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A show on either cbs or nbc
Sammy, your two characters give me a kind of Person of Interest vibe lol
Good idea :)
Page three starter :)
The previous night had been spent in several hours worth of recuperation after having the Crime Doctor work on Victor's wounds.
Luckily, he had received a small boost due to the Doctor's nefarious and greed lusting mind, and the barber behind the door, running the mask of this backdoor operation, but once he has able to hobble around he was kicked out onto the streets with a threat made by the man calling himself the Crime Doctor.
"If you don't pay your fees in 24 hours time," he had said last night, "i'll place a call and tomorrow the Gazette won't even bother printing the story of a dead bitch in the narrows," so that's what Victor had set out to do, hobble along with a wooden cane and look for a way to make some fast cash, specifically $1,000.00. Several more hours into the night, and he used the wooden cane to beat down on muggers and crooked shopkeepers alike, though he enforced a "finder's fee" by the time he finished beating everyone to a bloody pulp.
Now it was morning, and he was $200.00 short, well technically $180.00 because he was now sipping some crappy tasting mug of Joe, ironically at Joe's diner. His blood stained walking stick leaning against his leather seat. He watched with pent up anger as two of the employees were getting into a kind of lover's quarrel, but when the man started to physically misuse the young lady, he started to white knuckle the coffee mug. Then he caught sight of the young woman's face and nearly went into a comical "oh shit!" kind of face when he realized it was the same woman who had saved the hostages at the Deadshot fiasco last night.
Victor glanced outside as he felt another small rush due to the woman manhandled, now feeling like he didn't need a crutch and like had just woken up from a nice nap. He peered outside, making sure there weren't any authorities around, but saw a wall mounted tv that was displaying his image of killing an undercover cop by kicking him out a window. He looked back at the young man who turned his back, and Victor got up with his stick.
"You don't deserve balls," Victor said as he slammed the bloody end of the stick against the backs of his knees, knocking him down, "if you're going to treat the dames with no respect," and as the kid fell unsuspecting, Victor slammed it against the crown of his skull.
"And make a better cup of coffee" he added, ignoring the man's half screams and half moans of agony.
Luckily, he had received a small boost due to the Doctor's nefarious and greed lusting mind, and the barber behind the door, running the mask of this backdoor operation, but once he has able to hobble around he was kicked out onto the streets with a threat made by the man calling himself the Crime Doctor.
"If you don't pay your fees in 24 hours time," he had said last night, "i'll place a call and tomorrow the Gazette won't even bother printing the story of a dead bitch in the narrows," so that's what Victor had set out to do, hobble along with a wooden cane and look for a way to make some fast cash, specifically $1,000.00. Several more hours into the night, and he used the wooden cane to beat down on muggers and crooked shopkeepers alike, though he enforced a "finder's fee" by the time he finished beating everyone to a bloody pulp.
Now it was morning, and he was $200.00 short, well technically $180.00 because he was now sipping some crappy tasting mug of Joe, ironically at Joe's diner. His blood stained walking stick leaning against his leather seat. He watched with pent up anger as two of the employees were getting into a kind of lover's quarrel, but when the man started to physically misuse the young lady, he started to white knuckle the coffee mug. Then he caught sight of the young woman's face and nearly went into a comical "oh shit!" kind of face when he realized it was the same woman who had saved the hostages at the Deadshot fiasco last night.
Victor glanced outside as he felt another small rush due to the woman manhandled, now feeling like he didn't need a crutch and like had just woken up from a nice nap. He peered outside, making sure there weren't any authorities around, but saw a wall mounted tv that was displaying his image of killing an undercover cop by kicking him out a window. He looked back at the young man who turned his back, and Victor got up with his stick.
"You don't deserve balls," Victor said as he slammed the bloody end of the stick against the backs of his knees, knocking him down, "if you're going to treat the dames with no respect," and as the kid fell unsuspecting, Victor slammed it against the crown of his skull.
"And make a better cup of coffee" he added, ignoring the man's half screams and half moans of agony.
Working on a post now :) gigging :p and Klein, sorry about the passing of your co-worker's brother :/
Is Victor the suspicious guy in Joe's Cafe?
Kay
Well on my end it needs to be the next day, and I didn't want the rp to just be the three of us
Victor leaned his head against the glass, sweat build up running down his face and onto the glass pane, his vision interchanging between blurred and regular, almost reaching tunnel-like vision. He then took this uncertain moment to pass out, unaware that he was near the End of The Line.
When he awoke, he jumped with a start, swearing and grimacing at the pain in his leg, the blood leaking out the bad scrape and starting to containmate the floor. For a moment, he didn't recognize the man before him and lunged painfully, slamming his head against the opposite window, nearly breaking it with the man's head. Then his vision went on it's regular path and the man he had just beaten was the bus driver. "Shit," Victor swore,
"Please," the overweight driver cried out, though a little muffled, "please let me go man,"
"And why would I do that? Do you know what Gotham does to beggars? Well, do you?" Vulture growled, digging the man further against the broken window,
"Please," the man repeated, this time resorting to tears, "please, I, I have a family,"
For a moment it didn't register what the man said, Victoria's pained cranium too slow to react, then he heard the statement and the sweat from his head ejected something from his eyes, tears. "I-i'm sorry," he stuttered and pushed the man into the seats.
He hobbled along until he fell out of the bus, growling in pain at his leg, taking a moment to register that he was at the Gotham Public Transit Center. He got back up and limped away, wiping sweat from his face every few seconds, trying to avoid eye contact with passersby. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Victor, now ever so sluggish and near passing out, entered a barbershop.
He pointed quietly at the old hair stylist in a threatening manner as the man was sweeping up his last customer's chopped off bits and pieces of hair. Slowly the old balding man realized who he was and looked from Victor to a door nearest him, "he's not busy, you can go inside," the man's voice was hoarse, and seemed scratchy, but there was an undertone of resignation.
"I better," Victor spat at the spineless old man as he limped past him, but the old man reached out with his broom, and tripped Victor, causing him to scream in pain and making the door behind them open suddenly.
"Oh dare you, old man!" Victor screamed and cradled his wounded leg, "oh i'm so going to-" he started to form a threat on his chapped, sweaty, and exhausted lips, but he was cut off by another man,
"What are you going to do, kid? We die, your mommy dies," the man, dressed up in green surgeon scrubs and wearing highly reflective glasses, the frames shaped like stars.
And the Crime Doctor laughed at the man bleeding out on the hair covered floor.
When he awoke, he jumped with a start, swearing and grimacing at the pain in his leg, the blood leaking out the bad scrape and starting to containmate the floor. For a moment, he didn't recognize the man before him and lunged painfully, slamming his head against the opposite window, nearly breaking it with the man's head. Then his vision went on it's regular path and the man he had just beaten was the bus driver. "Shit," Victor swore,
"Please," the overweight driver cried out, though a little muffled, "please let me go man,"
"And why would I do that? Do you know what Gotham does to beggars? Well, do you?" Vulture growled, digging the man further against the broken window,
"Please," the man repeated, this time resorting to tears, "please, I, I have a family,"
For a moment it didn't register what the man said, Victoria's pained cranium too slow to react, then he heard the statement and the sweat from his head ejected something from his eyes, tears. "I-i'm sorry," he stuttered and pushed the man into the seats.
He hobbled along until he fell out of the bus, growling in pain at his leg, taking a moment to register that he was at the Gotham Public Transit Center. He got back up and limped away, wiping sweat from his face every few seconds, trying to avoid eye contact with passersby. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Victor, now ever so sluggish and near passing out, entered a barbershop.
He pointed quietly at the old hair stylist in a threatening manner as the man was sweeping up his last customer's chopped off bits and pieces of hair. Slowly the old balding man realized who he was and looked from Victor to a door nearest him, "he's not busy, you can go inside," the man's voice was hoarse, and seemed scratchy, but there was an undertone of resignation.
"I better," Victor spat at the spineless old man as he limped past him, but the old man reached out with his broom, and tripped Victor, causing him to scream in pain and making the door behind them open suddenly.
"Oh dare you, old man!" Victor screamed and cradled his wounded leg, "oh i'm so going to-" he started to form a threat on his chapped, sweaty, and exhausted lips, but he was cut off by another man,
"What are you going to do, kid? We die, your mommy dies," the man, dressed up in green surgeon scrubs and wearing highly reflective glasses, the frames shaped like stars.
And the Crime Doctor laughed at the man bleeding out on the hair covered floor.
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