Member
<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>
welcome back champ
Good to be back chief.
-
Last Seen:
0-24 hrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 1806 (0.58 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Simple Unicycle 9 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Half Pint,
rocketrobie2,
Hound55,
Morden Man,
autumoon,
Birdboy,
Dyson11,
GubGar,
Sep,
WXer
Status
Recent Statuses
7 mos ago
Current
My source is I made it the fuck up.
5
likes
Bio
An absolute clown with a fascination for faceless men who punch criminals.
Guaranteed to flake out of RPs 100% of the time.
Guaranteed to flake out of RPs 100% of the time.
Most Recent Posts
In
Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]
→
3 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Good to be back chief.
In
Sensation & Wonder: An Absolute Comics Roleplay [DC & Marvel One Universe Style Game]
→
3 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Bit late to the party but it's nice to see some familiar faces. I've got something cooking in my brain, three guesses for who and the first two don't count. Just gotta get the hard part out of the way and make a character sheet.
"Hrm. No... That's not right," the Question mumbled to himself before reaching up to the cork board and tearing off the strings and photos he had just pinned up. That didn't make sense, after all it was well known that the music industry was too focused on controlling the population with prepackaged corporate pop and lab made pop stars to care about helping to fund Autism Speaks and its pursuits to eliminate the autistic, who were in turn not at all affiliated with the White Martians and their looming invasion.
Q scattered the photos, newspaper clippings, thumbtacks and strings across his desk. He rolled up his mask and took a drink from his energy drink (homemade to avoid the mind numbing nanites found in normal energy drinks) and lit up a cigarette, plucking it between his lips. Back to square one.
"The White Martians must have some connection to the nefarious workings already on Earth... I just have to find it." Now let's see. Crop circles were commonly misinterpreted as messages from an alien people, but in reality they were manufactured by the Girl Scouts of America in order to make people want cookies filled with capitalist nanites; note that some crop circles bare a striking resemblance to popular Girl Scout cookies such as Do-si-dos and Lemonades. But who's to say that the Girl Scouts don't have alien origins? It's entirely possible that they were founded by the White Martians in their pursuit to control and eventually wipe out humanity.
"Now I'm onto something..." Q grabbed his composite sketch of a White Martian and a picture of the Girl Scouts of America logo alongside some string and thumbtacks. He was in the process of pinning them up when his radio cut off the music to play a message that was just received by the Monitor Room; he had rigged up a connection to the Monitor Room's comm channels so he could be warned of incoming threats or allies before anyone else did. It was useful to have and helped to ease his paranoia, if only a little.
"Captain Atom to monitor room, I'm coming back early." It was Colonel Cameron Scott, AKA Captain Atom, a fellow member of the Justice League, a slave to the military, and Q's top candidate for a potential mole in the League. He didn't trust Captain Atom and made no secret of it, constantly hounding the man with questions about his origins, the extent of his powers, and just how many details about the League he was feeding to his higher ups.
"Hurm. The government dog is back from 'shore leave'... Perhaps he'll finally be willing to shed some light on the nefarious workings of his commanders." Q finished pinning up the scraps to his conspiracy board before turning his back to it. Finishing off his cigarette and extinguishing it in his ashtray, Q rolled his mask back down, threw on his baseball cap and hit the button on his belt buckle, releasing the bonding gas. His mask tightened against his face as his hair turned from ginger red to pitch black and his leather jacket turned from a light brown to a deep navy blue.
"Now let's go see if our Captain would like a chat," he said to himself, before exiting his room and heading straight for the HQ's hangars, where flying heroes would often enter the HQ, alongside Batman in his jet whenever the Caped Crusader saw fit to check in on the League.
Well hey, since our GM has brought it up, I've made a Discord for the roleplay. Here's a link to it for everyone to join:
discord.gg/6jb3nTQPxx
discord.gg/6jb3nTQPxx
Player Name:
Primary Character:
The Question
Secret Identity:
Charles Victor Szasz, AKA Vic Sage
Age:
31
Usual Base of Operations:
Hub City, Illinois
Day Job:
News Anchor and Correspondent for KBEL
Powers:
N/A
Weaknesses:
Only Human, After All - The Question is among the weakest Leaguers when it comes to raw strength and durability. He needs to eat, drink, and sleep and cannot shrug off blades, bullets, or blunt force. Every hit will hurt and taking on a metahuman or even more than three or four human opponents in a head on fight will likely end with his maiming, crippling, or death.
My Reputation Precedes Me - The Question is a well known crackpot and conspiracy theorist, often leading to a tainted opinion for people coming into meeting him with prior knowledge of his exploits. Few would ally with him outside of a League environment, even fewer trust him in one, and only a small amount of people like him.
My Reputation Precedes Me - The Question is a well known crackpot and conspiracy theorist, often leading to a tainted opinion for people coming into meeting him with prior knowledge of his exploits. Few would ally with him outside of a League environment, even fewer trust him in one, and only a small amount of people like him.
Skills/Gadgets:
Pragmatic Fighter - Being a normal human, Question isn't going to go into a confrontation without some sort of advantage. He is prone to using stealth and his environment to give him an extra edge in confrontations.
Investigation Extraordinaire - Noted as one of the world's finest detectives, the Question has sharpened his investigative skills like a knife, able to spot vital clues and make informed deductions off of them. His unorthodox mindset also allows him to come to conclusions others would have failed to. On top of this, he is skilled with hacking, able to crack the toughest of systems if given enough time.
Grappling Hook - A grappling hook designed by a close associate which allows the Question to scale large distances and tall buildings with the pull of a trigger.
Investigation Extraordinaire - Noted as one of the world's finest detectives, the Question has sharpened his investigative skills like a knife, able to spot vital clues and make informed deductions off of them. His unorthodox mindset also allows him to come to conclusions others would have failed to. On top of this, he is skilled with hacking, able to crack the toughest of systems if given enough time.
Grappling Hook - A grappling hook designed by a close associate which allows the Question to scale large distances and tall buildings with the pull of a trigger.
Appearance:
Vic Sage has ginger hair, blue eyes, and freckles on fair skin. A tattered suit and tie conceals his well-built form, with a height of 6'2 and weight of 189 pounds. As the Question, his appearance evokes that of a 1940s private investigator or detective: suit, trenchcoat, fedora, with a faceless visage to conceal his identity. His normally red hair is dyed black using the same gaseous compound that binds the mask to his face.
BRIEF Bio:
Charles Victor Szasz was born in Hub City to a destitute mother who worked as a prostitute to support herself and her son. At age 7, Charlie's mother was murdered and he was placed into a home for destitute children, which he was promptly kicked out of at the age of 18. After a short while on the streets, he was taken in by Aristotle "Tot" Rodor, a chemistry professor at the local university. Pulling some strings, Tot managed to get Charlie into college, where the young man changed his name to Vic Sage and majored in communications.
Fresh out of college, he got a job at KBEL, Hub City's premiere news station. For a while, Vic was comfortable in his position, but was troubled the Hub City's crime and corruption. He needed a way to do something about it beyond his job; that came in his mentor Tot, who needed help with a former colleague, Arby Twain, who was looking to illegally sell one of their inventions, Pseudoderm, an artificial skin that was meant to be used as a bandage. Vic agreed to help Tot out and take down Twain's operation, with Tot designing him a mask using Pseudoderm. Needless to say, Vic succeeded, and ever since he has operated as the Question in Hub City.
He was inducted into the Justice League Unlimited not too long ago alongside his contemporaries. With the looming crisis of the White Martians approaching and the fact that one has already infiltrated the League, the Question has found himself more paranoid than ever.
Fresh out of college, he got a job at KBEL, Hub City's premiere news station. For a while, Vic was comfortable in his position, but was troubled the Hub City's crime and corruption. He needed a way to do something about it beyond his job; that came in his mentor Tot, who needed help with a former colleague, Arby Twain, who was looking to illegally sell one of their inventions, Pseudoderm, an artificial skin that was meant to be used as a bandage. Vic agreed to help Tot out and take down Twain's operation, with Tot designing him a mask using Pseudoderm. Needless to say, Vic succeeded, and ever since he has operated as the Question in Hub City.
He was inducted into the Justice League Unlimited not too long ago alongside his contemporaries. With the looming crisis of the White Martians approaching and the fact that one has already infiltrated the League, the Question has found himself more paranoid than ever.
Supporting Characters:
Aristotle "Tot" Rodor - Vic's father figure, mentor, and best friend. Inventor of the bonding gas for Pseudoderm, which allows it to be bonded to the body, and the man who converted it into a mask for use by Vic.
Myra Fermin - Vic's ex and one of his closest friends as well as the mayor of Hub City. A reform-minded politician looking to restore glamour and crack down on crime and corruption in Hub City. Needless to say, she has Vic's backing.
Myra Fermin - Vic's ex and one of his closest friends as well as the mayor of Hub City. A reform-minded politician looking to restore glamour and crack down on crime and corruption in Hub City. Needless to say, she has Vic's backing.
Secondary Character:
N/A
Additional Notes:
<Snipped quote by Simple Unicycle>
I appreciate a familiar face or three! Have you read any of the Future State comics? SHAZAM introduces a new Question who's ID is unknown. Shazam mentions Vic is dead, he's definitely not Montoya, and mentions "Drake was killed..."
When I thought about it, Tim Drake would make a badass Q. I just can't tell how they're spinning certain characters because a bunch of it seems random af. Like Detective Chimp being the other half of Etrigan the Demon, Luke Fox's BROTHER being Batman, Nightwing basically becoming the new Deathstroke, Shazam having his own team of C-listers including Bunker, Q, Vixen, and others... not to mention each book is like it's own possible future and the majority of them are barely connected at all.
<Snipped quote by WXer>
Make one of them your Primary and if you want to use the other sporadically make them your Secondary choice. Seeing so many of you guys using classics like Q, Captain Atom, and Shazam is always a plus. Many people don't realize how many comic companies DC has bought and barely done anything with their concepts. Seeing Charlton, Fawcett, Quality, and even Milestone and Wildstorm characters represented ANYWHERE makes me smile.
I just thought about bringing in Wildstorm's Union into this as the crashed alien hero/my Primary, since he got dicked out of his shot at becoming a member of the JL United during the New52. Other characters who were supposed to be part of the team included Metamorpho and B'Wana Beast so I might use one of them for my Secondary.I'm so excited for this.
Oh! And before I forget my 11 year old took over my old Discord account and I've still yet to make a new one. I think the old JL channels helped with collaborating on posts and fleshing out ideas so if anybody is up for that kinda team building I'd welcome it again. Especially if there are heroes living/working in the HQ.
-Ω
Haven't read any of the Future State comics because I've been slacking on reading comics lately, but I recently read The Deaths Of Vic Sage and it's given me the inspiration to play the Question in literally every comic game ever again. Drake as Q would be kind of oddball but honestly, I'd dig it. Anything's better than Red Robin lmao.
As for a Discord, I'm down for that so long as it doesn't result in the OOC getting left behind.
Well, since I've been outed...
Rocketrobie2, WXer, and Simple Unicycle walk up to a KL iCheck. Just like old times.
You can probably guess who I'm interested in playing.
You can probably guess who I'm interested in playing.
"The Happening In Hub, Prelude" | Issue #1
RORY'S ROARIN' RECORDS SHOP
Ditko Street, The Wedge; Hub City, Illinois
3:48 PM, December 22nd, 1967
"I, can't, get, no... Sat-is-fac-tion..."
Rory eyed the disheveled man as he carelessly dug through the newest records with a mixture of contempt and caution. These fucking bums always going in and out of her shop without buying anything, "just browsing" they always said. Screw that. You go into a store, you buy something. Normally she'd shout at them to get out if they messed with the merchandise and loitered for longer than fifteen minutes, but she had a bad feeling about this guy. The grimy and tattered suit jacket the man wore over a white t-shirt stained in what looked to be blood, combined with his haggard face covered in unkempt stubble and crazed black eyes, gave Rory pause. If this guy was some violent bum, she didn't want to be the bum's next victim.
The man turned, as if sensing that he was being watched, and looked Rory dead in the eyes. He smiled, revealing yellow, decaying teeth that looked like they hadn't been brushed in ten years. A cold hand gripped Rory by the spine, sending a chill through her body. That man was evil. Rory didn't want to look at him any longer. "Hey, man. You've been loiterin' in my shop 'bout forty minutes now. I need you to get out if you ain't gonna buy nothin'."
The man ran a hand through greasy shoulder-length brown hair, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a barking cough at Rory's words. "O-oh, right, don't mind me, I-I must've lost track of time. Being in a record shop w-with a pretty lady? Wow, t-that I ain't used to. Just gonna g-get on my way, y'know? Places to be, gotta hop o-on my bike and get g-g-g-GOING! VHROOM! Gotta get lost, baby!" Despite saying he'd leave, the man walked closer to Rory, that devilish grin still wide across his face as he advanced upon her. Rory backed away as the man got closer, before feeling her hip bump against the counter. The gun under the register! She had to get to her gun!
"Get the hell away from me, you creep!" Rory screamed, smacking the man in the face with an open palm. His head snapped to the left and he quickly whipped his head right back around to look at the woman. A red hand print was bright across his pale skin, but his expression had only changed slightly; gone was the amused glint in his dark eyes, replaced by a cold fury with furrowed brows. His grin had grown wider, if that was even possible.
Rory was about to bolt behind the counter when his hands shot out and gripped her neck, squeezing tightly and wringing out her throat. She coughed and gasped, bringing her hands up to smack and claw at the man, but he didn't budge. Just kept squeezing, tighter and tighter, looking her dead in the eyes. He pushed her onto the counter and slammed her head into the wood once, twice. One hand was lifted off her neck to deliver a vicious punch to her cheek, splitting it open.
The Rolling Stones continued to play over the speakers in the store, Mick Jagger's vocals drowning out Rory's choked out curses and shouts. The man kept wringing out her neck even as her resistance grew weaker and her protests quieter. Not long after, she went limp underneath him. He let go of Rory's neck and let her body slump to the floor, staring down at his handiwork and laughing loudly. The man made his way to the door, grabbing a record off the racks, The Doors' Strange Days, along the way.
Outside the shop, the man got on his motorcycle, started it up, and went flying down the road.
Rory eyed the disheveled man as he carelessly dug through the newest records with a mixture of contempt and caution. These fucking bums always going in and out of her shop without buying anything, "just browsing" they always said. Screw that. You go into a store, you buy something. Normally she'd shout at them to get out if they messed with the merchandise and loitered for longer than fifteen minutes, but she had a bad feeling about this guy. The grimy and tattered suit jacket the man wore over a white t-shirt stained in what looked to be blood, combined with his haggard face covered in unkempt stubble and crazed black eyes, gave Rory pause. If this guy was some violent bum, she didn't want to be the bum's next victim.
The man turned, as if sensing that he was being watched, and looked Rory dead in the eyes. He smiled, revealing yellow, decaying teeth that looked like they hadn't been brushed in ten years. A cold hand gripped Rory by the spine, sending a chill through her body. That man was evil. Rory didn't want to look at him any longer. "Hey, man. You've been loiterin' in my shop 'bout forty minutes now. I need you to get out if you ain't gonna buy nothin'."
The man ran a hand through greasy shoulder-length brown hair, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a barking cough at Rory's words. "O-oh, right, don't mind me, I-I must've lost track of time. Being in a record shop w-with a pretty lady? Wow, t-that I ain't used to. Just gonna g-get on my way, y'know? Places to be, gotta hop o-on my bike and get g-g-g-GOING! VHROOM! Gotta get lost, baby!" Despite saying he'd leave, the man walked closer to Rory, that devilish grin still wide across his face as he advanced upon her. Rory backed away as the man got closer, before feeling her hip bump against the counter. The gun under the register! She had to get to her gun!
"Get the hell away from me, you creep!" Rory screamed, smacking the man in the face with an open palm. His head snapped to the left and he quickly whipped his head right back around to look at the woman. A red hand print was bright across his pale skin, but his expression had only changed slightly; gone was the amused glint in his dark eyes, replaced by a cold fury with furrowed brows. His grin had grown wider, if that was even possible.
Rory was about to bolt behind the counter when his hands shot out and gripped her neck, squeezing tightly and wringing out her throat. She coughed and gasped, bringing her hands up to smack and claw at the man, but he didn't budge. Just kept squeezing, tighter and tighter, looking her dead in the eyes. He pushed her onto the counter and slammed her head into the wood once, twice. One hand was lifted off her neck to deliver a vicious punch to her cheek, splitting it open.
The Rolling Stones continued to play over the speakers in the store, Mick Jagger's vocals drowning out Rory's choked out curses and shouts. The man kept wringing out her neck even as her resistance grew weaker and her protests quieter. Not long after, she went limp underneath him. He let go of Rory's neck and let her body slump to the floor, staring down at his handiwork and laughing loudly. The man made his way to the door, grabbing a record off the racks, The Doors' Strange Days, along the way.
Outside the shop, the man got on his motorcycle, started it up, and went flying down the road.
? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ?
RORY'S ROARIN' RECORD SHOP
Ditko Street, The Wedge; Hub City, Illinois
5:24 PM, December 22nd, 1967
As the detective pulled up to the crime scene, he couldn't help but see the dozen or so civilians that were swarming the record store, uneasy murmurs rippling through the crowd. Isidore O'Toole sighed, snuffed out his cigarette after lighting another with the cherry, took a long drag from the newly lit smoke and exhaled with another heaving sigh. His left hand flew up to massage his temples as he felt a sharp migraine coming on. Just one of those days. Izzy climbed out of his beat up '57 Ford Ranchero and walked up to the storefront, pushing past the crowd of onlookers to duck under the police tape and into the store proper.
Officer Walter Ellington was there to greet him, having arrived first on the scene. "Izzy, you're finally here."
"What's it lookin' like, Wally?" O'Toole asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.
"We got one stiff, the owner. Rory Fairfield. Twenty-nine, unmarried. From the looks of it, she was killed by asphyxiation. Strangled with the perp's bare hands. Officer Lawrence figured she's been dead less than two hours, 'cause rigor mortis hasn't set in yet."
"Anythin' missin' from the store? Cash, belongings?" O'Toole scanned the room. Aside from the officers snapping pictures and the corpse on the ground covered by a tarp, it looked like it hadn't been disturbed.
"Nothing. Register's full, Fairfield's wallet was still in her pocket. The perp didn't take anything as far as we know."
"There a safe in the back?"
"That was my first thought too, but there wasn't anything."
"Hrmm." O'Toole took a drag and asked, "What'd you get from the interviews? There anyone that'd want to do this to the owner?"
Officer Ellington nodded. "From what I heard, Rory was a bit of a, uh... She was rough around the edges to put it lightly. She'd go off on anyone that kept loitering in her store, y'know, just browsing the records. Tell 'em to get out and if they stuck around, she'd pull a gun on them and say it again. Most people leave after that. We found the gun behind the counter, under the register. A Colt Cobra, chambered in .38 Special. Wasn't fired."
"Hm." O'Toole mulled this over as he walked around the shop, taking a drag from his cigarette. He spied dried blood on the countertop, then looked over at Ellington. "There's blood on the counter. She have any wounds? Aside from the bruising from the neck-wringin'."
"Yeah. Got a gash on her cheek, probably from a strong punch, and another gash on the back of her head. Probably had her head bashed on the counter a few times."
O'Toole whipped out another cigarette and lit it with the cherry of his near dead one, snuffing the butt out with his fingertips and sticking it in his coat pocket. "Right... Perp didn't use a weapon, Rory didn't have time to get the gun... Or she didn't even think to get it at all. Might've been someone she trusted, at least enough not to threaten them at gunpoint. A friend or a lover, I'm thinkin'. Crime of passion. If not, maybe a customer that lingered too long for her tastes and didn't take too kindly to her tellin' them to get out of the shop. Spur of the moment murder."
Ellington nods. "That's what I'm thinking, too. The customer, that is. We should keep the personal acquaintance angle in mind, though."
"Right... So, any witnesses see someone enterin' or leavin' the shop around the time she died?"
"Some of the folks outside said they saw a real raggedy looking guy walk in not long past 3 PM and leave just shy of 4 PM. There were about five who saw him, all from different places on the street. I can get Alderson to work on a composite sketch."
"Hop to it," O'Toole said, waving the officer off. Ellington left to go grab Officer Alderson. O'Toole barely had a moment to himself before another officer, Parker, came up to him. "What is it?"
"There's a journalist outside, Detective. Asking for an interview," Parker replied, a troubled expression on his face.
"Tell 'im to get the fuck outta here," O'Toole said, waving a hand dismissively.
"I uh, I did sir. He's real insistent that he talk to the detective."
"Well why don't you try bein' insistent and tell 'im to fuck off again."
"... It's Vic fucking Sage. You know he'll just try busting into the crime scene to talk to you himself."
Sage. That little shit. O'Toole felt a sharp spike being driven into his skull just hearing the name. There it is again. Migraine. Izzy made for another cigarette only to find his pack was empty. Typical. "... I'll go deal with this prick. You go canvas the area some more." Parker nodded and ducked under the tape to head outside, O'Toole doing the same shortly after.
Officer Walter Ellington was there to greet him, having arrived first on the scene. "Izzy, you're finally here."
"What's it lookin' like, Wally?" O'Toole asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.
"We got one stiff, the owner. Rory Fairfield. Twenty-nine, unmarried. From the looks of it, she was killed by asphyxiation. Strangled with the perp's bare hands. Officer Lawrence figured she's been dead less than two hours, 'cause rigor mortis hasn't set in yet."
"Anythin' missin' from the store? Cash, belongings?" O'Toole scanned the room. Aside from the officers snapping pictures and the corpse on the ground covered by a tarp, it looked like it hadn't been disturbed.
"Nothing. Register's full, Fairfield's wallet was still in her pocket. The perp didn't take anything as far as we know."
"There a safe in the back?"
"That was my first thought too, but there wasn't anything."
"Hrmm." O'Toole took a drag and asked, "What'd you get from the interviews? There anyone that'd want to do this to the owner?"
Officer Ellington nodded. "From what I heard, Rory was a bit of a, uh... She was rough around the edges to put it lightly. She'd go off on anyone that kept loitering in her store, y'know, just browsing the records. Tell 'em to get out and if they stuck around, she'd pull a gun on them and say it again. Most people leave after that. We found the gun behind the counter, under the register. A Colt Cobra, chambered in .38 Special. Wasn't fired."
"Hm." O'Toole mulled this over as he walked around the shop, taking a drag from his cigarette. He spied dried blood on the countertop, then looked over at Ellington. "There's blood on the counter. She have any wounds? Aside from the bruising from the neck-wringin'."
"Yeah. Got a gash on her cheek, probably from a strong punch, and another gash on the back of her head. Probably had her head bashed on the counter a few times."
O'Toole whipped out another cigarette and lit it with the cherry of his near dead one, snuffing the butt out with his fingertips and sticking it in his coat pocket. "Right... Perp didn't use a weapon, Rory didn't have time to get the gun... Or she didn't even think to get it at all. Might've been someone she trusted, at least enough not to threaten them at gunpoint. A friend or a lover, I'm thinkin'. Crime of passion. If not, maybe a customer that lingered too long for her tastes and didn't take too kindly to her tellin' them to get out of the shop. Spur of the moment murder."
Ellington nods. "That's what I'm thinking, too. The customer, that is. We should keep the personal acquaintance angle in mind, though."
"Right... So, any witnesses see someone enterin' or leavin' the shop around the time she died?"
"Some of the folks outside said they saw a real raggedy looking guy walk in not long past 3 PM and leave just shy of 4 PM. There were about five who saw him, all from different places on the street. I can get Alderson to work on a composite sketch."
"Hop to it," O'Toole said, waving the officer off. Ellington left to go grab Officer Alderson. O'Toole barely had a moment to himself before another officer, Parker, came up to him. "What is it?"
"There's a journalist outside, Detective. Asking for an interview," Parker replied, a troubled expression on his face.
"Tell 'im to get the fuck outta here," O'Toole said, waving a hand dismissively.
"I uh, I did sir. He's real insistent that he talk to the detective."
"Well why don't you try bein' insistent and tell 'im to fuck off again."
"... It's Vic fucking Sage. You know he'll just try busting into the crime scene to talk to you himself."
Sage. That little shit. O'Toole felt a sharp spike being driven into his skull just hearing the name. There it is again. Migraine. Izzy made for another cigarette only to find his pack was empty. Typical. "... I'll go deal with this prick. You go canvas the area some more." Parker nodded and ducked under the tape to head outside, O'Toole doing the same shortly after.
? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ? - ?
RORY'S ROARIN' RECORD SHOP
Ditko Street, The Wedge; Hub City, Illinois
5:39 PM, December 22nd, 1967
I pushed to the front of the crowd, muttering "excuse me" and "sorry, coming through" to the onlookers as I did so. At the front of the crowd, I eyed the officers canvassing the area, before waving one down. He approached me, quirking a brow. "Do you know something about the crime, sir?" he asked.
"No, but I was wondering if the cops in there do. You see, I'm a journalist, writing for Starrstruck Monthly." I replied, shoving my press pass forward. The officer took it and looked it over. "Vic Sage."
The officer wrinkled his nose and handed it back to me. "Look, Sage. You are persona non grata at any crime scene, especially after the stunts you've pulled. Get going."
"I implore you to reconsider that, Officer... Parker. Please, go and fetch Detective O'Toole for me. I've got some questions for him." Parker sighed and I had to suppress a grin at that. I think he was finally getting it through his head that I'd just keep on hounding the cops until I got an interview. "Please? I won't take longer than five minutes."
"... If I go and get him, you promise you'll leave after you've asked him what you want?"
"Of course."
"And you won't show up demanding an interview every time the cops show up at a crime scene?"
A smirk made its way across my face despite myself. "That, I cannot promise."
Parker sighed and pinched his nose. "... Fuckin' good enough. I'll go grab him." Parker left me to go head into the store and grab O'Toole. I used this time to take some notes.
-rory's roarin' record shop (stupid name)
-murder (robbery?)
-crowd doesn't look torn up about it. unpopular?
-o'toole is finally gonna give me that interview. gonna hav
"Sage."
I looked up from my notes to see Izzy O'Toole, the HCPD's top detective and most corrupt cop before me. His bulldog-like face was contorted into a scowl, green eyes boring holes into me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead ten times over. "Detective O'Toole! I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions about the cri-"
"You got sixty seconds, then you leave. 60. 59. 58."
Shit. Should've known O'Toole wouldn't give me long, but I didn't expect this little time. "Uh... Ahem, the victim's name?"
"Rory Fairfield. 49. 48."
"Cause of death?"
"Strangled. 42. 41. 40."
I scribbled the facts down as O'Toole continued counting down. "Any suspects? Jealous ex? Robbery?"
"It wasn't a robbery and we've got a perp in mind. We'll be releasing a composite sketch to proper newspapers sometime tonight so it can make it into tomorrow's paper. 23. 22."
"And you can't release it to Starrstruck Monthly because...?"
O'Toole's scowl deepened. His voice cut like glass as he spat out, "Because some fuckin' hippy magazine ain't a newspaper, you little shit. We aren't gonna release information to some magazine that'll fuckin' drag us through the mud in the same article." O'Toole fidgeted, reaching for his pocket, only to sigh and stop. "... Your time is up, Sage. Now get the hell out of here."
I gave O'Toole a strained smile. "Of course, detective. Gotta let you get back to stuffing your pockets with the Sinners' money. You have a nice day now." I tipped my hat to O'Toole, almost seeing the hot anger building inside of him as I do, then turned to leave, pushing through the crowd to do so.
Hopping into my car, I started it up and pulled out into the street, heading back to Starrstruck Monthly's office to get right to work on my article. Deadline for January's issue was coming up and I needed a story. Some murder in The Wedge is less of a step down from my rallying cry for the youth of the nation back in November and more of a drop from the top of the Empire State Building to the sidewalk. Still, it's better than not turning in anything, considering I'm Sam's only full-time writer.
At a red light, I finished scribbling my notes down in my notepad and tossed it into the passenger seat, spying the pseudoderm mask in the seat as I did so. Perhaps I could do some investigating of my own tonight. This didn't seem to be more than a random act of violence, but maybe, just maybe, something more could turn up.
"No, but I was wondering if the cops in there do. You see, I'm a journalist, writing for Starrstruck Monthly." I replied, shoving my press pass forward. The officer took it and looked it over. "Vic Sage."
The officer wrinkled his nose and handed it back to me. "Look, Sage. You are persona non grata at any crime scene, especially after the stunts you've pulled. Get going."
"I implore you to reconsider that, Officer... Parker. Please, go and fetch Detective O'Toole for me. I've got some questions for him." Parker sighed and I had to suppress a grin at that. I think he was finally getting it through his head that I'd just keep on hounding the cops until I got an interview. "Please? I won't take longer than five minutes."
"... If I go and get him, you promise you'll leave after you've asked him what you want?"
"Of course."
"And you won't show up demanding an interview every time the cops show up at a crime scene?"
A smirk made its way across my face despite myself. "That, I cannot promise."
Parker sighed and pinched his nose. "... Fuckin' good enough. I'll go grab him." Parker left me to go head into the store and grab O'Toole. I used this time to take some notes.
-rory's roarin' record shop (stupid name)
-murder (robbery?)
-crowd doesn't look torn up about it. unpopular?
-o'toole is finally gonna give me that interview. gonna hav
"Sage."
I looked up from my notes to see Izzy O'Toole, the HCPD's top detective and most corrupt cop before me. His bulldog-like face was contorted into a scowl, green eyes boring holes into me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead ten times over. "Detective O'Toole! I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions about the cri-"
"You got sixty seconds, then you leave. 60. 59. 58."
Shit. Should've known O'Toole wouldn't give me long, but I didn't expect this little time. "Uh... Ahem, the victim's name?"
"Rory Fairfield. 49. 48."
"Cause of death?"
"Strangled. 42. 41. 40."
I scribbled the facts down as O'Toole continued counting down. "Any suspects? Jealous ex? Robbery?"
"It wasn't a robbery and we've got a perp in mind. We'll be releasing a composite sketch to proper newspapers sometime tonight so it can make it into tomorrow's paper. 23. 22."
"And you can't release it to Starrstruck Monthly because...?"
O'Toole's scowl deepened. His voice cut like glass as he spat out, "Because some fuckin' hippy magazine ain't a newspaper, you little shit. We aren't gonna release information to some magazine that'll fuckin' drag us through the mud in the same article." O'Toole fidgeted, reaching for his pocket, only to sigh and stop. "... Your time is up, Sage. Now get the hell out of here."
I gave O'Toole a strained smile. "Of course, detective. Gotta let you get back to stuffing your pockets with the Sinners' money. You have a nice day now." I tipped my hat to O'Toole, almost seeing the hot anger building inside of him as I do, then turned to leave, pushing through the crowd to do so.
Hopping into my car, I started it up and pulled out into the street, heading back to Starrstruck Monthly's office to get right to work on my article. Deadline for January's issue was coming up and I needed a story. Some murder in The Wedge is less of a step down from my rallying cry for the youth of the nation back in November and more of a drop from the top of the Empire State Building to the sidewalk. Still, it's better than not turning in anything, considering I'm Sam's only full-time writer.
At a red light, I finished scribbling my notes down in my notepad and tossed it into the passenger seat, spying the pseudoderm mask in the seat as I did so. Perhaps I could do some investigating of my own tonight. This didn't seem to be more than a random act of violence, but maybe, just maybe, something more could turn up.
© 2007-2024