Roman

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Gonna try and get a Daredevil post up tonight/tomorrow. I really want to finish this first arc to get Murdock firmly on the path of his eventual Kingpin confrontation, as well as get his first Arch-Nemesis on the page, and after that he might even be open for some interaction as opposed to this solo arc!

For the GM's, I'm sorry my posts take so long and are so far between. Work is busy and I'm finding it difficult to actually get words onto paper, though I always manage to put them in the right order.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Does this count?

@Natty

Represent!

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Speaking of, we're actually making some headway into my first Daredevil arc now. At this rate, it'll only be a couple of year before we wrap it up!

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

"Lester Sullivan!"
Lester looked up, staring hard through the bars of his holding cell at the bored police officer who had called his name. She tucked the clipboard away beneath her arm as she went to her belt to pull of a set of keys, the metal jangling against itself as she fumbled to unlock the cell's door.
"Your bail's been posted. Get up."

Lester complied. He didn't ask who paid my fee. He didn't ask why did they bail me out. He didn't ask what do they want in return. He complied, getting up silently and calmy, nodding slightly to the officer as he left the cell. The officer ignored him, locking the empty cell back up behind him. The station was quiet as Lester walked from the holding area through the front lobby toward the main entrance - nothing but shuffling paper, clacking staplers, the ocassional bored whistling or slurping of coffee coming from cops stuck behind desks. There was no mob lieutenant awaiting him with a favour to be done. There was no mafia boss to whom a life debt was owed. There was no one but police officers in a police station. Lester nearly laughed. He never missed a mark...and sometimes he dodged bullets too.

He almost skipped down the stairs out of the station, disinterested passer-bys questioning his joviality, and he paused at the bottom to survey both lengths of the street, watching the city churn in front of him. A hand placed itself deftly on his shoulder from behind. Lester locked up. He hated being surprised. He felt like he'd been shot.

"Mr. Sullivan. Your erstwhile benefactor would like a word, if you could spare a moment of your time." Came a calm, stoic voice. Relaxed, but calculating. The hand fell, and Lester turned. A man, who held a calm demeanour and wore an expensive suit, with carefully-coiffed hair and a pair of designer glasses. He reached up with one hand and adjusted his tie as Lester summarily studied him, before gesturing with the other a short way down the street. There, on the curb a few yards away, sat an unassuming - yet stunningly dignifed - all-black sedan. Lester didn't hesitate. He probably would have been killed if he had.

---

Matthew walked carefully, stick clacking the ground in front of every step. Karen held his arm, matching his pace but slightly behind; she felt odd - being led by a blind man, who seemed so confident in his pace. She attributed it to the years Matt had spent in the dark. The human being could get used to anything.

In truth, Matthew was only paying half-attention to the burning miasma of counters, boxes and stall-runners. He was picking scents from the air, trying to place the hints of perfume he'd caught from the arms-dealer the night previous. Matthew had smelt it the moment they walked in - he had planned to attend alone, but Karen was concerned for him. The docks were violent, and he was blind. Technically, at least. It took a couple more passes of the aisles to avoid seeming suspicious - Matt told Karen he was looking for fresh Swordfish for steaks - but they finally stopped at the dealer's stall. She was selling, rather than buying, as Matthew had initially suspected. It made more sense, he supposed. A good cover for late night activity, money laundering built-in, and a lot of storage space for an arsenal.

"Can I help you?" She asked, voice course and short on patience. Matthew looked at the source. Karen spoke first.
"We're looking for swordfish? No-one else seems to have exactly the quality we're after."
"That's because no one wants to fish it themselves just to sell it in Hell's Kitchen. I've got a couple recent catches, though - I'll even do the cuts for you myself. Some kind of anniversary?"
Karen giggled. "No, no. Just looking for my friend here."
Matthew smiled. "I like to impress."
The dealer raised a skeptical eyebrow that garnered a frown from Karen. Matthew didn't see either. "I bet you do, cooking blind." She said. Matt just threw her a wide grin.
"I'm resourceful."
"I bet you are..." she bent over for a second and lifted a large coolbox onto her counter, unclipping it. Matthew could smell the ice and the meat inside it. She wasn't lying - it was a recent catch. The stench of sea salt and boat oil was still fresh.

"I'll take it." He said. "But I'll need to return to collect it later. When do you close up?"
The dealer nodded as she put the case back and marked it with a pen. Judging by the sounds of her strokes, she had written 'BLIND GUY'. "Got into the city at 3AM. Been here since 5. We'll close at about midday and then I'm back out of the city at 2PM. You've got until 1 to pick it up."
Matthew nodded, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket and handing over the necessary cash. Karen squeezed his arm as he did so, and he smiled again.
"Thank you so much. I'll see you later." He said, and Karen squeezed his arm again as they walked away.

"Looks like you got what you came for, then, Matt." Karen said as they left, heading back to her car.
"Certainly did, Karen." Matthew replied.
"I just wish you'd tell me how you're going to manage to cook swordfish."

---

"Good morning, Mr Sullivan."

Lester swallowed nervously, lifting a hand to wipe his forehead.

"No need to be nervous, Mr. Sullivan. Let us make introductions first, before we begin with our business. You may not know me, but I'm sure you've heard of me-"
"I've heard of you, sir. You're the Kingpin."

There was a moment of silence. The Kingpin leant forward in his seat, ever so slightly, near-imperceptibly - but the micro-movement carried all the intimidation of a shark's fin breaking the ocean's surface. "I would appreciate it, Mr. Sullivan, if you did not interrupt me. Yes, I am the Kingpin. And that is the name you will use while under my employment - if you use any name at all." It was almost a growl, but still maintained that level of civility that was friendly yet still off-putting. Ever-so-subtly, Kingpin moved back. "But, so we are on equal grounds in this conversation - my name is Wilson Fisk."

Lester swallowed again. Next to him, Kingpin's assistant reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, vicious-looking custom-made knife, which he rest on his leg. The doors locked, and the car began to move away from the curb and join the main traffic of Manhattan, heading to the higher echelons of Hell's Kitchen.
"Now, Lester," Kingpin continued, "let us talk about debts."

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

<Snipped quote by Morden Man>

Ah hah! way ahead of you.

_{Way ahead of you too @Roman}

@Sep

Probably I'm only two beers deep.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

I win.

@Sep

Not that I want to compete in Who's The Biggest Alchy 2016 (known colloquially as 'The Alcholympics'), but how?

Also, I am working on a Daredevil post that should be up tonight. Just...slowly.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

<Snipped quote by Sep>

@Roman, you're up!

@Lord Wraith

Hell, I'm drinking right now!

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

[@Modern Man] I've got some ideas for Kilgrave, but now that Moth's in the Kingpin's employ, I feel like it would be a good time to drop her.

Would you mind if I were to switch her out and apply for a different character?

@Kingfisher

Who said I wanted her? Ideally she should have been left in Gotham under the Hero character she's associated with.

I'm not sure if this is entirely fair of me, but I've had @Roman lined up as a 'Guest Writer' for my Joker for quite some time now. I can have him submit a sheet if need be.

@Lord Wraith

@Lord Wraith I think we get into slippery territory when we start having "guest writers" for characters. I mean, I trust in both of your abilities but once you start allowing it for some people, it's difficult to turn around and tell other people they can't do it. Well, less difficult and more awkward. So maybe (either you or Roman) throwing up a sheet at some point could be a good idea. I know you're short on time though, so it's not a matter of urgency.

@Morden Man

Wraith and I have discussed over skype and I was going to submit a sheet privately to the pair of you, but if it's needed I can quite easily post it here.

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Daredevil Issue#2 released to general public. Twists and turns abound; arc takes bold new direction.

Author quoted as "just glad the arc has a direction."

The New Frontier: A Marvel/DC One Universe RP

Matthew followed the clacking of the metal heels deep into Hell's Kitchen, every step rippling out across the street and down the curb, lighting up the asphalt. The ripples mixed with the rain, every individual drop giving him constant flashes of the city - every sidewalk tile, every trashcan, every streetlight. A whole city as one surface, pulsing and radiating soundwaves and heat. Matthew himself spread noise, the low wet thud of his boots against rooftops feeding him information that he accepted, analysed, and discarded. Above all that was Matthew's mark, and now, despite the rain, he was picking up smells as well - wet leather, musky cologne...and the slight tinge of salt, mixed with oil and the unmistakable scent of gunpowder. The salt carried the sea with it, but Matthew already knew they were headed to the docks by their direction - but the oil and gunpowder was from the pistols Daredevil's mark carried, holstered beneath his coat around his torso. They'd been fired recently, but the man didn't carry the smell of blood with him, so Matthew assumed it was target practice or goods testing. They were drawing closer to the docks and he was learning more about his mark every step - testing pistols. Flashy fashion sense. Bald, wearing sunglasses, thin vest top. Something in his left pocket - the coat swung heavier on that side. He leaped another rooftop, putting a hand to his batons in mid-air. Something told him he'd need them.

Matthew kept on the mark's trail. They went a couple more blocks and then buildings gave way to warehouses and Matthew had to hit the ground if he wanted to follow. Warehouses were noisy and involved a lot of glass - in the rain, he didn't want to slip. Or put his foot through a pane. The guy carried guns, and bulletproof armour was hard to move in. Instead, he dropped carefully, leaping from the rooftop to the indent of a window a few stories down on the opposite building, landing with the balls of his feet on the outcropping and springing back, flipping backwards from the window and reaching out to grab a steel cable that was strung between the buildings another few stories down. His orientation didn't matter; he kept track of himself through proprioception and the buildings through sound, air pressure, the smell of brick and concrete. The cable flexed as it took his weight and he dropped the last few metres, rolling as he hit the ground and unsheathing his batons. He spun them in his hand and tested the retracting cable that strung them together, and then, satisfied, re-centered his hearing. The footsteps were still there, still his mark's. They'd been alone for a while now, and he hadn't changed his gait. Matthew slunk across walls and behind shipping containers, still in pursuit. They were by the sea's edge now, and the docks had turned into massive corridors of corrogated metal, walled off by cargo.

He whistled. A simple four-note tune, but it was clear in its purpose. A woman appeared from behind one of the containers. Matthew had heard her heartbeat as they'd approached - it remained calm. His mark's did not. He cleared his throat, and spoke:
"The guns are good. I'll take more pistols, and I want to add the assaults and the sniper. It'll all be useful." His heart rate was rapid, but his breathing and words remained steady. He was about to do something stupid.
"You sound like you're takin' a crew. He doesn't like supplying crews. They might get stupid and think they're competition." She replied, voice calm, heartbeat to match. She seemed to anticipate it.
"No crew. Just what's needed for the target. High-risk."
"If you're going after who I think you're going after you're going to need a crew. Not like you'd lose much on the split."
"I don't need the money." It wasn't a boast - his heartrate hadn't faltered, so he believed it. Either he was well-off or didn't care. "I'm not doing it because someone paid me to do it." Still telling his truth. "I'm doing it because it can be done. And everyone's going to know my name when I do it." He seemed proud in himself, puffed up on his own stupid ego. The woman just shrugged.
"Whatever. Just make sure you keep whatever trouble you stir up in Gotham. He doesn't need egos bringing trouble back here. You know what he wants for the goods. You can wire it direct."
"I know what he wants." Muttered the man, voice low - trying to be threatening. Matthew primed himself, every muscle wound tight, ready to spring. His fist clenched around his batons. The man unholstered his pistols, arm stretching out to hold it in front of him. "But only I get what I want."

The woman would have begun to laugh, had Matthew not loosened his body and launched from the corner, already raising his arm to strike with the baton - but the woman had seen his fast movement and the man had noticed her, throwing his arm out behind him to the left without looking and pulling the trigger. Matthew felt the arm's movement through the air, the heat from the muzzle and the sound of the gun telling him the exact path of the bullet and he was able to throw himself backwards to the ground immediately, feeling the air ripple and vibrate above him as the bullet slammed into a shipping container and ricocheted away. Matt barely had time to register the good shot before he flicked the top of his baton as he fell, releasing the cable that tied the two together and whipping his arm out as he hit the floor, hitting the man's inside wrist, nearly breaking it with the force of the throw and forcing him to drop the pistol. He slid in the rain, pitching forward and pushing up on his feet as the mark drew his other pistol in his remaining hand. He barely had to time to wrap his finger around the trigger before Matt brought his stick straight down on the arm, cleanly breaking the ulna as the shooter yelled out in pain, silenced by a boot to the chest as the other pistol clattered to the ground. The woman was pissed - at the mark.

"You brought the fucking Devil with you? You let him follow you? You're a fuck-up and a nobody and you thought you were going after the fucking Bat?! After threatening me? He'll come see you soon, don't you worry about that. Then, people are going to know who you are."

She was gone before Matt could stop her - not that it would have been useful to do so. He took a deep breath through his nose, analysing all the scents he could find before isolating one that would be easy to follow up on - fish, variety of, from the nearby market she obviously frequented - before he delivered a sharp heel-kick to the skull of his mark. Extorting an arms-dealer to get weapons so he could go after Batman. He probably wasn't doing much damage that hadn't been done already.

It didn't take long to deliver the no-name to the PD, and Matt wondered if he'd see him later in court. Probably not - he didn't see much of his handiwork. He usually got them on the streets before he needed to defend their victims in the courtroom. He spent the rest of the night on more patrol, thinking over his new lead through the arms dealer and listening to his city. Gotham had its own problems; but Hell's Kitchen wouldn't see anymore trouble tonight.