn't been needed. "Let's go, gents."
SONJA
Sonja was aghast. No one had mentioned anything at all about torture, either this time or the first time she had suggested asking questions. "Hot Rod, I just want to talk to one of these people. That's it. I have to say I'm more than a little hurt that you feel the need to admonish me against torturing people every time this situation comes up. Do you really think I'm some perpetual sadist who's constantly champing at the bit to pull out the thumbscrews? Is that what you think of me?"
She shook her head, fatigue and stress clouding her judgment and making her quicker to anger than she might be otherwise. She marched over to the cell where the necromancer Styx was being kept, the door approached by one of Pariah's people. "Spirit of St. Louis," she said, holding up her League badge for identification. "I'd like to speak with the prisoner, please." The last word was an afterthought, sour and impatient.
The man remained calm and polite. "Ma'am, I'm under orders to personally interrogate-"
"Screw your orders," Sonja snapped. "You know anything about magic? Or magical politics, for that matter? Believe me, jail time is the least of that woman's concerns. I've already spoken to her, we've got the start of a rapport. I have a feeling I'm more likely to get anything useful out of her than ten of you guys. So stand aside."
Obediently, the man complied, and Sonja let herself in to the interrogation room, sitting down across the table from Styx. She smiled. "So let's pick up where we left off, lady." Sonja deliberately warbled the last word in the style of Dennis DeYoung. Really, it was Styx' own fault for taking the name she did.
He nodded as he heard the intelligent analysis, peculiarly distorted and accented as it was, coming from Wire. The Briton was off-putting to him. Smart and nebulously powerful, a dangerous combination. Not to mention there was no way to tell what he was thinking behind that helmet. He'd have to watch himself around this one.
"Thinkin' man there," he said with a broad smile. "Still, Fletcher Ross' point still stands, Fontana. Ya can't go sendin' us out into the field with limited intelligence. That's how we go and lose people, and it's not like we can ah-ford to do that li'l thing." He shrugged at Fontana. "So I'll ask again. Exactly which gangs are we meetin' with? You can tell us on the way, I'm ready to go," he said, clearing his breakfast dishes. He instinctively pulled his M1917 revolver, gave it a few fancy twirls before reholstering it. He missed his Rugers, but so far they hadn't been needed. "Let's go, gents."
SONJA
Sonja was aghast. No one had mentioned anything at all about torture, either this time or the first time she had suggested asking questions. "Hot Rod, I just want to talk to one of these people. That's it. I have to say I'm more than a little hurt that you feel the need to admonish me against torturing people every time this situation comes up. Do you really think I'm some perpetual sadist who's constantly champing at the bit to pull out the thumbscrews? Is that what you think of me?"
She shook her head, fatigue and stress clouding her judgment and making her quicker to anger than she might be otherwise. She marched over to the cell where the necromancer Styx was being kept, the door approached by one of Pariah's people. "Spirit of St. Louis," she said, holding up her League badge for identification. "I'd like to speak with the prisoner, please." The last word was an afterthought, sour and impatient.
The man remained calm and polite. "Ma'am, I'm under orders to personally interrogate-"
"Screw your orders," Sonja snapped. "You know anything about magic? Or magical politics, for that matter? Believe me, jail time is the least of that woman's concerns. I've already spoken to her, we've got the start of a rapport. I have a feeling I'm more likely to get anything useful out of her than ten of you guys. So stand aside."
Obediently, the man complied, and Sonja let herself in to the interrogation room, sitting down across the table from Styx. She smiled. "So let's pick up where we left off, lady." Sonja deliberately warbled the last word in the style of Dennis DeYoung. Really, it was Styx' own fault for taking the name she did.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Thanks for the well wishes. It was nothing serious, just needed fluids and bedrest.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Still here. Been sick, but still here.
In
The League - First Blood (Persistent World Superhero Sci Fi and Fantasy, Always Open)
→
12 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SIXGUN
This was all moving so fast. Brady shot a look over at the newbie, Wire, before turning back to Fontana. "Right, boss, just a couple question. One, where's this meetin' going to take place? Even if'n it's on neutral ground, might not hurt to suss out the joint, yeah? Two, who exactly are we meeting with and what groups do they represent? If there's gonna be blood spilled, fine, just wanna know what to expect. Yardies ain't like Yakuza, they use different weapons and tactics. I may not be a boy scout, but I do like to always be prepared."
Despite his flippant attitude, his mind was already racing. If any of them had thought to reach out to Phoenix, he might very well be meeting with one of his old foes, such as Hector Espinosa, the Cartel boss for Arizona, aptly nicknamed El Rey. Or worse, the mercenary known as the Panamanian, as talented with a submachine gun as Sixgun himself was with a revolver. Not to mention the man literally had the ability to make people fear him. Sixgun was in no hurry to trade bullets with him. While he felt reasonably certain that they knew him only in mask and costume, he couldn't help but be concerned.
Besides, reaching out to other crime syndicates meant a wider talent pool. That mean more top-shelf muscle, even some metahumans like the one sitting beside him. And that meant an even larger threat to both the League and the general public.
SONJA
Although she felt about half-dead and voraciously hungry, Sonja still managed to drag a comb through her hair and get herself out into the hallway. She had only allowed herself a little time to rest- there was still more to do. This night just wouldn't end. It wouldn't be right to spend it curled up in bed, much as she wanted to. Not while she could still contribute. Besides, what would people think of her then? She'd be roundly lambasted, for sure.
She spied the prisoners being marched to their cells. Great. Interrogations. Not fighting, but still useful. She'd volunteer for that.
With some relief she spotted Hot Rod, bleary-eyed and bandaged under his outfit, but for the most part looking none the worse for wear. She quietly slid up beside her friend, gave him a light touch on the shoulder. "Glad to see you're alright," she said quietly. "Got pretty rough in there. Not everyone made it out." She thought sadly of Bluegrass, tried to picture him alive, not with a smoking hole where his eye had once been. The TV she had switched on while washing up in her infirmary room had mostly covered the battles in Chicago, but there had been a thirty-second sound bite showing the mourning in Nashville, the candlelight vigils occurring in Centennial Park. The kid deserved better than that.
"You feel up to going good cop bad cop on one of these thugs?" she asked Hot Rod. "We could definitely learn something valuable."
This was all moving so fast. Brady shot a look over at the newbie, Wire, before turning back to Fontana. "Right, boss, just a couple question. One, where's this meetin' going to take place? Even if'n it's on neutral ground, might not hurt to suss out the joint, yeah? Two, who exactly are we meeting with and what groups do they represent? If there's gonna be blood spilled, fine, just wanna know what to expect. Yardies ain't like Yakuza, they use different weapons and tactics. I may not be a boy scout, but I do like to always be prepared."
Despite his flippant attitude, his mind was already racing. If any of them had thought to reach out to Phoenix, he might very well be meeting with one of his old foes, such as Hector Espinosa, the Cartel boss for Arizona, aptly nicknamed El Rey. Or worse, the mercenary known as the Panamanian, as talented with a submachine gun as Sixgun himself was with a revolver. Not to mention the man literally had the ability to make people fear him. Sixgun was in no hurry to trade bullets with him. While he felt reasonably certain that they knew him only in mask and costume, he couldn't help but be concerned.
Besides, reaching out to other crime syndicates meant a wider talent pool. That mean more top-shelf muscle, even some metahumans like the one sitting beside him. And that meant an even larger threat to both the League and the general public.
SONJA
Although she felt about half-dead and voraciously hungry, Sonja still managed to drag a comb through her hair and get herself out into the hallway. She had only allowed herself a little time to rest- there was still more to do. This night just wouldn't end. It wouldn't be right to spend it curled up in bed, much as she wanted to. Not while she could still contribute. Besides, what would people think of her then? She'd be roundly lambasted, for sure.
She spied the prisoners being marched to their cells. Great. Interrogations. Not fighting, but still useful. She'd volunteer for that.
With some relief she spotted Hot Rod, bleary-eyed and bandaged under his outfit, but for the most part looking none the worse for wear. She quietly slid up beside her friend, gave him a light touch on the shoulder. "Glad to see you're alright," she said quietly. "Got pretty rough in there. Not everyone made it out." She thought sadly of Bluegrass, tried to picture him alive, not with a smoking hole where his eye had once been. The TV she had switched on while washing up in her infirmary room had mostly covered the battles in Chicago, but there had been a thirty-second sound bite showing the mourning in Nashville, the candlelight vigils occurring in Centennial Park. The kid deserved better than that.
"You feel up to going good cop bad cop on one of these thugs?" she asked Hot Rod. "We could definitely learn something valuable."
Apologies for my absence, guys, I've been ill the last few days. Hope no one was waiting on my account.
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