Roman

The Mavericks: Valiant Heroics

Cassie left the meeting with Locke – ‘meeting’ here being a word for ‘lambasting’ and ‘humiliation for amusement and pathetic ego kicks’ – hurriedly and with her head down. She mumbled a vague apology when some monolithic mountain that she presumed was a man (but couldn’t be quite sure) bumped her shoulder and sent her other shoulder into the wall of the hallway but paid no other mind and kept on. She hated Locke. She hated the city which, for all intents and purposes, was Locke’s. She hated that she worked for Locke. But far above all of those emotions of disdain and loathing, a pillar standing tall and burning bright…she hated that she needed Locke. She needed his money, needed the home he gave her. Needed him so she could look after Jo. And it was with that thought that she decided what to do with the rest of her day.

Jo was at school when Cassie arrived at her apartment - her actual institute of education being separate to the Kilbride College Academy where the shooting had taken place. The apartment was empty, Jo’s part-time ‘carer’ (maid and bodyguard) having no reason to stay during the days Jo went to school, and Cassie let herself in with the spare key Locke had given her at the start of all this mess. It was still before noon, and Jo wouldn’t return until gone four, but Cassie could wait. Patience was a virtue she held in great quantities. She amused herself by flicking through Jo’s books, and her record collection, eventually growing bored with both and, exhausted from the lack of sleep she’d suffered since the shooting, fell asleep on the sofa a little after one.

She was woken up by the soft shaking from a hand on her shoulder, the arm of which extended into the blurry form of Cassie’s sister. Jo shifted into focus as Cassie sniffed and rubbed her eyes, shedding sleep dust and blinking a couple times while she pushed herself up into a seated position, leaning against the back cushioning of the plush leather sofa. She smiled lazily and pulled Jo into a one-armed half-hug. "Afternoon, sis." Jo said, and Cassie chuckled.

"How was school, Jo?" She asked, standing up and stretching as Jo walked away from the lounge are into the attached kitchen and flipped the switch for the kettle. She replied as it started bubbling.
"Boring. People knew I was at Kilbride CA. It was a lot of fawning or a lot of avoiding." The kettle clicked again and Jo turned, pulling two mugs from an under-unit cupboard. She quickly brewed two coffees, handing one to Cassie. "The teachers were being careful too. I just wanted to study and leave, not be hounded for details or petted with sympathy. Policeman came in, though."

Cassie looked up at Jo over the rim of her mug. She was taller than her younger sister, but not by much, and at times like these, Jo being so stoic and straight-forward, she felt like the dynamic between them had been reversed. "Really? What about?" She asked, continuing the conversation with minimal involvement. She could control herself expertly, but around her sister, it was always harder to hide. And Jo invariably knew regardless.

Jo sipped from her mug, savouring the flavour and the scent. "An explanation. Dumbed down, obviously. I guess a warning, too? Our 'legal guardians' have been permitted to pull us out for a while without it affecting our attendance records, and the work will be sent home so we can keep up with the syllabus. I have elected to stay at school." Jo cleared her throat.

Cassie smiled sympathetically, and they stood in silence for a few minutes as they finished their drinks, placing their mugs in the sink. Jo sighed, and took a long look at Cassie. She looked tired, and Cassie knew it. Her occupation was taking its toll on her, emotionally and physically. There was a lot more weighing Cassie down than simple sleep deprivation. Cassie coughed, the silence feeling awkward, and knowing that Jo was inspecting her. She was uncomfortable talking about the KCA shooting, for obvious reasons, but Jo didn't know about what she did, and she wanted to keep it that way.
"I have to get going...there's work I need to do for the doctor." Cassie said, making an excuse to leave Jo's scrutinization. She turned to take her scarf off the hook by the front door of the apartment and stood with her back to Jo, wrapping it around her neck carefully, when her sister spoke and made her freeze.

"I went to...to Tom's, before I came here." Cassie noticed her voice. Wavy. Forced bravery. A tone she'd heard plenty after the death of their parents. "My...my date. T-to the dance." Cassie hung her head. Tom was dead, Locke had told her that. And now Jo knew, and maybe Tom was the first real chance Jo had had for a normal life, and now he was dead, and Locke had taken him from her, and anger built up in Cassie as she heard a small sob escape from Jo. She suppressed it and whirled around, moving quickly across the room to take Jo into her arms and hug her tightly. In response, Jo gave up her pretense and began crying in earnest, clinging tightly to her older sister for some kind of comfort, something solid to hold on to. Cassie wept too, silently, shedding tears for the life Jo would never get to have now, for the things that had happened to them, for the things that Locke had done to them...she heard Jo choking out some words, a muffled murmur from the face buried into her scarf and shoulder. She leant back, letting Jo be heard.

"His whole f-family. In a car collison..." She bit back tears but failed to stop them and they wormed down her face, dripping off the end of her nose. "They told me not to use my powers but I did and now he's dead and his mom and dad are dead and it's just like our parents, just like them, it's me, it's my fa-" her words tumbled out and Cassie didn't let her finish the sentence, squeezing Jo's shoulder and whispering a soothing hush.
"No, no Jo, it's not, it's not your fault, and neither were mom and dad, nothing was your fault..." She stroked the back of Jo's hair as she clung to Cassie's back, and slowly, slowly Jo calmed down. "It was an accident, just like mom and dad. It was not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. There was nothing you could have done. It's no one's fault." Cassie wavered at the end, sounding unconvincing even to herself. "Tom's death was nobody's fault."

Jo separated. Her weeping had stopped but her cheeks were stained and her mascara ran. "It is." She said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "You know it's not mine, but it is someone's fault." Cassie said nothing, but she sighed, and Jo saw a mournful exhaustion in her eyes. She relented. "You don't have to tell me. But...thank you." She hugged Cassie again. They looked at each other, both sniffing from crying and makeup ruined, and chuckled a bit. "Dad always did that." Jo said. "He always knew you weren't saying something, and he let you not say it." Cassie smiled. She'd forgotten, but Jo was right. Their father always knew, and always knew not to pry.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about their parents. Jo's carer arrived and quickly left again after he realised Cassie was there, giving the sisters space. The reminisced long into the evening, and eventually moved topics, talking about Jo's schooling, her future, Cassie's activities, Jo spinning wild theories about their 'mysterious' benefactor (Cassie pulling pained and sympathetic smiles, Jo smirking knowingly but saying nothing). Cassie caught up on all she'd missed, and felt like Jo's big sister again, not just a girl with a rifle looking out for her from the other end of a scope. Eventually, inthe early hours of the morning, they both fell asleep, collapsed on the sofa, laughs and tears shared in equal measures.

Cassie woke with the sun, the light streaming through the large eastern-facing windows of Jo's apartment. She rose quietly from the sofa, leaving Jo asleep. There was a faint smile on her face, and Cassie smiled herself. She left a note, and then left the apartment. It was time to find her targets.

Titans!

”Funny meeting you here.”

Ghost Rider stopped her rhythmic pounding. Fists slowed and lowered, and the glow of the runes faded. The marks were strong. But Zarathos’ will would not be held for long. She looked at Kyle, another member of the Young Avengers, one that was often spearheading a solo enterprise in a different corner of the world. Inside, Dani fought for control, hope renewed by the sight of one of her teammates. They were coming for her! She fought for words, but Zarathos silenced her. It was still stronger than her, and Ghost Rider was still an entity that refused a leash. The flames licked up her skull as she turned to face the boy.

“Lantern.” She said, voice bubbling with heat and the echo of a hundred souls. She pounded on the bars again, and screamed in frustration and anger – a terrifying sound that chilled your bones with fear – as the runes glowed and sparked and stood strong again. She leant closer and inspected the bars. The runes hissed from her proximity, but now that she looked at them closer, she saw that the marks were…amateur. Roughly hewn, lines vague and wobbly in places. They were not the carefully drawn spells and incantations of the grand Doctor Strange. They were weaker. They were…exploitable.

”Shield the bars.” She commanded, indicating for Kyle to coat the bars in the energy from his ring. He did so, and the bars glowed green. She grasped the bars, hands now able to grip the inscribed metal with the protective layer – but still close enough to garner a reaction from the runes. She leant forward, both hands gripping, and channelled Hellfire into her hands. Fire burst up her wrists from the sleeves of her jacket, and the runes began to react, slowly at first, and then sparking and a deep ringing as the magic began to overload. Ghost Rider began to scream with the effort and the retaliation of the runes and channelled more Hellfire into her hands, pushing harder and harder... ”NOW.” She roared, and Kyle dropped the shielding – and the runes gave out. They screamed in destruction and the bars exploded, shattering into tiny fragments and instantly melting in Ghost Rider’s fire. She hunched over, the conjuring exhausting her, but then began chuckling, a light chortle that morphed into a deep, throaty laugh.

”Ahhh. Freedom, and the night is yet young. Red Skull is escaping.” She said, sighing wistfully.
“And how are we going to catch him?” Kyle asked, and there was a strange moment where somehow, the unmoving, flaming skull that was Ghost Rider’s face seemed to be smirking somehow. Her voice was smooth and almost a purr. As she spoke, a horse of bone and fire and little muscle constructed itself from the ground in front of them both, Ghost Rider herself putting a foot into a stirrup and and swinging herself up into the saddle.

”Kyle….we ride.”

Titans!

Just a heads up, DSW - Mandarin was in Metropolis. Blackgate was Black Mask breaking out.

Titans!

You posted YA-related but nothing I could actually work off of! I want to play with my flaming-skull demon girl, people, adhere to my desires.

Titans!

Where my YA peeps at?

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Jericho is Deathstroke Jr.?

I guess it wasn't that much of a departure after all.

Titans!

Do you mind cluing us in on exactly who your big cliffhanger is referencing? Is it a character you're playing, a character someone else is playing? Or just a random NPC? It just seems like it's meant to be obvious but nothing about the murder your describe particularly points toward anyone.

Titans!

Time to cause a ruckus.

Titans!

Deep in Blackgate, an entire prison of inmates rioting around him, whirling in a violent storm of crashing and shouting and chanting and banging bars with fists and mugs and shivs and heads - deep in Blackgate, Roman Sionis sat silent and still, mask un-moving, eyes fixed ahead. He watched, listening to the riot. Inmates, thugs, murderers, rapists . All Gotham's worst. And him. The absolute nadir. There were others, some with faces quite opposite Sionis' visage, but they were less...purposed. Driven. Ambitious. Sionis was the best of Gotham's underworld, at least according to him. And many others, depending who you asked. And when you asked them.

Vicious. Sadistic. Ruthless. Narcissistic. Criminal genius. Psychopath. Oh, the penitentiary's shrink had endless words for him. Sionis had one: efficient. He had more, too. A ruler. Lord of Gotham. Leader of his Society. One that worked for him now, in and out of his temporary shackles. Beneath the mask, his scarred skin curved skyward in a twisted smile as he heard the clicking of heels down the corridor. The Warden, Martin Joseph. Right on cue. Sionis took a breath and stood, an intimidating figure despite the fluorescent orange of his prison jumpsuit. The mask did it; it was naturally unnerving. It was why Sionis had created it, pushed himself into becoming something more than just a man. Roman Sionis? No. Black Mask. He lifted a hand to the seam between his mask and his neck, feeling the tight and puckered skin, the blistered wood. Black Mask, forevermore. The warden appeared.

"Aahh. Martin." Sionis said, standing mere feet away from the man, iron bars the only barrier between them. He watched the warden flinch slightly as Sionis used his name - a power play. Sionis had no compunctions about the two men's relative standings. The warden had two guards with him, flanking his sides, but both men knew they were little protection were the bars not in place. The warden swallowed, Sionis watching the muscles of his lower jaw and neck flex and shift, and then he opened his mouth to reply.

"What's your game, Sionis." He said, and Black Mask didn't move, just kept watching. His black eyes bore into the warden from within his mask. He shuddered, and continued. "The chanting, Sionis. What's your game? Think we'll release you by popular demand of your...'peers'?" He sneered, and Sionis let him have his moment of pathetic self-amusement. Martin Joseph was a bully, but held no power over Sionis. He almost pitied him. Such superficial control. What intangible power, nothing like Black Mask's hold on Gotham in the prime of his Empire. It made him chuckle, then, to think that soon, very soon, he would be showing him exactly how superficial his power was.

The chanting that had Joseph quite so agitated was of Sionis' name. Not his given name, no, of course not. His chosen name, his taken name. Cries, ecstatic, agonized, impassioned cries throughout the prison of "Black Mask", accompanied by rhythmic banging. There were False Face members in the ranks of the prisoners, both legitimate and planted. The arrested had been easy to rally; the planted had been given their purpose. There were a few guards paid off too - just the right ones. Black Mask didn't want to waste more money and resources than was necessary. Somewhere below and behind him he heard a slow, dull rumble. It escaped the notice of the ignorant warden.

"My game, Martin?" Black Mask replied. His voice was smooth, velvety but threatening, an edge of menace and a slightly off tone that curled his words. A persuasive voice that threatened to force you if you didn't comply willingly. And always, always that mask. "I've enjoyed my stay, but...I have a pressing business meeting I must attend." He smiled again beneath the mask and nodded at the guards flanking the warden. The left placed a heavy hand on Joseph's shoulder, and the right moved over to a locked control box on the wall opposite Sionis' isolated cell. He unlocked and opened it, and then, flipping a few switches, threw the lever to open Sionis' cell - and a few others besides. False Facers or not, Black Mask didn't really mind. More people to thank him for freedom. More criminals fresh on the streets looking for work. Sionis walked forward out of his cell, and looked sideways at Joseph, who was visibly panicking and squirming under the iron grip of the guard he'd brought with him. The wrong guard. Black Mask was almost dismissive of him. But still, he might get bored. He looked at the guard holding him.

"Bag him." The guard nodded, and suddenly wrenched a black bag over the warden's head, and then took him away. The other guard stepped to the side, allowing Black Mask to go first. He escorted him to the visitor's reception. There was a dry-cleaning bag there, and Black Mask opened it to reveal the pristine suit within. Tailor-made, a thing of beauty - he changed immediately, smoothing his lapels and doing up a single button. So much better than the ratty jumpsuit. When he stepped out into the lobby, the guard was wiping his face, layers of concealer coming off. His face - and indeed, the rest of his body - was completely covered in ink, patterns among patterns among patterns. Black Mask's lieutenant.

"Tattoo." Sionis said. "Good to see you." Tattoo nodded, and then they strolled out, like they owned the place. Black Mask chuckled as he stepped into the jet-black bentley that was dutifully awaiting him, another Facer behind the wheel. Soon, he thought. Soon, he would. They drove away.

Titans!

Okay so I'm going to cook up Sionis' breakout and get things stirring in Gotham, and then hopefully someone will be coming after Ghost Rider and we can have some fun with her, too.