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Realistic or Modern ✭ Welcome To Columbia | New America, New Heroes

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Coolidge Condos
Columbia City


Apartment 19

​
Tsssk.
He popped open the tab of another can of cider and put it to his lips. Slurping with quick intent of soaking up the alcohol’s effects. He was four cans in - no - five? Either way. The sole resident of Apartment 19 was well on his way to squandering his sobriety. ‘Thank God’, he thought. He used his free hand to scratch his pantless thigh. He was sitting in his favourite armchair -
His only armchair. A brown leather sofa that used to be able to recline. It couldn’t anymore however. As evident from the chair’s tears - exposing the rusted springs and damp smelling cotton inside. Damp from all the cold ones he had cracked open in this very position - and spilled because he should’ve stopped at the last.
Pulling has fingers away from the itch on his leg -
He grabbed the remote. The current channel was playing commercials. All of them ones he had seen before. Countlessly. No, he did not want to buy the new ‘speed cola’. A flavour that was supposed to rival any energy drink, endorsed by President Anthony Nottingham and Monorail Man themselves. He sipped - before using his thumb to push a button.
The monitor flickered.
Channel changing.

“What I’m saying is that something isn’t right -”
Four people sit around a round table. Images of the recently deceased flash on the flat screens behind them. They’re discussing those who have been murdered. Evos. He sipped.
“Of course something is not right. A murderer’s on the loose.”
The cider sitting on his tongue.
“A murderer who is specifically killing Evolutionaries. Well known ones at that.”
Afraid to swallow.
“We have no evidence that these murders are related however. Mrs Liberty II’s death was -”
“Show some respect for the dead and call her by her name.”
“Virginia Smith.”
He swallowed. The warm cider sliding down his throat.
He changed the channel.

“That’s right - we’re back with another show stopping season. We’re auditioning all over Columbia to find the next big superhero. So if you’re an Evo with charisma and talent - find your nearest audition sp-”
His thumb pushed.

“Hillary can’t win again. I am sorry.”
“She will. It’s about time we got a woman back in The White House.”
“I agree. That’s why I am voting Fang.”
Three men argue. A presidential debate is coming up soon - or something. He can’t really remember the last time he paid close attention to the cumbering tediousness of politics.
“We know nothing about Fang.”
“What? She has talked extensively about herself in interviews.”
“Yeah. Lies.”
“You think anything out of a non-white person’s mouth is a lie, Rodgers.”
“That’s not fair Jim.”
“Yeah, Jim. It’s 2030.”
Two of the men chuckle.
His thumb pushed.
The remote almost broke as it did.

“New and improved -”
A seductive voice coos.
“We’ve added four new stops to Columbia City’s esteemed monorail -”
The monitor flickered.
​
A knock came from behind him and his armchair. Someone was at his door. He ignored it however and continued drinking his drink.

“3 police officers and 1 civilian dead in a vicious Evocation. The perpetrator was supposedly working for an underground anarchist group known as The Merry Men. We’ll have more infor-”
Flicker.
​
Another knock. He sipped. Another.

“This is it. This is the perfect dress.”
“You look radiant.”
“You’re too kind.”
“So is it a yes? Are you saying yes to the dre-”
Flicker.
​
A knock. A bang. Louder than the ones before. A voice following it -
“I know you’re in there, Harley. Your rent has been overdue a whole month now. Harley.” Another knock.

“What do you mean… you… killed my brother?”
A television show set in a fantasy medieval setting. He had watched the first season but he found the books were better.
“Yes, Maegor. It was me and my father. We did it.”
“You fiends!”
Push.
Flicker.
​
“Harley, please. I have given you enough chances! Open the door. Don’t make me get my key.”
He rolled his eyes. The monitor now playing some nostalgic music channel. The can of cider was now empty. He threw it at the wall in-front of him - before standing up. He began walking towards the door. Fixing his white underwear as he did. His feet softly patting against the beige carpet.
“Harley.”
He approached the door. Stopping just before it. The monitor in the background began playing its music. A song described as an ‘absolute classic’.





“Harley.”
He reached out and unlocked the door. Opening it. His small landlord stood. His back hunched over in frailty. “Thank you, Harley. I know you don’t like being disturbed but your rent-”
Harley grabbed the little old man by the neck.
Lifting him up.
Watching his face turn purple.
Before twisting.
The man’s neck snapping.
Harley let go, letting the body fall to the hallway floor. The music violently blaring. Invading his ears. His head thumping from the inside. Thumping from the lust. He had to continue to sate it a bit more before settling down for the night.
Dragging the body inside his apartment - he left the landlord perched up against his armchair. Humorously placing an empty can in his ever colder hands. As the song continued -
Harley sighed.
He had to put some clothes on and head Downtown. The day was young. He had to kill some unlucky fucks who got in his way.

And maybe rob a liquor store as well in the process.





 
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ROXIE HART
JOURNALIST
-​
The shrill ringing of an alarm.

"God fucking damn it!"
Roxie pulled herself into a sitting position, blinking groggily against the sunlight streaming in through an open window. Yesterday's mascara smudged around her eyes, hair a tangled mess, skimpy nightclothes in disarray, she looked a far cry from her celebrity persona. She rubbed her cheek, reached for a half-smoked cigarette in a dainty ashtray on the bedside table, and lit it. Only after she had taken her third drag of stale tobacco did her gaze lock on a sheepish male figure in her doorway, laden down with bags toting designer labels, and a tray that housed a teapot, a cup, and a plate of pancakes.

"Roxie! You look--"
"Save it, Tom." Roxie dropped the cigarette butt into a cup of water on the table and propped herself up amongst the decorative pillows that adorned her bedspread, ready for the tray that Tom placed in her lap. "The papers. Did you get the papers?"
"Well, no, I thought after last night maybe you and I could just stay in together and--"
"Jesus, Tom, I don't have time for this. You're a passable lay, can't we leave it at that? Now take your dumbass, toddle back to the store, and pick up the damned papers." As she snapped, she reached blindly for a packet on the table. Empty. "And another pack of fuckin' smokes!"

Once the poor man had scarpered, Roxie took a deep breath and left the bed, the tray of breakfast remaining untouched on the expensive blankets. She showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror, critically examining her reflection. Lilac would be a good hair colour for the day ahead, she decided-- it matched the poodle adorned on her voluminous skirt. She leant forward to leave a magenta-coloured lipstick kiss on the mirror to join countless others in a multitude of shades.
"Hiya, Columbia."
"Hiya, Columbia!"
"Hiya, Columbia!"
"Perfect. You still got it, you crazy bitch." After so many years, Roxie had expected that her 'Roxie' voice would have replaced her actual voice. No such luck. Still, a few quick vocal warmups in the morning gave her her all-American, air-headed, sweet-as-pie accent. No problem at all.

Tom was taking longer than usual, but for once, that slipped under Roxie's radar. Now with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, she stood in her study, poring over mindmaps for headlines she'd made the previous night under a cloud of cocaine and diet cola.
Rockefeller rocks America? Too obvious.
Rockefiddler? Too early to bust that one out.
President 'Knottingham' can't tie own shoes? Perhaps.
Colonel Sanders passes in sleep? No proof.
Hillary Clinton: Woman or Machine? Again, no proof. Not that proof really mattered to the idiots who loved her magazine anyway. Reflection was something of a tabloid, sensational stories that could whip the public into a frenzy, true or not, and plenty of celebrity gossip with incriminating pictures to match. She was yet to pick a presidential candidate to support. Her painted lips curled into a smirk as she thought: how many people are waiting for me to tell them what to think?

Uncapping a bright pink pen with her teeth, she scrawled a ring around one headline.
God, she needed a cigarette.
 
The Kelly Family Apartment
A Highrise in Downtown / Jefferson

beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep bee-
SMACK!
...
...
...

beeeep beeep beeep be-
SMACK!!
...
...
...
...
....

The ritualistic cycle of Declan's alarm clock and the pressing of the snooze button continued as it always did each morning.​

"Mmmnnnmm.." Declan mumbled something while curled up in his bed like the blankets were something to be protected at all costs.
A loud yawn comes from the kid as he stares up at the plain white ceiling above, feeling a little groggy. "*insert a half-yawned attempt at words* -what time is it?"

"..." The sleepy teenager stares at his battered alarm clock, for just, a few moments, before a look of panic crosses his face. "Ahhh, not again! -I'm gonna be soooo late!" Declan throwing himself out of bed and nearly stumbling over his own feet as he rushes into the connecting bathroom to get himself cleaned up.

It goes without saying but there is some great irony that the kid who recently discovered he can stop time, regularly has trouble with getting ready on time.
It should also be made clear but this is far from the first time, and definately wont be the last.​

Like a small tornado had attacked the bedroom and its connecting bathroom Declan rushed out of his room with his hair styled, and with the first t-shirt, jeans and jacket he saw. (Blue and white t-shirt, light-gray jeans, and a padded sleeveless bodywarmer with hood, also in blue) It was likely just the outfit from yesterday, not that he cared to try and remember.

Declan rushed into the kitchen of the apartment, it was open-planned with a view of the main living area - Empty, with the TV off. In similar motions to the disaster that struck his bedroom the boy began to hastily make himself breakfast while casually discarding the note stuck to the fridge from his dad saying he'd be gone till late tonight. Declan had heard it again and again, and while he wasn't upset with his dead or anything it had just kinda become expected at this point - It'd be weirder if there wasn't a note there.

Not even two minutes later, a half-finished bowl of cereal is discarded into the sink with Declan having scoffed down as much as he would in his rush as he runs over to the front door, grabbing his backpack that he'd left by the couch and quickly sitting himself down besides the front door and slipping on his skates - As much as this was normal for Declan anyway this wasn't just for fun, if he had any chance of getting to school before first bell he'd have to go as fast as he could.

Once secured he jumped to his feet and skidded out the door, quickly getting out his keys to lock up before arcing around and skating down the hall to the elevator while adeptly dodging one of his neighbours who was returning with her morning mail.
"Morning Mrs White! Thanks for the pie you baked!" Declan cheerfully called out as he rushed past the woman.

"Don't mention it. Now get to school."
Mrs White was pretty used to all of this, including Declan's dodging of her in the halls first thing in the morning.
She understood Declan's situation, and would regularly make extra-food for Declan when his father was away at work.​

"I'm going! See you and Mr White later!"
 
Saul Westwood
Columbia City:
Downtown
​
The early morning sun beatdown on Downtown. The skyscrapers glinting majestically in the sun, quite a sight for any plane, or person, flying over the city. On the ground the situation was a bit different. As with most days traffic was near gridlock, the honking of horns, cabbies leaning out and swearing, the dawn chorus of morning in the city. This cacophony accompanied Saul as he made his way down the street. To be honest even though the noise was incessant, he would be far more worried if he made this journey to a silent street. This noise was the pulse of the city, its very life blood. Night shifters on their way home, day shifters on their way to work, and cabbies ferrying the two this way and that. Saul did his best to avoid the cabs, no faster than walking in the morning rush hour, beside it meant he could get some fresh air… as fresh as it got here anyway.

Amongst the scrum of city and office workers, his black suit, white shirt and tie blended in as near enough the perfect urban camouflage, as well as the folded newspaper under one arm. Of course, if you were to look particularly closely there were a couple of slight oddities that you wouldn’t have seen on your average joe. A small clear cabled snaked up from the back of his jacket, coiling around his ear. If you were to look at his belt as his jacket moved, the outline of a badge could be seen hooked onto his belt. The biggest, and most obvious sign that he wasn’t your standard drone was the fact that if you were really observant, or perhaps had the means to look through the outline of his jacket, there was a loaded armpit holster. You add all these up and the fact that he was walking in the direction of the Sheriffs of Nottingham’s central headquarters, and the answer was pretty clear. At this point he was about a 15-minute walk away from the office, and most likely a fresh stack of reports and paperwork, the bane of his life. But as he tried to do on most days, he still had an hour until the start of his day. And at this point ducked down one of the quieter side streets of the main road, the crush of morning commuters quickly dissipating. Not even 10 seconds walk off the beaten track of the main road was a battered shop front, ‘Giuseppe’s Coffee’ emblazoned on the front, paintwork peeling and the sign flashing weakly in the shadow of the titan like sky scrapers that loomed above.

The interior was much like the exterior, faded woodwork and old pictures dotted the walls, harking back to former glories before the rise of the chain stores that lined the main roads. The sole barista behind the bar was a grey haired male, about mid-50s. He glared at Saul through the gloom as he took a seat in one of the corners. He unfolded his newspaper laying it on the table, sitting there for a minute before the barista speaks up.

“This ain’t a bloody library, you going to get a coffee or just sit there,”

Saul looked up from the paper, his face giving nothing away, save for a single cocked eyebrow.

“Maybe if I could get some service here Giuseppe, if you could find it in you to, I don’t know, show a bit of god damn charm every other day,”

They remain staring at each other for a few moments before Giuseppe lets out a wheeze of laughter, turning back towards the coffee machine behind him.

“Morning to you too Saul,”

Saul lets out a snort of laughter, focusing on his paper. He’d be coming by the sour old Italian's coffee shop for years now, in fact he’d hardly ever seen another person in here. The first time he’d come in the insults had been real enough, now however it was all part of the show. He turned a page of the newspaper, 4 double page spreads and the front page all devoted to the election. He sighed and flicked past it. Bloody politics, same old shit different packet, you’d think they would have run out of news on it months ago, just rehashed opinion polls and spinets from reprinted reports. And yet that’s all that would occupy the papers for the foreseeable future.
 
Kiva Fitzgerald
Aria Resort & Casino
Suite 1510
​
Known for its beautiful suites with floor-to-ceiling windows, 3 outdoor pools with palm trees, live events, a lively casino and poker area, and so much more, the Aria is a marvelous place to visit on the Vegas Strip. The sunlight shines through the massive windows of suite 1510. The bathroom door opens and Kiva steps out. She has just finished showering and is covered with a black robe and matching slippers. Her hair runs halfway down her back. Her footsteps are soft and peaceful like her voice as she steps into the sun's vision. Kiva soaks in the glow momentarily before returning to her bed and picking up a flyer.

"Aria Resort & Casino presents the Sapphire Silhouette! Come and see one of the country's fastest rising stars!"
Above the words was a picture of Kiva dressed like a belly dancer with a Mardi Gras-like mask on her face. Her hair in the picture is in a ponytail. To keep herself from being noticed in public, she only puts her hair in a ponytail when she performs. The poster makes Kiva feel both honored and nervous. On one hand, she enjoys entertaining others and bringing them joy. However, she's increasingly afraid that she could become a target after recently learning about the murders of other Evos. She slowly sinks down and sits on the silk sheets that she asked to be on her bed.

"What if there really is a killer out there targeting people like me? What if they know about what I can do? Am I a target?"

She gets up and cautiously walks back to the window. Her eyes scan the ground below her. If there was a murderer after her, they could blend in with the crowd possibly as easily as she can. Kiva's next move is to walk to the door. However just before she gets there, she can feel movement coming from the outside. Could that be the killer? No. Wheels are rolling. It's just room service coming towards her suite. Kiva opens the door and politely asks for a few towels. She receives them, thanks the housekeeper, gives her a tip, and then returns tp the comfort of her bed.

"False alarm. Thank goodness. I don't even know why I'm worrying so much. Nobody here knows about my powers. I'm not threat to anyone. I'm just a magician. That's all."

She lays across the bed and turns on the television.
 
Elias Menteur
Columbia University of Economics & Technology

Today was a special day for Elias. Special things were coming for him in the future but he couldn’t just wait around for it. He was occupied with some things he had to do in the morning, just some stuff to get out of the way so he didn’t have to worry about them in the future. His first stop? The University of Columbia. The university was a marvel for the country, Elias was a little upset he wasn’t accepted into the prestigious school but he’s also a little glad that he didn’t run down that path. Being an economic and technology student wouldn’t have been Elias’ forte.

As the sun shined down on Elias’ messy hair, he approached the school. He set aside his petty opinions of the school and sat down on a bench facing opposite of the school. I guess I’ll get right to work. Elias had one objective at the university; steal some poor technology student’s science papers. Specifically a paper on the origins of Evos. The student himself was smart and clearly had the chops to produce a high-quality paper. Elias just wanted a small read. He took a deep breathe in, then out. Calm yourself Elias. As he focused, a black mist drifted off of him, the black mist took a stark contrast to the bright day and the bright concrete under him. As the black mist reached it’s destination, a solid form started to take shape. A few seconds later and the Black Ghost was finished. It’s shape was lanky, it’s fingers and toes were sharp and long. The figure was scary to even look it, it was perfect. “I guess I’ll get right to work.” The Black Ghost began to speak. Elias shut his eyes and prepared for a completely different experience stark from what he was used to.

Controlling a Black Ghost is drastically different than just commanding one. To control it, all Elias had to do was establish a deep connection with it and after that, he’d be able to look through it’s eyes and command it far better then he would’ve been able to. Time to climb. The Black Ghost jumped about a dozen feet into the air, landing against one of the university’s walls. Keep going. The Black Ghost threw itself up as it reached the roof of the university, as it found a small vent to enter through, it crushed down into smaller parts and rushed in. Damn, you already know my plan don’t you? The Black Ghost’s pieces fell out into the hallway beside the classroom he was supposed to enter. Just a little off course. The Black Ghost opened the classroom’s door and entered in. The class was pretty packed, students sitting in desks so close together they looked like a sardine can. “Excuse me.” The Black Ghost raised it’s hand to the students as it calmly walked to the teacher’s desk. “Teach.” Just how far down does this Black Ghost remember? That voice was mine when I was back in middle school. “I need... John’s... science paper.” Words spliced together like mismatching cloths sewn together, the Black Ghost was clearly taking creative liberties with it’s speech. The teacher begrudgingly handed the paper over to the large, skinny being standing over her. “Thank you.” The Black Ghost handled the paper like it was the Pope’s shot glass, carefully bringing it up through the vents and out back onto the roof. “I have it!” The Black Ghost’s discordant voice yelled throughout the campus. “Just bring it down!” Elias commanded, this objective took too much time out of Elias’ already free day.

With a paper in his hand and a dissolving Black Ghost walking behind him, Elias felt confident that his day would go a lot better now that he has this paper. “Let’s hope the day goes as well as this did.” Elias sighed with some relief.

As the Black Ghost almost fully dissolved, it’s final words were spoken. “Let’s hope...”​
 
Rex Gables
Secret Hideout in New York

"The paper is all about politics these days. Who cares who's running a sinking boat? I haven't been in any headline since my big crime spree after getting the suit and yet a random rich guy gets headlines for running for the stooge to run this dump" an orange skinned man said to himself. The man lay back in his plastic cover recliner as he held the newspaper while wearing gloves. "I should go and cause some trouble out there, maybe blow up a bank and take the cash or maybe kidnap of these idiot wanting to be the president," The orange-skinned man said thinking things over. As he did so he picked of coin on a table next to him and throw across the room at the old-style jukebox. As the coin hit the machine it started playing old style rock n roll. "Some music should help me think things over," he said getting up from his chair.

He then walked over to the wall was a newspaper on the wall were headling read about an infamous villain named Plasma Rex committed a variety of crimes in a spree that put most of New York on edge. "I think I have been laying low too long," Rex said to himself looking over to a chair in the corner of the room that held a volleyball with a face drawn on it. "...I really need to get out more" Rex said with a sigh.

After some self-reflection, Rex made and had some breakfast. Rex read over the newspaper some more news about possible. "Well Columbia sounds like a fun town to mess around in, maybe I'll take down some want to be heroes as I have some fun and restock up my place some fun new things," Rex said to himself smirking as sat the paper down. He then walked over to a dim corner of the room where he placed his hand a large metallic suit standing on small armor podium. As he placed his hand on the armor the visor turns on with bright orange. "This is going to be fun. Hahahaha... I seriously need to stop talking to myself..."
 
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Cynthia Ford Memorial Airport, Jefferson
Columbia City
​
Like a lost Prince returning to his Kingdom after years of banishment and exile, Domenico di Lontano was eager to finally be freed from the harsh regulations of air travel, so that he might once again breathe the hospitable air of his home city, and stretch his legs upon his native soil. Though unlike a Prince, his return lacked the pomp and vigour of of a visiting dignitary, or influential individual. It was to be expected. In the capital, he was simply a small guppy in the vast open expanses of the wide ocean, and the city had more than its fair share of sharks and other such aquatic predators, though such knowledge did not make his relative obscurity any more palatable. When he had been a lad, young and fair faced, his family’s shadow had fallen wide over the citizens of Columbia City. The Five Families of Columbia had been some of the most respected figures in the city, and the mere mention of one of their names had been enough to turn faces pale, and garner favourable prices at any joint smart enough to know what they meant. But times and changed, and so it seemed had Columbia. The ground was shrinking underneath them, and the old-guard dinosaurs of the Five Families were hardly able to keep up with the shifting climate. Keep up with them.

It was the evolutionaries’ fault. The freaks and oddities that clung to this great nation like fleas to a dog. It was impossible for the regular folk to compete. What good was a gun when there were people out there who could burst into flame on a whim? Or turn all the bones in your body into mush? If you could even call them people.

It was their kind who had seen him locked up for all these years. Behind bars in some Italian shithole of a prison. You can’t steal from a man with the sight of a thousand eyes. A lesson that Dom had learned the hard way. He had his revenge of course. Behind bars, he had made a habit of giving their kind his own personal form of stigmata. He was unrepentant for such acts. For God would not damn a man for a felling a beast. Soulless husks wearing the skins of men. But that was a problem for another day.

Dom raised his hand to his face, using his forefinger and thumb to rub against his temple. His anger often got the best of him, and it was very easy to get yourself into trouble in a city like this. Back in prison, his old psychiatrist had recommended breathing exercises and meditation to soothe his stormy temper, though the stress of the past few days had put a strain upon his mood.

It had all been a blur. First he had been told that he was to be released, and allowed to return to his native Columbia. Then he had been told that his father, the untouchable Valentino di Lontano, who had watched over this city like a hawk for the better part of two decades, had been taken into custody and awaited trial for murder. Then he was loaded up onto a plane and sent on his way. This city had truly gone to the dogs. In the olden days, people had known that locking up a member of the Families simply meant a slew of homicides and kidnappings until a jury of terrified rabbits found them innocent of all charges. But the city had grown braver. Or the Families less fearsome.

As Dom passed through the airport security, dragging behind him a bag far too large to fit the requirements for carry-on luggage, he was greeted by a familiar landscape. Although he had not drawn the crowds that he might have wanted, the humble huddle of his family was a no-less welcome sight. Though their presence was marred by the lack of his father.

There were three of them, discounting the bodyguards and staff that trailed behind them, ensuring that they did not attract the unwelcome attention of law enforcement. Forced smiles and expensive fur coats.

‘Alessandra.’ Dom moved to embrace his sister, giving her a light kiss on either cheek. She was younger than him by about a year, and around a foot shorter, but there was no mistaking the similarities in their appearance. ‘And Francesco.’ He offered a similar greeting to the man whose arm his sister clung; Francesco Alleati, his brother-in-law, and a good friend since childhood. The two had played together since they were young, throwing stones at local police officers from the safety a high rise balcony, much to the chagrin of the local law enforcement. He had taken control of a family of his own, since the death of his father; Giuseppe Alleati, in an evolutionary terrorist attack in Little Venice, or so Dom had heard. It seemed no one was safe anymore.

‘And who is this?’ He turned his attention to the other figure present, a beautiful young woman who seemed several years his junior.

‘Papa’s newest whore.’ His sister replied, sinking into their native Italian. ‘Welcome home Dom. We’ve missed you.’

‘Then you must be my new mama.’ Dom looked over the woman with a smile which did not quite reach his eyes, in English this time. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

The woman smiled as he kissed her cheek. His real mother was a casino owner in the Monroe Strip. She had wed and bed his father, then carved out his heart and stolen half his fortune in a lengthy divorce proceeding. A smart woman.

‘I must confess. I am pleased to be out in the open air once more. We have much to catch up on.’

‘Perhaps we might talk over dinner? My Sandra has been practicing her cannoli since you’ve been gone. She says that she can make ‘em and good as my mama’s’ Frank chuckled, raising a four-fingered hand and placing it upon Dom’s back.

‘I would like that a lot.’ Dom admitted. ‘Though I fear I have some business to get in order first. I have to pay my tribute to the Doge.’
 




Kennedy Hills
Columbia City


​
His eyes fluttered open. The morning sun shot through his Venetian blinds. A throbbing in his head. He let out a groan and cuddled his silk sheets.
Another day - still here.

It took a minute or two to throw the blankets back and get up out of bed. He walked over to the en suite and turned on the shower - setting it to the coldest setting. Hoping to carefully rinse off last night’s antics. That was the last time he did that Premium LSD shit, he thought.
“The last time I do anything.”
He lied to himself as water dripped down his face.

He looked in the mirror - naked and wet - and contemplated shaving.
A contemplation that didn’t last long.
He then moved back to his bedroom and put on fresh clothing. A bunch of brands that he deemed too expensive, but still consistently bought anyways.
“Ira, what’s new?”
He asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
The bot beeped.
“You have gym with Tyler in… ONE hour. Natalie reminded you to phone call her in… TWO hours.”
He rolled his eyes -
“Skip the gym. I don’t think either Tyler or I are able to exercise after last night.” He told Ira, referring to the casual get together he had last night. Casual meaning copious amounts of alcohol, drugs, and girls. “And text Natalie telling her I’ll call her at… 5PM.”
“Reminder that she told you it was important.” The bot stated.
“Confirm.”
“Confirmed. Calling Natalie at 5PM sharp.” It echoed back to him.
“Anything else?” He asked.
“Valerie Smith is expecting a call since… April 21st.”
“Shit.” He said. Applying the finishing touch to his outfit - a simple black belt. “Call her.”

“Calling Valerie Smith.”

He jogged down the stairs and closed his eyes. Not wanting to look at the mess his guests had left from the night prior. Straight into the kitchen - he put on a single slice of toast. The speakers in his house playing its dialing tone. When it finally picked up -
He interrupted the woman’s ‘hello’.
“Coffee? Giuseppe’s Coffee. Downtown. Half an hour?”
The toast popped as he awaited her reply.

ailurophile ailurophile



 
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Lilian White



  • 561374
    Jefferson/Downtown; Lightwood Park Residence
    Business-minded;morning routine
    Interaction:     -
    Mention: -    ​

    Every morning, Sakura Goto would wake up and take a 15 minutes shower. She would dress in a fashionable yet very proper style and put on sky blue contact lens. She would eat breakfast consisting of carbohydrates, protein from animals and plants, a source of vitamin and fibre, and a glass of drink. For today, rice and chicken soup with diced tofu was her meal, finished by a glass of water. Sakura Goto would put on some make-up, smiled to herself at the mirror, and left apartment as Lilian White.

    This routine had went on without a change for years, with the exception of the end of the month where she redyed her hair blonde and put on a wig.

    "Good Morning, Miss White," greeted Mrs. Kell who went out of her apartment with a shopping bag in hand. Lilian did not stop. She turned her head and nodded slightly at Mrs. Reeve without slowing down her pace.

    "Good Morning," she replied as she headed to the elevator.

    Mrs. Kell did not speak any pleasantry to Lilian on the way down. Lilian, too, did not say a word. After all, she was a career woman who rarely spoke a word. Sakura too, disliked conversation without a goal. When the elevator door opened silently, Lilian walked purposefully to her Audi car and drove off into the morning traffic. She was oblivious and impervious to the talk between the bored Mrs. Kell and gossipy Mrs. Cynthia, who headed to the market together.

    "Not too talkative, isn't she?"

    "Not even a friend since she moved. These career women these days. They should get married quickly and have some kids."

    "But have you noticed her clothes? Last week when I went out with Lizzy- "

    "You still go with her? Really, you should know better-"

    The topic of their conversation quickly changed. It was another routine morning in Lightwood Park Residence.

 
The Morning streets of Downtown / Jefferson
The morning sunshine beamed down past the monoliths of glass that made up the downtown of this city. Meanwhile waves of people cascading down the street like the flow of a river as they make their way to work. The traffic meanwhile was ground to a halt, as it always was here this early in the morning, it always does turn out Declan isn't the only person running late today.
​
Straight out of the apartment building Declan arcs onto the main street, now with the helmet he retrieved from his bag on the elevator ride down. The young teen just zipped and zagged down the sidewalk, through the busy morning crowds. His heart was pumping hard with the exertion, there was the thrill of racing the clock, and the question was always how fast could Declan get there? - Or of how many cars stuck in traffic would he overtake? To anybody watching it was plain to see that despite how busy it was, within this river of facelessly individuals, that it didn't slow the boy one bit as he just ducked and weaved like they weren't there.

As an odd contrast to the exersion though, Declan's mind wasn't racing in the same way his body was - dodging the crowd and skating through them like this on the way to school was just a thing he did, as much as it was a game he was almost on autopilot as he did it, letting his mind wander and just kinda watch.
"What's up with the traffic this morning..?"
"It's always bad but- No this is worse."
"Maybe there was an acci- mmmnnn, what smells soo good..?
"Oh right! That new coffee place, wonder if the foods any good."
"Wait- what was I thinking about..?"
"..."
"The traffic! It was the traffic, right. Yeah.. Maybe I should check the news in a bit."

Declan just thinking to himself - Just idle thoughts while racing in the morning sun. The young teen taking a jump down a small set of five or six steps to not lose his momentum as he continued on, thankful that the stairs weren't soo busy he'd have to slow down or pace himself. This just being another part of his normal artful racing each morning that whenever the crowds parted and the city streets gave him something to work with that he'd happily perform a trick or two along the way. Nothing major, he was on the clock but just a few quick tricks: a hop and grind along a railing here, a short stretch skated backwards there, a ledge jumped onto and off again over there, ect. Just something to make it a bit more interesting.

Not that his minor stunts lasted too much longer as he reached the monorail station, arcing a turn inside and slowing to a walkers pace as he rolled through the ticket gate, scanning his phone. He'd learnt more than once before to not try and go full-speed through, trust him, it's a bad idea. Yet as soon as the machine beeped and the gate opened he began to dash again, now up the stairs to the platform just as quickly as he arrived, taking them in stride despite his wheeled transporation.
Narrowly Declan skids onto the public monorail that he'd been racing to make, much like an action hero diving for cover in a firefight. He had made it even if people were staring, now all he had to do was wait... -and maybe catch his breath for a second or two. This ride would be taking him most of the way to the school and before his first bell, if just barely.
 
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Saul Westwood
Giuseppe's Coffee, Columbia City, Downtown​

Saul and Giuseppe glanced at each other as the new arrival comes in. Well that was different. I mean customers were pretty thin on the ground here at the best of times, especially outside of the regulars like Saul, in fact now Saul thought about it, given Giuseppe's questionable table manner and customer turn around it was a minor miracle that he could even afford to keep the place running. But the other regulars were generally about Saul's age, anyone under the age of 35 seemed to just frequent the chains along the main road. Yeah the service was faster, friendlier, and the decor was from the right decade... but where was the soul?

Which brought Saul back to the new arrival, he looks up from his newspaper and gives her a once over. His eyes drop to the book she’s reading. A romance novel... she was definitely in the wrong place, romance hardly flourished here, the last young couple who had gazed lovingly into each others eyes must have been about 80 by now, and the only time Giuseppe ever bought his wife flowers was at her funeral. Saul finally snaps out of his train of thought of the decline of the coffee institution of Giuseppe’s Coffee. The aforementioned barista comes round to his table, placing a cup of jet black coffee on the table.

“Same old cheap slop?”

He enquires, taking a sniff of the coffee. He just hears a snort of laughter in response as he turns to serve the woman her coffee. He takes a slow sip, feeling the satisfied sigh building up inside of him. He releases it as he lowers his cup. Say what you want about the decor or the service. The coffee was fucking good. Perfect way to get the neurons firing before a day of work.

(Mention: Damafaud Damafaud
 
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Molloy’s Bar, Washington Suburb
Columbia City
​
One of the few patrons of a dark and lonely bar, it’s doors kept open due only to the repeated custom of some of the city’s most disreputable individuals; the sort of scum who needed a place to conduct their gambling, narcotics and whoring not only out of the sight of the city’s citizens and law enforcement, but also the higher classes of criminal, who frowned upon their territories being encroached by the lowly urchins that hung around Columbia like a foul stench. The gentlemen looked out of place in such an environment, his black suit looking pristine, and freshly rented, with a rose tucked gently into the lapel, and a handkerchief folded carefully into an immaculate pocket square. Perhaps such a sight might have aroused suspicion upon any other occasion, the middle-aged landlord, One-Eyed Bill, had been growing wary that one of the families, or perhaps one of those disgusting evolutionary extremists, who thought they owned everything they laid their eyes upon, might try and encroach upon his business one of these days, however it was a slow day, and the man paid well for privacy. The landlord was not one to turn away custom of any form, no matter how much red he had to scrub from the cash.

For his own part, the man was content to keep to himself, sipping some water from a pint-glass so dirty that it had become opaque, and occasionally murmuring something in a tone too quiet for anyone to hear. Everyone once in a while he would call for barman to refill his drink, or hand him an edible from behind the bar, but other than that, their was little in the way of interaction. Just how the man liked it.

Looking at such a scene, one would be forgiven for discounting the man as just another sorry sod who had gambled away his worldly possessions and now intended to drown away his sorrows where no one would find him, though no alcohol had graced his lips. One might also suspect that the man was a humble mugger or a thief, for it was not an uncommon sight in Molloy’s for a man to enter the bar in clothes that did not belong to him, and to pay for his drinks with another man’s money. Though that was not the case either.

‘Bar keep. I’ll take another water, if you don’t mind.’ The man hummed as sorry tune as One-Eyed Bill shuffled over to him with a filthy looking jug, squinting with his one good eye as he emptied the clear liquid into the glass.

‘You gonna order anything stronger? Or am I gonna be workin’ for tuppence all fuckin’ day?’ The landlord’s frown revealed a set of yellowed teeth, with gaps in between that indicated a man who was no stranger to bar fights.

‘I don’t drink.’ The man replied, cradling his glass in between his hands.

‘Then you’ve come to a queer place, fella’ A bony hand pointed to the rack of cheap wines and single malts stacked haphazardly behind the bar, arranged in such a way that they might collapse at any moment. ‘Are you new in town?’ To the man’s chagrin, the landlord pulled up a chair by the table, clearly bored with scrubbing the same dirty glass until it reached the arbitrary point of uncleanliness that he deemed adequate.

‘I’ve been here before, the man admitted, gruffly. But not in a long while.’ He took another sip of water, his eyes resting longingly at the whiskey behind the bar. ‘I don’t like this city. So I don’t make a habit of coming here often.’

‘Then what changed?’ The barman asked intrusively, pouring his own drink now, clearly content in the knowledge that more patrons were unlikely to show up at this point.

‘An old friend has died.’ The man frowned, furrowing his brow. ‘I’m just back in town for the funeral, and then I suspect I’ll be gone again.’

‘I’m sorry ta’ hear that fella’, you close with this friend?’

‘Very close?’ The man replied, wistfully, ‘Inseparable even, but that was a long time ago. I doubt she even remembered me by the end.’

‘Sounds like she was a bit more than just a friend, and what changed?’

‘Life got in the way.’ The man shrugged. ‘Or rather a lack of it.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ the man chuckled to himself, ‘an old joke.’

‘Well I’m sorry ta’ hear about ya’ friend. What got ta’ her, if ya’ don’t mind me asking?’

‘She was murdered.’ The man pursed his lips. ‘Murdered in cold blood.’

The landlord looked neither sympathetic, nor surprised. ‘It’s a common thing round these parts my friend. Ya’ can’t be too careful where you tread. Those evo’s are out ta’ get us good normal folk.’

The man chuckled again. ‘I suppose I’ll take your advice.’ His Ford;Phone buzzed upon the table, lighting up to reveal the photo of a young woman, and the words ‘Wife’ upon the screen.

‘Well, I’m glad to see ya’ moved on.’ The landlord’s eye traced the words upon the phone. ‘Ya’ gonna answer that?’

The man simply shook his head. ‘It’s not my place.’

‘Come ta’ think of it, I think recognise that woman on yer phone. Isn’t that? Hold on fella… Yer’ that actor from that film… What’s his name? Hubert somethin.’ The landlord sounded excited.

‘I am?’ It was more of a question that a confirmation, but the landlord continued to ramp up regardless.

‘A real life celebrity in Molloy’s? I shoulda’ had Kim bring out the good glasses.’ He rushed back behind the bar and procured too glasses that were only marginally cleaner than the ones they had now.

‘That’s quite alright.’ The man stood up, placing his final glass back upon the table. ‘In fact, I think it might be time for me to leave. Just…’

‘So soon?’ The landlord looked dejected.

‘Thank you for the drinks and the company.’ The man examined his wallet as if seeing it for the first time, procuring a few notes and placing them upon the bar. ‘But… If you see me again, I...I have a poor memory for things like this.’

The landlord raised a singular eyebrow, but snatched the notes from the table regardless, as the man removed himself from the bar, looking behind him in a shifty fashion.

It was a strange day in Molloy’s Bar.
 
Kiva Fitzgerald
Las Vegas Strip
​
The black robe is tossed onto the bed and is replaced with a grey t-shirt and matching athletic shorts. Slippers are traded out for tennis shoes and a watch is equipped onto Kiva's wrist. She places her room key in her pocket next to her wallet and her phone in the other pocket. The time has come to interact with the horde of people below. She has a flight to catch later tonight, so she didn't want to spend her last day in the suite the entire time. Stay cool, Kiva. You've done a good job of being undetected so far. People aren't gonna notice. It's just another day in Vegas. There are MUCH stranger things that will catch their attention. After mentally giving herself a pep talk, she opens the door and walks out of the room. Her hand pulls the door to ensure that it closes. A clicking sound confims that it is in fact locked. What follows is a short journey to the elevator. Kiva was alone as she walked and was just as such when an elevator invited her in after she pressed the 'down' button to summon its presence. She was fine with this. As the elevator made its decent, she took in the last few moments of peaceful silence.

A different world. That's what it felt like to Kiva when the elevator opened on the first floor. There was no longer a calm silence. In fact, had it not been for the fact that the sounds of the people outside of the elevator could be heard from the inside, the rush of noise might've scared Kiva out of her shoes. It's pretty ironic that the same woman that openly uses her powers in front of thousands of people is somehow shy around those same people when she's not performing. The Sapphire Silhouette wasn't just a stage name. It was a way for her to express herself freely. She was bolder, more confident, and charismatic. She even went as far as to practice tricks that other magicians commonly use so that it throws off suspicion. However, there was always a fear that came with it. A fear that one day someone would be able to see through her facade. She occasionally had nightmares where she would be ambushed and kidnapped after one of her shows. Whenever Kiva would finish a performance, she made sure to sign autographs first and then disappear. Once she was out of sight, she would take off the mask, change clothes, and walk amongst the civilians. What worried her is that at any point, someone digging deep enough could figure her out. Every time the Sapphire Silhouette stepped out, Kiva was taking a risk. A risk she believed has been more than worth the reward as she is able to encourage and inspire others. Seemingly, no one has been able to put the pieces together, which helps keep her mind somewhat at ease. She pushes away the thoughts as she steps oit of the elevator, letting it close behind her.

Since she didn't get breakfast via room service, Kiva made her way towards the casino area to get her first meal of the day. It didn't seem to matter what time of day it was. People were constantly walking to and from the casino. Some had just woke up and wanted to get at it early. Others had just arrived and were looking to pass the time until their rooms were ready. The rest were already there. They had stayed up all night and likely didn't notice they had been there all night and most of the morning. After all, casino areas lack clocks because they don't want you to know how late it is while you're playing. Before she could enter, the security officer asked to see her ID due to the fact that she looked younger than 30, which she was. She handed him the card. His eyes scanned it. Everything checked out, so he handed her the card back and wished her good luck. She thanked him and continued walking. Ahead were card tables and slot machines as far as the eye could see. This is where one can find the most spontaneous of attractions, angry gamblers. Men and women cursing out the machines and challenging them to fights. A few even go as far as to throw the first punch. Maybe afterwards Kiva would try her luck. For now, her focus was food. Like a mouse in a maze, she navigates through the crowd of people to get to the buffet area.
 
The Morning streets of Downtown / Jefferson
Riding the Monorail!
The Monorail was busy, it always was with almost never a seat available - though maybe that was Declan's fault for always racing to get onto the last one he possibly could. It wasn't overcrowded luckily, the rail always had just enough capacity for Declan to safely pull of his stunt each morning without the risk of hitting anybody. One kid riding this morning with his parents starts clapping at the teen's dramatic entrance, most of the riders (all faceless business suits) just stab at him with judging glares in the meantime.​

Declan takes a few moment to sit on the group after having dove aboard to catch his breath, turns out, going, full paced, is a workout - One might I add that made him feel awesome each morning, smiling to himself with a cocky expression during his cooldown. The monorail sets off while he's still on the floor, not that it mattered since he wasn't in anybody's way where he was just in the corner of the car.
"What was that.. Thirty eight seconds from ground to train..? Dang, I thought I could do it under thirty five today." Mentally commenting to himself before he pitches his head up from the ground to look out the window of the Monorail to see the tops of the high-rise buildings rush by, the obnoxious billboards about political stuff and occasionally if he was lucky a helicopter, blimp or local hero flying around Jefferson's rooftops - None of that this time however.

Bzzzp, beep beep, bzzzp, beep beep.
Declan's phone vibrated and beeped for attention.​

The teen is caught off-guard for the moment before he draws his phone, a frustrated look on his face. It was from a girl in his class, a bit of a jerk who somehow got ahold of his number and decided to spam him with messages - and to add to it, it looks like he got a bunch last one as well he never saw.
"Sophie really...? I'm not gonna read eight of 'jokes'." Commenting out loud as he proceeded to just delete all the unread messages, he wasn't having any of it.
"Seriously Dad, why do I need this? I barely use it, and it's not like you ever call me..." Declan gives a frustrated sigh, before proceeding to tab onto the news to quickly check about any incidents or car accidents this morning. It was something to pass the time as he continued his journey.



Jefferson Junior & High School
Bounding up the old few steps, outside and past the main doors Declan crosses the threshold into the local school - A combined school for kids above elementary. Rows and rows of electronically locked lockers lined the hall, a large trophy case of awards the school had won for its sports, freshly upgraded water fountains and snack machines - This school was doing great, at least by an appearances, less so when it came to some students behavior.
The first bell loudly sounded less than a minute after arrival.
​
Declan was thankful he'd arrived in time, he hadn't anticipated a dog-walker with the speed of a disadvantaged snail being on the path between the station and school.
"..Fricking.. Guess i'm heading to class first, and my locker later." Given the timing, it was all he could do since he arrived soo close to the bell.
Not that it was a big of a deal but still mildly frustrating to the teen regardless as he removed his helmet and gently glided down the hall at a regular walking pace, trying to not stand out feeling like a sheep among wolves from not had time to switch out of his skates yet. Not that he was too concerned about the teachers, as much as he'd get in trouble for wearing them in the halls he was more concerned about certain students starting something before he'd even gotten to first class.

Mercifully not an issue for him as he glides safely through crowd in what's honestly more a walk with the skates than actual skating, soon slipping into his first classroom, mathematics.
Declan does his best to just duck inside and around to his seat without drawing any attention to himself, avoiding the gazes of the many faceless classmates he really didn't like. The teacher did take notice, giving Declan a scolding look but he didn't say a word as the young teen switched out his footwear for just the sneakers in his bag.
This grump of a math teacher, Declan described like a "bitter cyclops with a vendetta against anyone born in the same century", would have proberbly made a much bigger fuss if Declan wasn't one of the higher scoring kids in the class. Declan doubted any of the kids actually liked this guy.

Though before Declan's even finished readying up, he does get a quick tap shoulder from behind, a friend of his Ashur passing a note just asking "New record?" - giving the teen a bit of a smirk, and forcing him to shake his head back.
 
VALERIE SMITH
SOCIALITE MRS LIBERTY III ​
Half an hour?
It'd been precisely 32 minutes -- and counting.

Valerie nursed her second coffee of the day. Mocha, three sugars, two shots of malt whiskey from her own personal hip flask, measured to the millilitre with her own personal jigger. Nervously, she toyed with the pendant that hung from her neck: it'd always been a nervous habit of hers, but said habit had become more poignant since she'd started wearing her grandmother's favourite necklace. A locket, although it appeared to be almost welded shut. Valerie had no idea what was inside it. Now that her grandmother was gone, she was unsure whether her curiosity would outweigh the guilt of finally opening it. For the time being, she'd decided to leave it. After all--

"Giovanni!" The sudden appearance of the man broke her train of thought. In one gulp, she downed the last dregs of her coffee and signalled silently to the barista for another. She stood, but did not vacate the table, not that she needed to worry-- when she was in the building, that table was hers. Once it'd been her grandmother's, and now she'd inherited the celebrity, in a way. Now, Valerie Smith was famed for, amongst other things, her beauty. But there was nothing attractive about the laser-eyed glare she was facing her friend with.

After all, an impatient Valerie could quickly become an angry Valerie.
And an angry Valerie was a storm forthcoming.

She dropped back into her seat, nails (painted a not-so-subtle red, white, and blue) drumming against the tabletop. she barely gave Giovanni time to cross the room before she hit him with her tirade.
"Nice of you to show. Only, what, three minutes late? If you don't count the days I've been waiting for you to call. Jesus, Gio, if it's the vodka you're pissed about I'll buy you a case of new bottles-- sit, sit! You can get a coffee in a minute. Do you think I have all day? There's several people I've gotta go through this whole process with again and again! Although I'm hoping they're going to be more cooperative." A deep breath, a pause, and she smiled. "Sorry. Sorry. You're probably delicate this morning."

For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, she finally fell silent, studying her friend with an almost searching gaze. When they finally locked eyes again, she sighed.

"Gio. I think you know what I want to ask you. And this time, I'm not taking a no or a maybe for an answer."

TheFool TheFool
 




Giuseppe’s Coffee
Jefferson


​
He could not help but grin his buffoonish grin when he spotted her - sitting at her table. His mind instantly fell into its dreams of which decaf he’d be getting. The grin did not last long however. It never did around Valerie. She was a close friend to Giovanni -
But not to his smile.

His eyes leisurely latched to the heavens as her rant began.

“Look, look - I’m sorry. I really am.”

He took a seat in the one adjacent to her. He looked at her with an apologetic glare. “You know how busy shit gets, Val.” He said running his hand through his hair. He looked around the coffee shop. Spotting some faces that seemed… familiar.
Though he waved that familiarity away.
He chuckled at the mention of his delicateness. It was then that he noticed his head wasn’t hurting. “I’m surprisingly fine. I think I’m finally becoming one with the acid.”
He put up his finger -
Hoping Giuseppe would notice and come take his order. ‘The effort of getting up from this seat now that I’m in it’, he thought.

When Val finally got down to business, he sighed in response.
“You really don’t give up do you?” He said. She shook her head. Giovanni put his head in his hands and rubbed around his eyes.
“Superhero teams are bad stock. Always have been. Always will be. Name one successful team - and don’t say any of those European fuckers ‘cuz they don’t count.”
He looked at her.
His eyes piercing hers.
He didn’t allow her to answer that -
“I know you want to do good, like Virginia did. I get that. But you don’t need mine or anyone else’s help to do that Val.”

ailurophile ailurophile



 
Elias Menteur
Giuseppe's Coffee

Elias had finished his business at the college, he really didn't have much to do after that except read the stolen paper and do some leisure activities. And what better place to do that than at a coffee shop. Elias was just passing by it when his eyes caught sight of the overall aesthetic of the place, it seemed cozy and the type of place to play somber indie music inside. Elias also just wanted some coffee but that's beside the point. Elias looked forth to the coffee shop and entered in. As his eyes adjusted to the level of light present in the shop, he made himself take note of all everybody inside the shop, just in case a murder mystery starts of course. As Elias walked towards the barista, a good look at one of the patrons showed an oddity. Does she belong here? Her clothing and accessories set a contrast to the old aesthetic and attitude of the coffee shop. Perhaps however, Elias was just over-analyzing her. His head turned towards the barista as he spoke up; "A cappucino please, extra cream if you can."

As Elias walked towards an empty table, his mind pondered on the exact reason a woman dressed in high fashion would visit a place such as this. Elias wanted to dump the thought but he couldn't let it go. Sitting down and setting his science papers down, he let his mind do it's own thinking for just a few seconds before he got to work reading his esteemed, high-quality, and stolen paper.

As Elias opened the first page, he was greeted with a table of contents. Ah! 'Theorizing the Unknowable', what a creative name for the paper. But I'm not looking for the title, I'm looking for.. Elias' eyes drifted downwards as he found what he was searching for. There it is! 'The Theorized Origins of Evos'. Maybe this will get me farther than what I've been able to accomplish. Elias began reading although as he went on, he found slight discrepancies and minor errors throughout the paper. From inconsistencies to incorrect grammar, Elias was beginning to wonder how 'high-quality' this paper was. Even though it seemed a little fishy, Elias braved forth, he couldn't let hours of information gathering and a dozen minutes of infiltration inside an educational institution go to waste. But as Elias got further in the paper he saw what the paper lacked in quality, it made up for in stupid theories and speculations. Nothing was clearly fact or rather, nothing was made aware to be fact to Elias. Some of the theories sounded convincing but still outrageous and insane. Great.

Elias put his hand to his forehead and sighed in disappointment, not only was a few hours and a dozen minutes of time wasted but he also just wasted a few bucks buying a cappucino.
Damafaud Damafaud RayPurchase RayPurchase ​
 
Henry Pope
Jefferson
​
"Good morning Master Henry." A robotic, yet soft voice spoke from all corners of the penthouse. Henry let out a groan as soft music began playing from unseen speakers and the glass walls slowly grew in transparency, allowing the light of the morning sun to filter through. For a moment he considered barking the snooze command again but a brief pause gave him the wisdom to realise a fifth time would probably be excessive. Lifting himself up with his one remaining arm, he reluctantly emerged from the silk sheets that still felt a bit too rough. His bare feet found the marble floor (also a bit too abrasive) and a few short steps took him down from the raised platform his bed sat upon. The apartment itself was largely open plan with most of the walls simply floor to ceiling windows, with a few alcoves tucked away against a solid wall.

First things first, Henry thought to himself, moving over to a surgical table which stood vertically in front of what appeared to be a walk-in wardrobe. He turned his back and leaned against it so that it slowly descended, a touch of relief swept through him as suddenly he was lying down again. The sounds of whirring machinery met his ears as the device carried him into the wardrobe, a swarm of robotic arms began to tinker with his shoulder, readying it for his prosthetic. Reaching forward with his good arm, Henry selected several options on a projected screen with a practised motion. There was a brief pause before the device began to construct his prosthetic at a dizzying speed. Within moments, it was done and the table returned into the light of his apartment, gradually returning him to his feet. Henry rolled the new mechanical limb in its joint a few times but as always, it felt perfect. He looked down at the copper toned arm that now lay beside him, after all these years it still felt a little alien. He slowly lifted it, running his metallic fingers through his hair; they were even heated to human body temperature.

Henry shook his head, dismissing any alien feelings and moved over to his actual wardrobe. Quickly getting dressed, Henry inspected himself in the mirror. He sported a silver-grey two piece suit, accented by black brogues, leather belt and wristwatch. Beneath a crisp white shirt framed a thin black tie, a silver tie clip holding it close against his chest. His hair was decent enough, a little wild in places but otherwise presentable. Henry looked away, about to leave when a copper glint caught the corner of his eye. Letting out a sigh he stopped, reaching into one final draw and withdrawing a pair of soft gloves which he worked onto his hands, fleshy and otherwise.

Leaving the wardrobe behind he wandered over to the kitchen. "Jeeves update me, what's happening today?" He asked, quickly fixing himself a bowl of cereal. The kitchen composed of dozen or so feet of counters along one wall with a large island in the middle, with Henry's words, the entire surface of the island lit up, revealing one big screen.
"Today you have no appointments. The weather is temperate though no need for an umbre-" The soft robotic voice answered, though swiftly Henry lost interest, instead choosing to focus intently on his bowl of cheerios. The voice continued, listing various headlines before abruptly stopping. "Master Pope, I hate to interrupt but your brother seems rather desperate to get a hold of you." Henry perked up, he hadn't heard from his brother in a few days and was curious to what he had to say.
"Put him through." Henry continued, standing up and setting his cereal aside. The counter flickered before revealing the image of his brother; James.
"Good you are dressed, meet me at the office immediately, we have an investor." James mumbled, his own mouth half full of cheerios.
"An investor? We haven't even been trying to look for any." Henry responded, somewhat confused.
"Father set one up, he seems to be getting impatient with our lack of progress." Henry let out a sigh, rubbing his brow. The whole reason he and his brother were in the city in the first place was to see if expansion of their father's robotics company was viable, at least that's what they had told their father in order to be as far away from him as possible and still have access to his resources. It seemed he might have started to catch on a bit.
"Okay... Okay... I'll meet you at the office, you are giving the pitch though." Henry half smirked. He had no mind for business, in fact his ind didn't seem apt for anything other than hero work. Despite this, he did find joy in finding new ways to deceive their father, this could be fun.

Moments later, Henry found himself exiting his building onto the streets of Jefferson. His offices were only a few blocks away and his kitchen counter was right, the weather wasn't terrible, so a walk wasn't out of the question. Will a casual, but hurried pace, Henry made his way through the city streets.
 

Lilian White


561374

Jefferson/Downtown; Giuseppe's Coffee
Perplexed; buying coffee
Interaction: RayPurchase RayPurchase
Mention: TheFool TheFool Remembrance Remembrance , ailurophile ailurophile ​
Lilian continued reading for a while without minding the look given by the barista and the stranger. It was only appropriate for them to stare as she did not truly belong. She continued flipping the page of Love You and Love Me (the story was very loyal to the basic) and only stopped to move the exquisite bookmark when her coffee arrived. She gave a slight nod toward the barista before lifting the cup to her lips and blew lightly at the steam. She took a sip.

"It's good," she said in surprise.

The remark had been spontaneous, unlike any of her previous action. Lilian had visited numerous coffee shops and had naturally formed her own rating for coffee. The espresso was definitely better than any slapdash coffee sold by trendy cafe that popped up like mushroom after rain in Jefferson. It had been the first surprise of her day, but it was definitely a welcomed one. She took another sip appreciatively, allowing a hint of a smile to occupy her face as she noted a university student coming in. The surprise for her morning, however, did not stop at the coffee.

Some time after the student, a woman entered through the door of Giuseppe's Coffee. Lilian gave the woman a glance and almost spilled the cup in her right hand.

Lilian recognised the woman. That alone qualified the encounter as a surprise, but for Valerie Smith, Mrs. Liberty III to enter the same coffee shop that she chose randomly was quite a coincidence. Lilian turned her eyes away and reopened her novel again. Not to read, but to give off the impression she was while she recollect her calm.

Not five minutes later, a gust of wind blew in when a man showed up at the door. Lilian, who was in the middle of taking a sip spluttered the coffee in her mouth to the table. Media's favourite superhero, the man with the power to control velocity, the celebrity Giovanni 'Paragon' Gate just entered the desolate coffee shop.

It was ridiculous.

Lilian took out a handkerchief as she went into a series of cough. Her face showed a hint of embarrassment while her mind whirred laboriously in concern. Did she just stumble into a secret haven of the rich and powerful? The design left a lot to be desired, but the coffee was truly good. Enough to attract those with needs of privacy and good coffee to come, perhaps?

After she regained her calm and control over her expression, Lilian took another sip from her cup. This time, she couldn't help but sneak glances at the university student and the middle-aged man with newspaper. Was there any possibility of them being famous or rich as well? When she thought of it, the possibility existed.

As Lilian pondered over her own thoughts and guesses, her stare inadvertently fell right on the middle-aged man. She didn't really stare at him, yet with how she was seated and the way she stared straight forward, one might thought that she was truly looking at him.
 
Last edited:
Plasma Rex
Downtown Columbia

"So Jack hows the wife?" the driver an armored truck said to the guard of the truck sitting next to him.

"No too great man. We've... We've been arguing every day and this morning she had her suitcase packed. I thought about asking her what with the suitcase but I knew the answer already and..." the guard said as suddenly the tire of the truck blowout. The Driver did his best to keep control of the vehicle but in the end, flipped it over and crashed it into a nearby building. "Tom... Tom are you okay!?" the guard yelled to his friend as he processed what happened.

"I've been better but I'll live," the driver said holding his bleeding head. The two then dragged themselves out of the truck. Once out they behind them to see a man it pitch black armor coming up to them.

"Who are you?!" the guard said pointing his handgun at the armored figure.

"A badass," Rex said blast the gun right out of the guard's hand. "If you two don't try to be a hero it'll be alright in the end, got it?" Rex added kicking the gun away from the guard and then head to the back of the truck. There he blasted the lock off the door to the armored truck and then opened right up. "Good choice of target as usual Rexy" Rex said to himself as he looked into the back of the truck to see a large stack of cash netted down to a pallet.

Rex then jumped into the back of the truck cut the netting and started filling a large duffle bag with the cash. "I wonder how the news going to report this... I bet I'll get bigger headlines if I take out a hero as well, hahaha" Rex said excitingly laughing to himself.
 
Last edited:
Henry Pope
Jefferson
Mentions: ChazGhost ChazGhost​

As Henry continued his walk, he drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. One of the prime advantages of his abilities was the toxins within the paper tube could do nothing to harm him. His brother had always been quick to point out that his immunity to all forms of drug also meant that the nicotine did nothing to him, there was no reason he should even crave it. Henry tried his hardest to ignore his logic and wrote it of as a habitual thing. He certainly wasn't addicted, he thought to himself as he checked his pockets for a lighter. After a few tactical pats across is pockets he let out a quiet groan, he must have left it on the counter. As luck would have it he caught sight of a woman strolling towards him, also smoking.
"Excuse me miss, can I borro-" Henry started before a loud bang made him flinch from his words. With incredible seed, Henry whipped his face around, spotting an armoured truck hurtling towards the two of them. Without hesitation, Henry wrapped his arms around the woman and leapt aside, sending both of them to the ground a few feet away. Those precious few feet saved them both from the truck which flew past, struggling to remain upright before slamming into a building nearby.

With dust and the smell of burning rubber hanging heavy in the air, Henry quickly scrambled to his feet. "Are you okay?" He asked, helping the woman up.
"I think so... Thank you." She answered through shaky breaths. She took Henry's hand and climbed to her feet, the two watching as a figure in black armour began to approach the truck. Henry swore under his breath, he was in no shape for hero work right now. Caught without a disguise and with minimal crime-fighting components equipped to his arm he was going to have to think outside the box. As his mind worked a solution, he noticed the brown scarf around the woman's neck.
"Could I borrow your scarf for a moment?" he asked politely. She simple nodded and handed the garment over. Quickly shedding his jacket and gloves, Henry tied the scarf around his face, hoping the makeshift mask would hide his identity enough. The last thing he needed was his father to not only know he could walk and was neglecting his business obligations, but was fighting crime on the side.

Henry rolled up his shirt sleeves as he walked purposefully into the middle of the road, formulating a plan with each step. He pressed a small button on the shoulder of his mechanical arm and a small earpiece fell out which he quickly placed in his ear.
"Hello Master Faraday, how may I assist you?" The soft robotic voice of Caine rang in his ear.
"Call the police Caine, get them here ASAP." He whispered back, finally deciding on a course of action.
"Of course Master Faraday, would you like me to search the criminal databases for this fellow's identity?" The voice asked?
"Do your best Caine." Faraday responded, moving into position. He had lost track of the armoured man, but as he circled the crash and gained a view inside the back of the truck he quickly realised the man's intent. "You there!" He shouted, trying to get his attention. "That doesn't belong to you!"

Faraday didn't really have any offensive attachments, but he did have his grappling hook. Raising his arm, he took aim and let loose the barbed projectile, a whipping sound rang through the air, narrowly missing the figure, followed by a dull thud as it sank itself into the base of one of the pallets in the back of the truck. With a hard yank, Faraday retracted the line, launching the pallet at the figure from behind.
 

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MIRANDA EVELYN VALE
location: van buren heights -> jefferson (car wreck)
mention: n/a​



She'd been up for some time now. The fervent chirping of robins outside the open window in her bedroom had been the wake up call she hadn't asked for. Yet, the woman had no qualms with the birds. Any anger to being woken up at an ungodly hour could be placed solely on the man who stood in the center of her room, spinning in circles and yelling loudly for her to wake up. Miranda had thought she could ignore the rambling and the shouting, begging for a few more hours of sleep by squeezing her eyes shut and burrowing her head under her pillow. Yet, the man did not quit his antics, and she was forced awake.

She sat now, on the edge of her bed facing the mirror hanging above her dresser. The reflection of a young woman, with wavy brown hair and a startling set of blue eyes under prominent brows, stared back. Next to the woman in the mirror's face was that man's, with a large gash running down the center of his skull and blood dripping rather crudely and smeared unceremoniously across his cheek. Yet, no blood hit the ground or pooled on the bed spread. Miranda was thankful for that, at least. If she could not be rid of the spirit over her shoulder, at least he didn't make a god damn mess.

"If you want me to help you Victor, you have to give me something to work with. You can't just hang around," Miranda said, narrowing her eyes and fidgeting with the makeup on her face. "You've been here for days, please for the love of god, make up your mind!"

Victor was a young man, probably only a few years younger than Miranda prior to his passing. He refused to tell her what had happened, preferring to stick around and guilt the woman into listening to his moans and wails. He shrugged at her comment, brushing some of the blood from beneath his eye. "Miri--"

"Don't call me that."

"Miranda, I didn't have friends before I died. No one cared for me, and hell that's probably why I was killed. I know I should move on, and you could probably help with that, but god damn if I don't wanna feel some companionship," The spirit moaned, dipping dramatically and sighing far too loudly. There was a pause before he gasped loudly and slapped his knee, pointing at her reflection in the mirror and making eye contact. "Maybe that's what I need! Not justice, but just a friend. Is that so much to ask for?"

Miranda sighed, standing to grab her hairbrush from the dresser. She pursed her lips, refusing to look back at the spirit in the mirror. She focused instead on mindlessly pulling the hair from her brush, and darting her gaze to the bit of light peeking from her closed curtains. She looked away quickly, and then back up at Victor. "No...no, it isn't that much. But you have to go at some point Victor, okay? You stress me out." Miranda began to brush at her hair, feeling the bristles slide against her skull.

Just then there was a knock at her door, and she verbally signaled for her brother to enter. Victor lounged back on the bed, watching the door with an entertained raise of his brow.

"You heading out soon?" Matthew asked, and Miranda nodded. He narrowed his eyes for a second. "Were you just talking to someone?"

She nodded again, gesturing to the bed. "Matthew, meet Victor. Victor, Matthew." Matthew looked to where she motioned to, his gaze remaining taut. Victor sized up the man, despite being clearly invisible to his eyes.

"He giving you trouble? I'll kick his ass." Matthew smirked, and Victor scoffed, rolling his eyes. Miranda gave a laugh, shaking her head. She noticed that Matthew wasn't moving from his place in the door frame, and she took a moment to look him deep in the eyes.

"I'm fine, thank you Matthew," she raised her brow as she spoke, a telltale sibling quirk that things really were okay. The older man huffed, glaring once more at the bed before edging slightly back into the hallway. He paused, leaning back in.

"You got your sunglasses?" He asked. She grabbed the pair on the dresser, shaking them. "Cell phone charged? Mace? Work pass? First aid kit?" Miranda nodded to each and every request, scoffing a bit at the last.

"I still don't know why you insist I carry one of those mini kits. What the hell am I gonna do? Get my arm blown off?"

Matthew remained vigilant. "Yes," Miranda rolled her eyes, heading across the room to grab her purse. Matthew sighed and entered, trailing behind his sister. "I'm just worried Miri, like any big brother should be." She whirled around, matching his gaze despite an obvious height difference.

"Okay, maybe when I was seven but I'm well past twenty and only five years younger than you. I'm an adult now, and have been. I've got it, Matthew." She stormed around him, pulling her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her belongings on the dresser. She sped out of the room, Victor shaking his head and tsking at Matthew. The older man screwed up his face, contemplating all that his sister said and suddenly took off after her.

"But do you have the kit ?!"

A pause, and then a very loud sigh. "Yes, god dammit!"

*****

Her internship at the medical examiner's office was over in Jefferson, a close transit ride away. It was a great opportunity, sweet in opportunity thanks to her rigorous academic record and how in tune she was with people, especially the head examiner. Miranda didn't let anyone know that it was because she could see souls at a vague enough description to colour her judgement and help her resonate a bit stronger. Nice people were a friendly yellow, especially those of good intention and of good heart; they were almost golden. Her brother was a green and yellow painting, noble intentions and neurotic anxiety. The medical examiner she worked under was a purple and yellow, the shades of violet being the serious, logical intentions that the woman had. She was definitely someone that Miranda looked up to, and wished one day to work with.

Besides, the Jefferson Medical Examiner's Office always had bodies rolling in, it was usually quite busy. Miranda got a lot of work out of the many dead people that rolled in.

It wasn't always, or ever really, where she had to become a sleuth in order to help a spirit pass over. Most of the time they just wanted closure, or to see their loved ones again. They'd tie themselves to Miranda, and like a balloon, be carried around to their destination. She didn't mind it so much anymore, because they hardly stayed around for long. Victor, however, was a new case. He was wheeled in a few days ago and stuck to Miranda like glue. She knew little about him, only what they could dig up from his file and from his identity. His family was scheduled to come through and identify the body, but nobody had figured out his true cause of death or who was responsible. He had been murdered, that was all.

Miranda was excited by murders, for that reason. The mystery, the heroics, the feeling of reuniting someone recently deceased with a loved one and watching them move on from haunting the mortal plane. She was waiting for Virginia Smith's body, or to come into any contact with it. She wanted to find those responsible, and she was sure that the family would want to know as well.

The brunette walked down the block quickly, sunglasses pressed tightly against her face and head low. She tried to avoid as much of the daylight as possible, and right now her headache was pretty minimal. The city was loud, unusually so. Her gaze lifted to see people beginning to crowd around what looked to be a wrecked truck. There were whispers the closer she got, people struggling between curiosity of fear of their own life. She looked around, hoping that the police would show up shortly enough. But yet...

"You're thinking about if anyone is injured, aren't you?" Victor asked, leaning over her shoulder. She didn't move, biting her lip and watching. Some man in a shifty looking scarf-mask was taking on an armored man, and it would get ugly for anyone around. Not to mention the fact that the vehicle was a mess, and someone had to have been driving it....

"I wasn't, but now I am. Thanks," she muttered, digging her nails into her palm.

"I bet the drivers aren't doin' so hot. You should do something," Victor enticed, nodding as he pointed to the vehicle. Miranda shook her head.

"The police will be here soon, and the ambulance. I don't need to put myself in danger like that."

Victor clicked his tongue, pressing his hands to his waist. "You told me about how you like to save people, Miranda. How you wanna be a hero. Well, not at all heroes are punching bad guys and looking incredible in spandex. Some, well, some just help. Look, I can see the drivers from here. They aren't looking good at all." Miranda frowned, huffing loudly. Someone nearby widened their eyes, perplexity painting their face quite the image as they looked at the woman talking to herself.

"Stop it Victor! I'm considering it!"

"You should, Miranda. You've got medical experience and you're brave as hell."

"I'm not a doctor. I'm not a nurse. Someone else is better suited." She turned around, burrowing her hands in her coat. Victor ran to stop her, standing in front of the woman.

"This is your chance, to do something good. At least get those guys out of there, before they end up collateral to whatever fight is going to happen. Your idiot brother made you bring that med kit, right?" Miranda sighed, remembering indeed that it was in her purse. "Well shit, use it!"

Miranda sighed, looking back over at the vehicle. From her angle, she could see the couple of guys crawling and struggling to their feet. She bit her lip again, closing her eyes for a second and then cursing loudly. Victor clapped, smiling widely.

"This is stupid."

"You're brilliant, darling."

"This is really stupid. Matt will crucify me."

"But look, you're already running. Haha!" Victor followed right behind the woman as she ran straight for the two injured drivers.

​


She'd been up for some time now. The fervent chirping of robins outside the open window in her bedroom had been the wake up call she hadn't asked for. Yet, the woman had no qualms with the birds. Any anger to being woken up at an ungodly hour could be placed solely on the man who stood in the center of her room, spinning in circles and yelling loudly for her to wake up. Miranda had thought she could ignore the rambling and the shouting, begging for a few more hours of sleep by squeezing her eyes shut and burrowing her head under her pillow. Yet, the man did not quit his antics, and she was forced awake.

She sat now, on the edge of her bed facing the mirror hanging above her dresser. The reflection of a young woman, with wavy brown hair and a startling set of blue eyes under prominent brows, stared back. Next to the woman in the mirror's face was that man's, with a large gash running down the center of his skull and blood dripping rather crudely and smeared unceremoniously across his cheek. Yet, no blood hit the ground or pooled on the bed spread. Miranda was thankful for that, at least. If she could not be rid of the spirit over her shoulder, at least he didn't make a god damn mess.

"If you want me to help you Victor, you have to give me something to work with. You can't just hang around," Miranda said, narrowing her eyes and fidgeting with the makeup on her face. "You've been here for days, please for the love of god, make up your mind!"

Victor was a young man, probably only a few years younger than Miranda prior to his passing. He refused to tell her what had happened, preferring to stick around and guilt the woman into listening to his moans and wails. He shrugged at her comment, brushing some of the blood from beneath his eye. "Miri--"

"Don't call me that."

"Miranda, I didn't have friends before I died. No one cared for me, and hell that's probably why I was killed. I know I should move on, and you could probably help with that, but god damn if I don't wanna feel some companionship," The spirit moaned, dipping dramatically and sighing far too loudly. There was a pause before he gasped loudly and slapped his knee, pointing at her reflection in the mirror and making eye contact. "Maybe that's what I need! Not justice, but just a friend. Is that so much to ask for?"

Miranda sighed, standing to grab her hairbrush from the dresser. She pursed her lips, refusing to look back at the spirit in the mirror. She focused instead on mindlessly pulling the hair from her brush, and darting her gaze to the bit of light peeking from her closed curtains. She looked away quickly, and then back up at Victor. "No...no, it isn't that much. But you have to go at some point Victor, okay? You stress me out." Miranda began to brush at her hair, feeling the bristles slide against her skull.

Just then there was a knock at her door, and she verbally signaled for her brother to enter. Victor lounged back on the bed, watching the door with an entertained raise of his brow.

"You heading out soon?" Matthew asked, and Miranda nodded. He narrowed his eyes for a second. "Were you just talking to someone?"

She nodded again, gesturing to the bed. "Matthew, meet Victor. Victor, Matthew." Matthew looked to where she motioned to, his gaze remaining taut. Victor sized up the man, despite being clearly invisible to his eyes.

"He giving you trouble? I'll kick his ass." Matthew smirked, and Victor scoffed, rolling his eyes. Miranda gave a laugh, shaking her head. She noticed that Matthew wasn't moving from his place in the door frame, and she took a moment to look him deep in the eyes.

"I'm fine, thank you Matthew," she raised her brow as she spoke, a telltale sibling quirk that things really were okay. The older man huffed, glaring once more at the bed before edging slightly back into the hallway. He paused, leaning back in.

"You got your sunglasses?" He asked. She grabbed the pair on the dresser, shaking them. "Cell phone charged? Mace? Work pass? First aid kit?" Miranda nodded to each and every request, scoffing a bit at the last.

"I still don't know why you insist I carry one of those mini kits. What the hell am I gonna do? Get my arm blown off?"

Matthew remained vigilant. "Yes," Miranda rolled her eyes, heading across the room to grab her purse. Matthew sighed and entered, trailing behind his sister. "I'm just worried Miri, like any big brother should be." She whirled around, matching his gaze despite an obvious height difference.

"Okay, maybe when I was seven but I'm well past twenty and only five years younger than you. I'm an adult now, and have been. I've got it, Matthew." She stormed around him, pulling her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her belongings on the dresser. She sped out of the room, Victor shaking his head and tsking at Matthew. The older man screwed up his face, contemplating all that his sister said and suddenly took off after her.

"But do you have the kit ?!"

A pause, and then a very loud sigh. "Yes, god dammit!"

*****

Her internship at the medical examiner's office was over in Jefferson, a close transit ride away. It was a great opportunity, sweet in opportunity thanks to her rigorous academic record and how in tune she was with people, especially the head examiner. Miranda didn't let anyone know that it was because she could see souls at a vague enough description to colour her judgement and help her resonate a bit stronger. Nice people were a friendly yellow, especially those of good intention and of good heart; they were almost golden. Her brother was a green and yellow painting, noble intentions and neurotic anxiety. The medical examiner she worked under was a purple and yellow, the shades of violet being the serious, logical intentions that the woman had. She was definitely someone that Miranda looked up to, and wished one day to work with.

Besides, the Jefferson Medical Examiner's Office always had bodies rolling in, it was usually quite busy. Miranda got a lot of work out of the many dead people that rolled in.

It wasn't always, or ever really, where she had to become a sleuth in order to help a spirit pass over. Most of the time they just wanted closure, or to see their loved ones again. They'd tie themselves to Miranda, and like a balloon, be carried around to their destination. She didn't mind it so much anymore, because they hardly stayed around for long. Victor, however, was a new case. He was wheeled in a few days ago and stuck to Miranda like glue. She knew little about him, only what they could dig up from his file and from his identity. His family was scheduled to come through and identify the body, but nobody had figured out his true cause of death or who was responsible. He had been murdered, that was all.

Miranda was excited by murders, for that reason. The mystery, the heroics, the feeling of reuniting someone recently deceased with a loved one and watching them move on from haunting the mortal plane. She was waiting for Virginia Smith's body, or to come into any contact with it. She wanted to find those responsible, and she was sure that the family would want to know as well.

The brunette walked down the block quickly, sunglasses pressed tightly against her face and head low. She tried to avoid as much of the daylight as possible, and right now her headache was pretty minimal. The city was loud, unusually so. Her gaze lifted to see people beginning to crowd around what looked to be a wrecked truck. There were whispers the closer she got, people struggling between curiosity of fear of their own life. She looked around, hoping that the police would show up shortly enough. But yet...

"You're thinking about if anyone is injured, aren't you?" Victor asked, leaning over her shoulder. She didn't move, biting her lip and watching. Some man in a shifty looking scarf-mask was taking on an armored man, and it would get ugly for anyone around. Not to mention the fact that the vehicle was a mess, and someone had to have been driving it....

"I wasn't, but now I am. Thanks," she muttered, digging her nails into her palm.

"I bet the drivers aren't doin' so hot. You should do something," Victor enticed, nodding as he pointed to the vehicle. Miranda shook her head.

"The police will be here soon, and the ambulance. I don't need to put myself in danger like that."

Victor clicked his tongue, pressing his hands to his waist. "You told me about how you like to save people, Miranda. How you wanna be a hero. Well, not at all heroes are punching bad guys and looking incredible in spandex. Some, well, some just help. Look, I can see the drivers from here. They aren't looking good at all." Miranda frowned, huffing loudly. Someone nearby widened their eyes, perplexity painting their face quite the image as they looked at the woman talking to herself.

"Stop it Victor! I'm considering it!"

"You should, Miranda. You've got medical experience and you're brave as hell."

"I'm not a doctor. I'm not a nurse. Someone else is better suited." She turned around, burrowing her hands in her coat. Victor ran to stop her, standing in front of the woman.

"This is your chance, to do something good. At least get those guys out of there, before they end up collateral to whatever fight is going to happen. Your idiot brother made you bring that med kit, right?" Miranda sighed, remembering indeed that it was in her purse. "Well shit, use it!"

Miranda sighed, looking back over at the vehicle. From her angle, she could see the couple of guys crawling and struggling to their feet. She bit her lip again, closing her eyes for a second and then cursing loudly. Victor clapped, smiling widely.

"This is stupid."

"You're brilliant, darling."

"This is really stupid. Matt will crucify me."

"But look, you're already running. Haha!" Victor followed right behind the woman as she ran straight for the two injured drivers.
 
Last edited:
Saul Westwood
Giuseppe's Coffee, Columbia City, Downtown​

Saul licks he end of his finger and uses it to turn the page, the rustle surprisingly loud in the confines of the coffee shop. He flicks his eyes down to his watch, he's still got plenty of time. His eyes flick up to the range of other patrons, even if his normally deserted abode had suddenly become filled with students, office workers and...

His brown furrows into a frown as he looks towards the pair sitting together. Holy shit.... Paragon and Lady Liberty. Clearly Giuseppe had splurged on some sort of viral marketing campaign aimed at prominent Evo celebrities, next thing you know he was going to be ramping up his coffee prices. His frown was in danger of turning into a sneer as he tore his eyes away from the pair of them. ‘Paragon' is just a jumped up media whore living off of tabloid scandals and living the playboy lifestyle in his mansion, and so called ‘Lady Liberty', aside from a birth mutation she was no different from any other common vigilante working outside the justice system, should be leaving the job to the professionals.

He snaps back into the room as he notices the woman seemingly staring at him. He gave her a few seconds before sighing and lowering his paper slightly.

“Can I help you ma'am? If you want an autograph I’d recommend starting with the so called celebrities in the corner,”
 
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