• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Characters
Here

RedLeftHand36

Your Host Tonight

actionvilleposter.jpg

There comes a time in everyone’s life when the big questions in life are asked. Who am I? What do I want in life? Did I leave the stove-top on at home? Fear not, my child, because I know, deep down in the very pits of your presumably beating heart, that you wouldn’t mind being a bit of a badass. Well boy, oh boy, do I have an opportunity for you. In the year of 20XX, exists a world filled of many beings of might, magic, and guns or something, I dunno. Maybe you’d prefer going Condiment King and squirt spicy sauce into people’s eyes like a savory pepper-spray. But my point is, this is a world where heroes and villains prosper. Sometimes. Not all the time. Looking at you Condiment King. But anyways… so heroes, villains, and supers to each, have existed for nearly a century and a half, but only in more recent years [think the late 70s] have such roles become a cornerstone of daily life.

Enter the three organizations integral to this aspect of the world:

The CIA; no not that one. The cool one. The better one. The one you’ve never actually heard about. You think. The Covert Intermediary Agency, known for their employment of associates colloquially known as the Men in Black [although they’re properly called Black Hats]. That’s right, those guys that skulk around Roswell and also any 7-11 in midwestern US. They’re actually an international organization, but they just so happened to be spearheaded by some quacks over in New Mexico a while back after an incident with a Super during some morally icky science experiments went haywire. That’s right, the 1947 UFO incident was a cover-up. And then THAT was painted over, but poorly, made it seem like the Men in Black were just there for some extra-terrestrial booty instead of going Frankenstein on some superpowered folks. Don’t think that there isn’t more though. The CIA has a paramilitary branch known as the Red-Tails [or simply RTs], and is filled more or less with your James Bonds and your Black Widows and your Sterling Archers... those kinds of people.

In the mid-70s the very first major villain organization known as Mamba popped up, led by an infamous black-market arms dealer who went by the alias of Black Mamba. After several years of conflict between Mamba and the Red Tails, the Red Tails emerged victorious after the involvement of a small group of heroes, formed of both supers and non-supers, and in the aftermath of the war that no one heard of, the very first government sanctioned hero team was formed: The Golden Hand, with its most prominent members comprised those such as Justice, whose incredible superhuman capabilities could level entire mountain ranges despite her lack of sight, Ulf, the wolf-themed hunter who was prepared for anything, and could turn a bunch of sticks into a nuclear bomb or something, and Godspeed, whose amazing speedster capabilities are frankly just super fast. I guess he makes Usain Bolt seem more like Usain Slug amirite hahahaha… Anyways the Golden Hand would evolve into the primary hero syndicate, and eventually become subject to the Sam Sheepdog-Ralph Wolf Act of 1980, an act that introduced government-sanctioned professional villainy in an effort to maintain an in-check database of various criminals, with the promise of lenient sentences so long as villains maintain and conduct themselves in regulated manners.

The other side of the coin is MANTICORE. Yes, all caps. The syndicate of villains comprised of many high profile members, particularly in their council leadership known as the Heads of Typhon, led primarily by the supervillain Apollyon, long-time rival of Justice. After the final defeat of Black Mamba, the upstart young villain had worked with the CIA and the Golden Hand to create MANTICORE for the specific purposes of the Sam Sheepdog-Ralph Wolf Act, convincing other high profile villains to join and inspiring the villainous masses to join the cause, and even implementing the hench-humanity and villain-mentorship programs soon afterwards, serving as possibly one of the most important figure in organized villainy, and not only that, but worked with the Golden Hand once more to recreate their heroic equivalents, establishing hard outlined systematic rights for sidekicks, butlers, and Katos and well established trainee programs.

It is most important to note that, for the CIA, the onset of such programs, law implementations, and affiliations are primarily used to keep an organized checklist on such potentially dangerous individuals, regardless of alignment. It is the CIA’s duty to keep track of any such individuals, complete with the statistics regarding numbers, aligned persons of interest, notable supers [especially when in regards to external extreme-level emergencies requiring specific abilities], and, most importantly, keeping track of every single such person.

Which brings us to the here and now.

In light of recent events, an emergency summit meeting has been engaged by the CIA. Heroes, villains, and CIA operatives alike have started dropping off the face of the earth like flies, left and right, and the Cleaners aren’t behind it this time. The past six months have bore witness to more than 20 disappearances of high profile Persons of Interest, and well over 80 low profile ones. The forces of the CIA, the Golden Hand, and MANTICORE have decided to convene immediately, bringing with them their affiliates, representatives, and trainee-program members, not only for the usual responsibilities, but to keep them safe from whatever external threat there may be. Of course, some members can’t help but suspect a traitor or two in their midst, as these events have sparked some amount of tension between all three syndicates.

The Highland Compound in northern Maine, overlooking the Passamaquoddy Bay, is sacred grounds to all three syndicates, and a place of both neutrality and reverence. Any act against another syndicate is met with immediate termination at best, and immediate termination at worst, depending on the severity of the act. Certain methods of peacekeeping are used here, and they are most certainly appropriate for such intense company.

The summit itself takes place within the Highland Castle, formerly the home of Angus MacDonnell, aka the Highlander, one of the original founding members of the Golden Hand, who peacefully passed in his sleep five years prior. The sprawling structure houses the Grand Hall in which the meeting is about to take place. With some semblance to a dinner party, various syndicate members have taken upon themselves to offer comfort to the meetings attendees during such strenuous times, for the sake of their affiliates, particularly the greener ones. The great hall appears not unlike the court of a king, with suits of armor, tapestries, and oil paintings lining the walls, with pillars and staircases to higher floors abound, and polished stone-tile flooring etched with intricate designs. Various oval-shaped tables, capable of sitting up to five people each, and made of dark wood, dot the area, sandwiched between two long tables filled with various foods and drinks, and overlooking it all, a crescent shaped table, clearly where the important people were going to sit and speak.The room was rather dimly lit, as it seemed that the ever medieval theme even extended to the lighting, as torches adorned the walls and a candle-lit chandelier loomed overhead. The room bustled with the life of a great variety of sorts, both heroes, villains, and CIA agents. Though the time for talk was yet to come, the tension was almost solid. Like pea soup. Well, more accurately like those halloween smoke-machines when they’ve been pumping that god-awful fog for hours. Maybe less solid and more of a vapour. Something like that at least.

At the crescent table sat nine people, three from each syndicate. From the CIA, sitting in the center, Sergeant Major Henry Carson, chewing on his cigarette and glaring at the entire room and his forehead vein visibly palpitating. Alongside him, Master Sergeant Warren M. Piecz, scratching the underside of his nose as his eyes shifted rapidly all around, and, of course, Mr. Woodstock with a massive couple of stacks of papers and files. On the leftmost side sat Nyx, in her exquisitely shiny black dress, looking into a small, round mirror as she intensely focused on a single eyelash, as well as Coldheart, simply waiting in an anxious manner as her right leg bounced subtly up and down rapidly. The chair between her and Piecz was empty, as the man who would sit there was apparently engaged in a cheerful conversation near the food array. On the rightmost side of the crescent table sat Godspeed, mildly scowling across the room at his affiliate being so casual during such a time. Every once in a while he could feel Piecz glaring at him for a reason unbeknownst to him, though it was John’s blue suit and pink tie that irked the Master Sergeant, due to how ugly it seemed to the vet. On Godspeed’s left sat Cypher similarly waiting patiently for things to begin, much like Ares on the opposite end of the table. And to Cypher’s own left, between he and Mr. Woodstock, another empty chair.

The two empty chair belonged to Apollyon and Justice, whose two massive frames stood apart from each other close to where their true interests lay. Although their words could not quite be heard over the low-volume commotion of fraternizing guests, both appeared to be in fairly good spirits in each other’s company. One might think they were looking forward to the evening, considering how both dressed so similarly in their intricately patterned formal suits, and such outfits even complimenting each-other, with Apollyon donned in black accented with silver, Justice adorned in white and gold. The room was filled with the mingling of rivals and partners, such as Hecate occasionally pestering her sister to help her with her own make-up, or Father Six Eyes and Willow sitting in the darkest corner of the room with several other guests of apparent magical nature. Adriano the Raven was busy talking business with a few other villainous bureaucrats, Sergei Rasputin and Vladimir Medvedev were swapping their most recent adventures, being such long-time friends. Coldheart spoke with intense sternness at Toymaker for some amount of time before going off to make sure the trainees were doing well.

These were the big leagues...

 
Last edited:
Adam was sitting alone in a corner himself invisible. The only thing that was visible was the floating plate he was eating off of. He haven’t learned how to turn things invisible. He wasn’t much of a talker so he watches the room.

He eventually gets up to grab a drink and dump his plate somewhere before returning to his spot. His long sliver hair was braided and today he was dressed in his traditional Japanese clothes. His mother was Japanese and his father was a Korean.
 
Sam

Dixie cup of fruit punch in her hand, Sam settled in for just another night of being a superman's body-dame. Only tonight, she wore her Sunday Best, and she wasn't settling in to watch the shopping channel folks make blunders on national television, because they know in their heart-of-hearts, pretty much nobody else was watching. This was a problem for Sam. Upon Dr. Desmel's insistence, tonight was 'important.' She disagreed, of course. Comic-con was once a year, and having to drive her cousin to that was more than enough time spent around people in spandex and tights. But such was the job. In exchange for the cushy assignment she boasted to her fellow Red Tails about, keeping an eye on one of the last men on earth to need babysitting, she had to follow him just about anywhere. The bank, his business's headquarters, and the summits hosted between the CIA and its older, more impetuous playmates.

Every once in a while, she touched the little indent in her pinky finger where her golden ring usually sat. Cypher was too honest for his own good, refusing to indulge in her hopes of bringing it along. After spending so many years getting to know its secrets and power, it felt wrong not having it snug on her digit, ready and raring for a fight. Folks in her line of work loved their 'goobers.' Whether it was a war buddy's dog tags, or a trusty boot knife, they were all guilty of one's possession. Hers just happened to also be a weapon. And have a touch of magic. For all their rules and policies based on faith, it seemed silly that the rule be drawn for members of their overseeing party.

Deciding that the evening would be best spent among her own kind, Sam approached the crescent-shaped table to talk to the Sarge and his companions. On her way there, she made sure to flash Cypher an extra-serious-squirrel look. "Evening, Sirs. You all look real pretty tonight. Not as pretty as John over there, but we can't all pull off pastels."
 
Last edited:
Pachinko

"The fact that MANTICORE decided it was a good idea to being you all along to this summit is a prime example of the lack of discipline enforced on would-be villains. You don't deserve to be here, and I will burn that truth in your temporal lobes if you don't do it yourselves. Now, it's time for some ground rules. Acts of aggression, unfortunately, are completely disallowed. Do so much as spittle on someone's face and you risk being barred from professional villainy. Again, that's the only hard-and-fast rule being enforced, but as my charges, you'll be held to a higher expectation." Pachinko froze mid goose step, extended a red hand into the communal faces of the group of trainee villains allowed to attend the summit, and flipped them all the bird. "First, you will not use this venue as some sort of arching mixer. MANTICORE chooses your nemeses, period. The process is far more involved than 'ooh, wouldn't it be so cool if battled on the ISS.' Trust your betters to make a far more educated decision than you ever could." Another finger went up, making her inflammatory gesture a peace sign. "Second. You will refrain from speaking with Nyx, Coldheart, and Apollyon. We're all here for a reason, and theirs isn't to be clamored for autographs by rookies."

A third finger went up, and Pachinko looked as close to hissing as a android could. "Third. You will not fucking embarass me. I hate, I repeat, I hate that I am stuck babysitting you. I'm Head of Typhon material. Your ultimate goal tonight is to make sure you don't make anyone important here think otherwise. Break this rule in particular, and I'll fill your parents' marital bed with the duplicated corpse of your grandmother." On the verse of shrieking, she put down two of her fingers and went back to just shoving her middle finger in all their faces. "Disperse. I'm sick of looking at you all. Come talk to me if you need a band-aid or something."

After quickly gathering the trainee villains into a corner of the venue and berating them, she began to compose herself. "Okay... You're fine, you're fine... Everything's fine. Maybe they'll all die tonight and you'll finally get out of TA duty. That'd be great, wouldn't it? Yeah, it would. Just gotta outlast them until they all make fools of themselves," she whispered to herself, staring directly into corner. That is, until she realized there was a drink in front of her, floating and sipping itself. "Uh... Evening." Pachinko's face twisted some as her feet excused herself, stepping away and further into the center of the room.
 
After realizing that he was noticed. He turns visible again “Please don’t be afraid of me” he sounds scared as everyone in his family was afraid of him. “I didn’t mean to scare you”

Not wanting to make a scene he runs out the room to the bathroom with tears in his eyes. After getting there he cry’s in a stall.

Kassandra Kassandra
 
Goodwyn L. Gray

Interactions: Adam, briefly [ SugaISAMOOD SugaISAMOOD ]
Babysitting. Fucking babysitting.

Goodwyn lingered in the back of the group with a scowl, dreading every damn second he had to spend being subjected to what was essentially a much crasser telling-off. As the gaudy red robot continued to talk down to them as though they were incompetent children, Goodwyn switched from leaning on his right to his left foot, fingers twitching as a collection of colourful curse words threatened to spill out of his mouth.

Finally Pachinko withdrew her middle finger, though not after insulting them and telling them to fuck off, and Goodwyn took this opportunity to slither out of the hall and into the bathroom, his face stormy. He was itching to hit something after that stupid, sadistic, sunburnt robot bitch dared to insult him, to treat him like he was some baby. Perhaps the others, yes, but he’d been in here long enough to not have to listen to some spiel about shit he already knew. But as much as he wanted to strangle the living (dead?) daylights out of her, one month with MANTICORE was enough to know not to mess with Pachinko.

As much as he wanted to.

Pissed off and patience running thin with every second that passed, Goodwyn stared into the mirror and forced himself to exhale as Tana had told him. A small part of him was ticked off that he had to use her advice, but he was far more occupied with murderous thoughts involving red robots, bats and guns.

After few seconds of breathing, Goodwyn finally managed to calm himself down enough to not want to kill something effective immediately. Maybe later. Staring at his reflection in the mirror Goodwyn fixed his hair, which had somehow become disheveled in his angry haze, and let out one last sigh. His fingers were no longer itching for his knife, which had unfortunately been confiscated, but he wasn’t calmed down completely. Deciding not to spend his time in the bathroom like some pathetic loser, the man stuck his hands into his pockets with a forced smirk, intent on returning to the Grand Hall without anyone realizing he had gone.

Reaching for the door he stopped short at the sound of approaching footsteps, and, not keen on looking like some rookie who was panicking and went to the bathroom to hide, he ducked into a stall with haste. The door to the bathroom opened, followed by footsteps leading to the stall beside his. Goodwyn waited before reaching for the handle, when the sound of soft sobbing echoed throughout the room.

Goodwyn cringed. ‘Don’t tell me that stupid hunk of metal actually made someone cry with her dumb speech.’ The man rolled his eyes, both at Pachinko and the newbie. With a sigh, he opened his stall door. The sobs hiccupped. Goodwyn strode towards the exit, desperate to leave this unbearably awkward situation, before something stopped him. Call it sympathy, or the feeling of kinship between two people who went to the bathroom to get their emotions out, but Goodwyn found himself hesitant to leave. He grimaced. Opening the door partway, he lingered at the entrance before turning around.

“Oi,” he said, voice hard. The weeping paused. “Don’t let that bitch get you down, got it? You’re doing great, she was just being an arse. So stop crying and mingle.” And with that eloquent speech out the way, Goodwyn left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and sighing in relief now that that pesky human empathy of his was satisfied.

Walking back into the Grand Hall, he decided some good old brownnosing socializing was what he needed to calm himself down. His eyes wandered around the gigantic room, only stopping occasionally on the more important figures. Finally, they settled on the Raven mingling among some of the other villains. DiCorvo was probably the most normal member of MANTICORE, so they were most likely discussing something equally normal. ‘Unlike Mr. Magic over there,’ Goodwyn thought, his eyes darting over to Father Six Eyes and his posse of fellow magic users for a brief moment, before turning them back to Adrian. ‘Might as well see what they’re up to.’

Sliding over the Raven’s group with a sly smile and a fresh glass of wine in hand, Goodwyn interrupted their chatter. “Good day. Mind if I join in?”
 
Last edited:
Leah

Hiding in the darkest corner, away from the noise and commotion, Leah briefly considered slipping away.

It was but a passing thought, though as the agitated swirls in her cup were anything to go by, she was thinking about it. Leah was never one for talking. A woman of action, her mother always said. It was events like these that made the boxer wish she could hop back into the ring, away from all the people, the sounds, and just punch things like old times.

But it was never good to dwell on past mistakes, so Leah stopped that line of thinking there. Her gaze looked up from her shoes where it’d been lingering comfortably the past few minutes and glanced at the scene before her. Men, women, people, they all gathered together around each other to talk and mingle. Faceless beings that knew how to talk, to flow through conversations with ease, to be. ‘It must be easy for them,’ she thought to herself, liquid washing down her throat. Two years with Golden Hand and she still felt like an outsider. If she was to be honest, it bothered her just a bit that she was unable to talk with others like her fellow heroes. Though she supposed that was her fault. Getting along with others was never her strong suit, so she tended to just stick to the side lines. Nothing wrong with that.

And so, brooding in the shadows with her cup in hand, Leah peered out from the darkness and waited for something interesting to happen.
 
El Repartidor

A villain was nothing without an iconic look. Something visually memorable, simplistic, but just complex enough to invite further investigation. Some preferred subtlety and stateliness, and that sort of thing fit perfectly with more understated gimmicks. After all, you wouldn't expect an otherworldly-skilled sniper in greasepaint and overalls. But for the ladies and gentlemen with a sense of pamache, with the power to back it up, and stage presence to complete the look... A little flash was permitted, if not expected.

El Repartidor arrived fashionably late, dressed in full classical charro. The black of his suit would've helped him go relatively unnoticed, were the gold trimmings, cufflinks, and accents so demanding of outside attention not present. Directly beneath it was a white blouse, frilly near its open neckline, framing the place where his chest ended and the exposed bone began. The sombrero on top with a matching aesthetic tied it all together. As a Head of Typhon, his presence was mandatory, yet he wouldn't be making an appearance at the crescent table. No matter. He never was one for the political side of these gatherings, anyway. He was only really there to catch up with those more magically inclined.

Regardless of what decisive lines stood between them, forces beyond the realm of man bled them together. Even outside of these summits, it was hard not being cordial to his fellow wielders of magic. His eye sockets landed on them with ease. Father Six-Eyes and Willow, converged with a small amassment of magic users. He energed from behind and put welcoming arms around each of their shoulders. "It's good to see you, compas."
 
A limousine appeared in the distance, coming up the road and snaking up the driveway. As it drew closer, its proportions were noticeably off--as in, this was much larger than the standard limo. The hulking vehicle had to have been built on a truck chassis. There was only one other car like it; it was a Beast, a presidential limo-tank. An insignia came into view: a white skull with stylish red cursive letters ' DM '. This could only mean one thing...
DANGERESQUE
had arrived.
A second after the Beast came to a halt in front of the castle, the door swung open. Two young women in black and red Danse Macabre uniforms curtsied and helped their mistress out of the limousine. Dangeresque wore a chic black dress with a broad chiffon scarf draped over her shoulders and her signature black swan mask with tinted lenses. As her henchmen loaded themselves back in the Beast and drove off, she strutted confidently up the stairs and inside. This would be her first summit as a Head of Typhon.

The esteemed villainess moved gracefully through the reception, in sync with the music in her head. She stopped every few meters to exchange brief pleasantries with fans, colleagues, and even old arch-nemeses. In some cases, it took plenty of effort to keep the porcelain smile from cracking in tandem with someone's nose; the summit had no shortage of snarky bastards who would even make backhanded compliments to a major figure in the world of costumed villainy and such a humanitarian. Still, she stayed cool as ice as she awaited the main event.
 
Pachinko
Goonfire Goonfire (Dangeresque)


In the corner of her optical receptors, Pachinko watched as whoever revealed themselves in the corner had a meltdown and made a mad dash for the bathroom. Superpowered, but nobody she recognized. Was that the kind of material the Golden Hand was churning out these days? She wasn't so much as startled, let alone surprised enough to warrant such an overreaction. Perhaps if she had given him even a lick of cause, Pachinko might've felt the social responsibility to apologize. If nothing else, to make sure the encounter didn't endanger the evening's proceedings. She decided to try and access a skill she'd learned as a TA for MANTICORE. A quick self-reflection of her tone's inflections and body language, which she literally could review, as a robot, to see if she was being insensitive. She came to the conclusion Invisiboy was simply being a baggage-baby.

The next thing she knew, Pachinko was standing in the middle of a bigger villain's entrance. And it was impossible to mistake it for someone else's with those telltale ballerinas. Dangeresque, a relic of the Cold War and a legend of organized villainy. Also, a recent addition to the Heads of Typhon. Aside from the part about dealing with a posse of hormonal dancers everywhere she went, Dangeresque was everything Pachinko wanted to be. She had to make a connection. Those rules of hers were for idiot kids that didn't know what they were doing.

"Good evening," Pachinko intruded between her and a fan, extending a formal, upturned hand. "Pachinko. Unmatched thief and extortionist. And part-time trainee wrangler... It's an honor to meet a real legend. Just in time, too. I was looking to spend the summit with someone of my caliber."
 
DANGERESQUE

A surprise visitor crossed the crime queen's path--a well-renowned, red-painted metal monster registered in the MANTICORE databases as Pachinko. Her lips curled into a smile with the underlying venom typical of a villain. The femme fatale's actions complemented the nonverbal aspect of the greeting while she replied with a moderate accent, "Dangeresque. I believe I am familiar with your more infamous deeds, and your prospects look great, madame."

She then glanced around, noticing most of the fledgling villains were acting like whipped children. Her eyes darted among them, pinpointing the locations of each in the shadowy corners of the massive hall. "I can also tell, you taught the trainees a valuable lesson. A costume and gas pellets do not make a successful villain." She continued while counting three points with her fingers. "It is all about character; acquired charisma, smart decision-making, and a lust for domination, all nurtured by the reality that they are... oh, how to the Americans say it? 'Low men on the totem pole?'"

Kassandra Kassandra (Pachinko)
 
Pachinko
Goonfire Goonfire (Dangeresque)


The lack of neurochemical urge to smile didn't stop the robot from doing so, and with great mirth, at that. Finally, someone so naturally calculating it came off as downright pleasant to someone like Pachinko. Complimenting her disciplinarian work was a fine touch, too. As much as she hated the work, barking orders was just enough to make it bearable. Pachinko supposed that was something she and Dangeresque had in common. Born leaders, perhaps even the types to have a friendly rivalry once she was no longer burdened by the charge of her 'pupils.' "You flatter me. I wouldn't expect big players to pay the exploits of small-time villains any attention, but I suppose it's just smart to keep a close eye on up-and-coming talent." Pachinko let her ego get nice and fat on the broth of Dangeresque's words, and was more than ready to keep feeding.

"It isn't work I enjoy, but what must be done should be done well. I needed them well behaved for this evening. After all, any blunders tonight would reflect on me, despite the fact that I'd rather not have them here at all. Some of them show promise... But it is something of a guilty pleasure to berate them for their inadequacies." Pachinko flashed her a smile and took Dangeresque's adjacent side. "My lady, you're delightfully cold."
 
DANGERESQUE

Through her tinted lenses, Dangeresque's eyes visibly narrowed as her grin thinned sadistically. She seemed to enjoy the idea of berating the trainees. “Je suis impressionné. This is also good practice for future henchmen. If you get lax, they get sloppy. Villainy is very much like show-business, in this regard.”

After a brief pause and a compliment from Pachinko, Dangeresque glanced towards the crescent table, then around the room with as little head motion as possible. She then stated quietly, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my coldness is required further ahead, and—act natural—three people are talking behind your back. She was right; three rookies were whispering amongst each other and occasionally glaring toward Pachinko specifically. While the observation didn’t come with a call for disciplinary action, the Head of Typhon was interested in watching some prime problem solving from afar.

Kassandra Kassandra (Pachinko)
 
Last edited:

10 MINUTES & COUNTING BEFORE THE SUMMIT

"Bronson," Piecz greeted back at his junior. From behind his aviator sunglasses, which slouched just under his eyes, everything seemed to be twitching. It almost looked as if the man was suffering from a stroke, but that was simply how Warren Piecz was. Twitchy to the core, like an anthropomorphic ticking time bomb. His disheveled and worn out business suit seemed to only reinforce the mess of a man. "Everyone knows that pansy ain't much for good fashion." Piecz sniffed loudly as he wiped his thumb under his nose before flicking whatever unk was there in John's direction. The brightly dressed hero himself, however, was doing a very ratchet job at ignoring the bullying, a heavily irritated look upon his face as he restrained himself from saying anything. After all, it would just make things worse for himself. Cypher, however, simply sat there, seemingly unaware of anything going on around him. It was hard to tell for sure, as his helmet obscured any manner of clear indication, but it could be safely assumed he wasn't too interested in his surroundings at the moment.

Elsewhere in the room...

Adriano DiCorvo was a man of taste, with a penchant of balancing the theatrical with delicacy. He prized being excellent at perfectly combining the extravagant with the practical. Over the years he had certainly experienced many things. After all, he had been in the villain game well before MANITCORE was a thing. He did not, however, expect a child drinking actual wine to come up to him with such suave debonair. A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. Gesturing at an empty seat, the Raven grinned at the sight. What a time to be alive. "Normally, I'd question whether or not you were too young to drink alcohol," the older gentleman spoke, his smooth baritone voice picking up in volume as if talking to the room as a whole. "But I suppose even the heroes in this room have commit worse crimes." He raised his glass up slightly in respects, and after taking a brief sip. "So... I believe Pachinko's the one, er, 'chaperoning' the trainees this year. She giving you a rough time?"

Elsewhere elsewhere...

The table was covered in soft pieces of paper decorated by symbols appearing somewhat similar to the cards of a tarot deck. The arrival of El Repartidor was met with cheers amongs the small crowd, with Willow bobbing his pumpkin-clad head up and down, and, of course, Father Six Eyes gently placing one of his own hands gently on his comrade's. A voice emanated from the Good Father, though it would be foolish to describe it beyond the vagueness of how soothing it was. "It's good to have you with us, brother", he spoke, "Come, join us. We've been looking to see if the tides of fate can shine any light on the problems of our various fellowships."
 
He eventually comes out of the bathroom and goes to a different corner. He watches everyone while trying to stay visible. He starts braiding his long slivery hair.
 
ᗩᑎTIᗰOᑎIᑕ
Initially, she was just sitting with her chin resting in her hand, tapping her nails on her knee and counting the heads and faces of people she'd dance with. But with every rule Pachinko addressed, the absent-minded Rails bumped back to reality, adding a sort of slick and childish air to her. She leaned onto her crossed legs as she glanced at some other rookies who weren't particularly thrilled, that a robot had the liberty of controlling their night.

A toothed grin formed under Rails' trademarked respirator. Usually, she felt little bad when Pachinko got backlash, especially since she was just doing her job. After all, becoming a head of a tycoon was probably rough business. So to make it easier for her robot compadre, Rails always let it go, and her possibilities would sorta just, sort themselves out? Oh, if only they saw things her way. "Like a passivist villain."

Part of her felt that she should be a little more disappointed too. Ya know, after discovering she'd only get to observe the meeting. The gathering of the biggest big shots around the block. The event that she had stolen a fur coat for, just look halfway decent for an evening. But being the type of villain she was, Antimonic couldn't truly say that she was disappointed.

She was attracted more towards the refreshments and ornate decorations than the meeting anyway, having a natural eye for beauty and whatnot. That being said, she couldn't keep from glancing at the gorgeous spread of dessert displays and pretty foods presented to the public. She had been looking forward to the free gourmet for almost a week. Rails fantasized about leaving the party with her white coat sleeves dirtied by chocolate syrup and unnaturally pink punch, even while the red robot was showing her the finger.

Sometime after her daydream, Rails found herself craving a spot of juice. Pachinko and the rookies had dispersed by then. Though, instead of a beeline toward one of those oval-shaped tables covered in deliciousness, she stood up and made a rinky-dink pirouette towards the lady's washroom. But alas, Rails was no ballerina. Her foot caught on her calf, and she was sent flying like, she had tripped on air or some crappage. She caught the door handle. By a reflex, she pushed it open, spitting Spanish cuss words as she fell onto the cold, washroom floor. She still fell on her ass, and her arm was pulled painfully, but she was in the bathroom, and at least she didn't have a concussion.

Rails stood up and leaned her head against the door, letting her arms go limp as it shut. She rubbed her temples, blood was rushing to her head, "What a rush!" Her calm moment all of a sudden became uneasy, but Rails eventually got her bearings. She shook the dizziness out of her pirouetting head, stood, and patted her pocket. Her currently, empty pocket. The dizzy partygoer altered into an unhinged partygoer, with a license to kill. Her eyes were unhinged, and darting. The deep grumble in her otherwise silvery voice was odd in other words like thunder. "If there's one thing that's not happening it is me losing my Eyes." She started to open the door, but luckily for her and every living person outside, the object Rails desired rolled right by her foot. She snatched up a clear cylinder, the contents inside being submerged inside of some sort of black yolk. And if thoroughly examined, you could also figure a gold chain and a loose AirPod were inside. This was considered the abode of the Black Eyes, and you could hear them chatting a mile a minute.

One had an aggravated, Irish accent. "Was it her who caught the door... or the door that caught her? Well, more like her... face. The door caught her face."

And the other had a soft hypothetical Louisiana accent. "I'd rephrase it as 'More like her Respirator' or something a little smarter. But that's just my opinion."

Their muffled conversation made her grimace but Rails slipped the vile into her sleeve anyway. After that fiasco, to be met with such quietness was unnerving. Rails listened to see if the stalls were empty then with the vile in hand she walked over to the sink. She wanted to be completely alone when they were released.

"Are you gonna let me out already?"

"Yeah, it's not that hard of a decision."

"You are just floating loudmouths, Eyes. You don't frighten very well."

"But on the other hand, I have to be the single most expensive thing you've ever purchased over counter."

"Ah quit it, I'm just teasing." Rails popped open the vile then poured the blackened contents into her hand.

Out came the golden chain, and two ice-cold blobs, and an AirPod playing polka on accordion. The blobs puffed up like pufferfish and inhaled the fresh, bathroom air. They started to look more like eyes, with the iris in their centers morphing into a bright white color, their pupils became green. They immediately started floating around and surveying the different walls. Rails cleared her throat. "During this event, you two need to be on your best behavior," She tread the length of the stalls, "Hopefully you will both listen for once."

"I decree that there will be, absolutely, positively, under no circumstances, flirting, stupidity, nagging the profesionales, and no exploring this mansion... Without permission." After a brief moment of silence, she turned to face the eyes.

Rails exchanged glances between them. They exchanged a glance between each other.

"So... Were you just planning on keeping me in there all day, or did you finally realize you were smothering two living beings together, with no room for air, or what?"

"Hey, thanks for finally releasing us from that unpleasant, claustrophobic inducing vile you're insistent on keeping us inside of, you adorable, party animal."

"Cause I'm starting to think that maybe, you were forgetting on purpose and—"

"I definitely, don't want to strangle you. Emphasis on definitely. I'll just be leaving now."

"Wait we're in a mansion?"

Rails slapped her forehead. "Just— go, collect things already," She said, and with a flail her hand, she signaled them to leave and the Eyes crept through the vent.

"Jeez Louise, those two."
 
Goodwyn L. Gray
Goodwyn’s left eye twitched at the mention of age. A subtle glitch in his controlled mask. Imperceptible unless searched for. But it was one easily smoothed over simply by remembering who he was talking to. This was a MANTICORE big shot, and unlike with Pachinko, Gray couldn’t just let him talk himself into leaving. So instead he pushed down the anger that threatened to reawaken, instead taking the seat offered to him with a smile and a similar raise of his glass.

Still, he was never one to pass up an opportunity to… correct a misunderstanding. “I’ll have you know I am of age, despite my youthful appearance,” he said to Adrian, sickly sweet and overly polite. Fortunately the Head switched subjects, instead addressing the robot that was meant to be monitoring his every move. Goodwyn turned his head to search for Pachinko, crossing his legs as he did, when he spotted her speaking to a finely dressed woman. Dangeresque, he assumed, considering the lady's unabashed confidence and how Pachinko seemed delighted to simply be in her presence. His smile turned into a lopsided smirk, before he turned back towards the older man.

“She was, though I suppose she’s found someone far more interesting to speak to than mere rookies. A shame too, seeing how... 'diligent' she was at ensuring we stayed out of trouble,” Goodwyn said, followed by a sip from his drink. It wouldn't be proper, insulting someone above you. “But I can see where she’s coming from,” he continued, lowering his glass. Gray's gaze focused on Adrian and his voice was forced an octave lower, no doubt to imitate the Crow's natural baritone. “After all, this is an opportunity to create connections with those worthy.”
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top