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| Stranger than Fiction; Open | |
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| Topic Started: May 5 2011, 11:49 PM (363 Views) | |
| Toad | May 5 2011, 11:49 PM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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Time: Seven PM; early evening Date: April 29th, 2011 Open to: Anyone who would conceivably be in Sanctuary "I know you, right?" Toad asked as his coffee arrived. The girl's hair looked different, and she'd put on enough weight that she actually looked healthy since the last time he'd seen her, but he'd finally placed the face. Of course, she wouldn't recognize his, since it'd been covered in a ski mask to allow him a measure of anonymity, which he'd since forsaken; wearing that kind of cloth on your face with adhesive sweat is a mistake one makes only once, discretion be damned. His very first solo mission, an alleyway in Baltimore where, if he "made a mess" it would at least go "largely unnoticed." Humans thought they should run the lives of mutants when that was how they ran their own world, such that bodies in an alley barely raised suspicion? The very thought made him snort and smirk, probably rather rudely, given his company couldn't see inside his head to understand why he'd done so. "I don't think so, I've just started, here," she said, probably thinking he was some jerk hitting on her. "Maybe I've just got one of those faces." The outside area of the coffee shop was virtually empty, it being a little late for most to be indulging in caffeine, but the warm night was perfect for coffee and cigarettes, according to Toad. His spiky denim jacket hung off one of the empty chairs around the circular table, leaving his spindly arms bare in the tattered tank top he wore. An almost empty pack of cigarettes was on the table, his lighter atop it, and Toad crouched, rather than sat, in the chair, reaching easily to the ashtray in its centre. "No, no, from Baltimore," he made gestures around his face with bony fingers, "Had a mask over my face and all, wait, wait, I got it," Toad said, realizing his normally distinctive speaking voice wasn't familiar because, mostly, he'd been singing when he rescued her, turning "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" from a heartwarming lovesong to a terrifying threat, in context; when the remaining assailants who had been bothering the girl and her brother tried to run away, he'd informed them that there was no mountain high enough, no river wide enough, to keep him from getting to them. They hadn't made it far enough to test the theory, but there had been no fire escape high enough, no alley wide enough, so that was that. Grinning a little wider, he sang a few bars of the song. "Remember?" he asked, "How's your kid brother?" "Oh, it's you," she said with honest surprise. "I would never have guessed well, you look like, I mean, the way you sing." She stopped and handed him the cup. "Here's your coffee. Sorry." "Yeah, I sound a fair bit better than I look," Toad laughed, "You'd expect me to have a froggy voice, eh?" He let the pun pass, either she was too nervous or it just wasn't funny. Well, either it just wasn't funny or she was too nervous and it just wasn't funny, really. Regardless, he kept going, "Grew up in an orphanage, not much to do but to sing, so I guess I learned, keeping up with records and the like. Nice to have something about you that's pretty, I guess, even if you mostly only show it to terrify twats on the street." "Hey, you should sing here, I bet it'll bring more people," she said, excitedly, before giving a simple shrug, "I could use the tips, and my boss would love me for bringing in business." "Yeah, I'm probably just scaring it away, right now, eh?" He thought better of the deadpanned remark as soon as he said it, she wasn't being a bitch, no reason to give her a hard time on one of her first days. It was hard adjusting to a society that let you be a part of it, at first. He gave a quick smile to indicate that he was joking, "Hell, why not, you lot got a guitar or anything? Clap a beat?" "I'll do my best," she said, "Nobody else here to serve," she added with a smile. Toad clapped out a loose, leisurely 4/4 on his leg, which, to his surprise, the young girl was able to pick up, immediately and accurately; he remembered her power had something to do with timing, now that he thought of the briefing. Maybe that explained how he'd arrived when he had, both then and now, arriving at her location at the right moment back in Baltimore, and bringing a crowd, hopefully, when the coffee house was empty, now. This was the part of Sanctuary, the part of the Brotherhood, that Toad liked the best. Taking people out of lives like the one he'd lived before it destroyed them. Seeing the scared little girl from Baltimore smiling, working, living a normal life was what he wanted. All he wanted, really. It was too late for him to have one, even amonst most mutants, and probably had been the day he was born, but even if there'd been a chance, then, he was sure it was mostly gone, now. It didn't mean he couldn't have moments like this, forgetting that he was ugly and that he'd had to kill and being a normal nineteen-year-old, singing outside a coffee shop on a summer night. He cracked the jagged, pronounced knuckles of his hands, one joint after the other, and after a few measures from the waitress, took a sip of his coffee and opened his mouth, letting loose a vibratto-laden, powerful voice. "At the dark end of the street," came out quietly at first, slow and smooth. As he sang "Living in shadows," his voice picked up in volume and intensity, displaying a surprising range. While Toad had never been an adulterer, as the song's protagonist, he could identify with being a secret, with being told not to acknowledge what had gone on; romantically or otherwise, he was a source of shame more often than not, and so, while it might not have been exactly how it was originally intended, Toad's voice dripped with the appropriate sorrows. Truly, his voice was the most shocking thing about the former Mortimer Toynbee; after one was used to his hideous appearance, it seemed almost some perverse cosmic joke that he could create such a beautiful sound. Even as he puffed on a cigarette and poured coffee down his throat between each line, his voice never weakened or wavered. The only ragged edge to it was clearly stylized, coming in for the emphatic wail of "They're gonna find us," of the song's climax. Unsurprisingly, it seemed a they had found his us, drawn in by the song cutting the silence of mostly empty streets; as he turned to look over his shoulder, Toad realized the area wasn't so empty after all. Bloody brilliant, he hated this sort of thing. Until he saw the smile of the girl whose life he'd saved, he forgot why he'd agreed to the stupid sodding song, but quickly choked down his anger and reminded himself that Sanctuary wasn't like other places, and this wasn't like other crowds. Hopefully. |
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| Manslaughter | May 10 2011, 02:39 AM Post #2 |
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His fingers itched. Training a team of inexperienced wards had only distracted him for so long, and Roger found his hands skimming across the hidden blades on his person more often than necessary. Finding rationale to draw them into sight was becoming only easier with each passing day--one of his fumbling infant brothers breaking a blade from mishandling, the ice cream vendor skimping on his mint chocolate chip, it mattered not. The assassin's hand was stayed only by allegiance to their Lord Magneto, unable to slaughter those that peeved him unless if he could find a more just cause. A scoop and a half when two complete scoops were promised had to be reason enough on some level. Looking placid as he picked an Oreo crumb from his ice cream cone, Roger's cold eyes were concealed behind a pair of neon plastic sunglasses, shielded from the artificial sunshine. Despite the created warm atmosphere, the redhead managed to dress both appropriately and unseemly, his narrow torso encased in a colorful t-shirt that was accented by a plaid fringed scarf around his neck. It took all kinds to make this community, and he would be no more noticed than the next person, lest he find a reason to pull those blades from their encasings. These wanderings of this underwater city kept him tame, striving to know it end to end if he could manage. This particular street was one Roger had crossed but had never traveled down, and it was his new discovery for the day. As he drew closer to what appeared to be a coffee shop, he found a familiar face beneath the awning. Roger was not very close to the amphibious Toad, but he did at least make an effort to know the individuals that were in the ranks. He had not been aware of the fact that this comrade could sing, and his appearance would suggest that he did not. Nonetheless, Roger approached, tilting his head slightly as his curiosity peaked as to why Toad would engage in a impromptu performance. "Brother," Roger greeted quietly as he stepped into the shade, paying no mind to Mortimer's female companion or the growing crowd. He drew no attention to himself, nor did he even look in his green-skinned comrade's direction, his free hand tangling itself in the fringe of his neck scarf. "Did not know you could sing," he added, as if an afterthought. |
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| Fracture | May 11 2011, 03:58 AM Post #3 |
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Sanctuary. The one place that Lucian could say that he helped create. As he strolled through the streets taking in the different sights and sounds of those citizens around him, he appreciated the place more and more. It was a marvel or modern science and 'human ingenuity.' The minds that created and built Sanctuary were ones of brilliance very few humans had the minds that the mutants that created this utopia had. Fracture smiled as he headed to one of his favourite coffee shops for his weekly coffee. He wasn't a man to drink coffee much made him edgy but every now and then he enjoyed a cup. Wearing his usual black trench-coat over a nice collared shirt and a pair of black jeans with black shoes, Lucian walked with a smile on his face. For the age that he was he had seen much in his life but it always warmed his heart to see mutants living peacefully and in harmony with each others. Running a hand along his neck tattoo, he felt the places where the ink had risen on his skin. 'Deeds, not actions' that is what the latin translated to that and Lucian found it very fitting to his philosophy. Sticking his hands in his pockets he turned the corner and drew closer to the coffee shop. As he drew nearer he got the sound of singing and music coming from the cafe as well as a large crowd. Leaning against the wide of a wall, Fracture listened and let his eyes scan the crowd. He immediately caught sight of Toad, the one who was singing and Manslaughter off to the side a cold look on his face. The assassin always seemed to have a cold look on his face and Lucian figured that it was due in part to his job. Once the song had finished he clapped softly not saying anything but acknowledging Toad and his skills. |
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| Mystique | May 13 2011, 07:50 PM Post #4 |
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Irony was something never lost on her. Here in this city, like something out of Verne or Wells, she lived under a dome, a free nation where one technological marvel after another powering or supporting this autonomous community that had little need for the rest of the world, or at least such would ultimately be the case. Her people were here, so much as she deigned to call them her people. Raven Darkhölme not only sympathized with mutantkind, but indeed she entertained deep-seated beliefs in the superiority of her kind over the race of man who, in her long years, had done nothing but wrong her whenever she saw fit to reveal her blue skin. And so, back to the irony. Here, where she was welcome with no reservation (at least outward reservation, though she had no doubt she was trusted as little as she trusted others) as to what she was nor as to to what she looked like, she still saw necessity in hiding her relaxed state from the prying eyes of the general population. Anonymity and subterfuge, stealth and guile, all were important tools in any arsenal, and doubly so in her own. Those who knew the Brotherhood was the power behind Absolom's throne, those who knew The Brotherhood itself, likely entertained no doubts that Mystique was in Sanctuary, living and working inside their domed city in some capacity or another, but she rarely went out of doors without putting up some disposable facade, the metamorph choosing to hold true to her assumed name of Mystique, keeping any curious members of the peasantry guessing when the blue skinned mutant would appear. She had been tracking someone that night, not that it had been difficult. A man, his name as yet unimportant, had been entertaining the company of dissenters, of those who would speak out against Sanctuary's benefactors. A month or so ago, they'd been flagged by the Psychic arm of the city's security. Magneto had ordered no action be taken, not yet, that if it was a threat, there would be more. And so he had, as usual, proven to be correct, assigning a small task force to track their actions, as well as sending her into their ranks to keep a more tangible eye on them. And so she sat there with him and his, secret traitors to their cause. Smiling was hurting her cheeks, the metamorph forced to laugh at his crippled wit and lame humor as they discussed treachery as if it were the weather. Her form was that of Norris, one of her marks most trusted friends. Nevermind what had happened to the real man, as he'd long been sent to where he'd most likely never see th light of day again, simulated or otherwise. Norris had been smallish, but muscular. an annoying goatee sitting on his face. His hair, blonde and cropped at a medium length, sat spiked not-to-outlandishly on top of his head. His clothing was tasteful but casual, his elbows leaned forward on the table, hands up and knitted together while he listened. Ice blue eyes, not Mystique's normal color, scanned the faces of the mark and his friends as he told some joke that she knew wouldn't be funny. She didn't pay attention however, her attention focused briefly elsewhere on the front patio of the Café, where Toad, who had arrived earlier, just a bit after they had, broke out into song. She had to give the little green imp credit. He was poetic when he wanted to be, and despite his own self-imposed shyness and deprecation, she felt that, with the right coaching, he could be quite-the rabble rouser, quite the inspiration to the meek and downtrodden. She wouldn't give him that coaching, of course; for one she couldn't give a damn, and for another, he was a big boy, he could make his own decisions, and if he couldn't, well then he wasn't worth his salt. A little ways into his tune, she spied another familiar face walking towards the patio as she looked back to fake another smile at her treacherous company. Loomis. She smiled again, this time genuine. It seemed a gathering was afoot, albeit an impromptu one of an unlikely sort. She did want to join them, but to do so right now could possibly compromise her cover. A few situations ran through her head. The old dodge-and-switch, of course. She could feign needing to use the restroom, slipping off and changing shape, but that would only grant her so much time. She could leave and return, of course, but that too would perhaps arouse too much suspicion, and there was no guarantee the little tribe would still be here when she returned. In the end, she copped it up, hinting over to the two comrades, Roger and Toad, silently noting that another had joined; Fracture, the aged but quiet member with whom she'd had very little experience in dealing. Nodding her head in their direction, she looked to her own little group. "Those lot over there." she spoke in a faux accent, some amalgam of English tones. "They're B.H. big timers, eh? I figure we might want to be getting out'a here and fast." The other considered her suggestion, eying Roger, Mort, and Luc, before their leader looked back to his own assembled crew. "Yes, they may be watching us. We'll all leave separately." She smirked. 'Perfect...' "Everyone check in with me when you get home, in case they're following us." Mystique, never breaking character, nevertheless had to hold in a laugh. She watched them each get up, first the leader, then his woman-friend, and then the third. She stood up, making sure to round the corner of the building, peeking out to make sure they had all left the area before ducking back. Her form shifted, from the physique of Norris to that of a woman, one closer to her natural size, Norris mottled skin fading to a perfectly even tan. Blonde, spikey hair fell down, lengthening to just above the base of her neck, the color bleeding away to raven locks as her eyes took on a hazel hue. Within a count of five Norris had ceased to exist, at least in the here and now, replaced by some dark European beauty named Raven. She took a few sauntering steps towards the assembled members of the Brotherhood. "My, my my, Toad. We have to stop meeting in bars and cafes." She grinned, her eyes flashing back to yellow briefly to clue anyone here in that may not be 'in the know.' "What, pray tell, brought the three of you here?" |
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| Toad | Jun 7 2011, 08:45 PM Post #5 |
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"Brother," Toad responded in kind. Manslaughter kind of weirded him out, being too serious, too quick to draw his blades at his own kind. Something about his viciousness was different, born from different passions (even dispassions) than the viciousness Toad saw and respected in so many of his other brothers, the kind he, himself, emulated. Still, compliments were compliments and brothers were brothers. "I usually don't, 'swhy; I'm sure you know a benefit or two of not drawing attention to yourself," Toad gave a sardonic grim at the understatement, "Although there's some to drawing attention, sometimes," he added. Speaking of which, Fracture, a longtime brother who was partly responsible for Sanctuary itself, stood nearby, clapping with tight lips. Probably wouldn't hurt his standing around Sanctuary, which would help his career in the brotherhood. He had to prove himself not in power but in politics, in prettyfacing, connections, and catch-phrases. He could handle himself in groups, he could handle himself solo, he was obendient, he was creative, but he didn't make a good product, a Spitfire to sell to Sanctuary, beautiful blond with connections to powerful people, a face they've seen before and want to see again. The kind Toad didn't have. He wasn't bitter; Jac was one of the best Brothers a bloke could ask for, it was just that she, with her recent promotion, stood prime amongst the examples of traits he inherently lacked towards advancing within the Brotherhood; specifically the trait of being able to convince anyone, even himself, that he had that traits an acolyte needed, whether or not he did have them. Having a voice was something, maybe, a sign of the humanity Sanctuary had supposedly rejected with which to identify; even the proudest mutants hadn't necessarily changed their aesthetics to match their politics, and the less baseline human you looked, better chance you were getting at least a few looks. Mystique wasn't often seen in her blue body in Sanctuary, but Toad lacked the luxury of change that she had to hide herself. Well, if you can't hide, might as well not try; Toad gave a grin and a nod to Lucian, tipping an invisible hat which wasn't really there in a pantomime of thanks. Speak of the devil, and he shall turn out to have been in the crowd all along, and actually be a she, and remind you of the last time you saw him; Mystique peeled off from the crowd, turning quickly into a woman more close in appearance to her "true" form and flashing her eyes briefly to their native yellow. He hadn't seen her, that he knew of, since the bar in New York, which ended without fights and with a few converts, in-and-out, on the down-low. They'd made a pretty good team, he supposed, though he was as uncomfortable with the pose-as-a-couple cover as he could only assume she must have been. Even through the liquor, Toad had remained consummately professional, and Mystique had kept her cool, as he was certain she had kept her cool and character when she saw him, here, telling him they'd have to stop running into one another in places like this. "I'll bet you say that to all the revolting lizard-boys, don't you?" Toad deadpanned to the very same shapeshifter who'd been on his mind only seconds ago. As was typical, she was in another's form, not that it was something Toad judged her for, only envied her. Even if it was under orders, just to tail or spy, sometimes it would be nice to go unseen; it's why Toad had studied quiet along with his acrobatics, so he could go by unnoticed, if it was dark and he had enough clothes to bundle about his bent and bony body. "I just popped out for a bit of coffee and a few oilies when I ran into this bird. Her name's Mathilda, met her on a mission in Baltimore." "He saved my life," Mathilda explained, "Some humans were going to kill me and my brother, her scared them off, singing." "Flattering way to put it, luv," Toad, still deadpan. "Not with his voice, I mean, he sang that he was going to find them and there was nowhere to run. I remembered he had a good voice, I hoped him singing might bring a few customers." "If I sang something what didn't threaten to kill them, that is," Toad grinned. "Strange that I went to all the trouble of telling them running wasn't going to do a bit of good and they tried to run, just the same," Toad put on a fake, though credible, face of being honestly offended upon having thought about it from this angle. "Rude wankers weren't even bloody listening." He turned back to Mystique, leaving a wry smile to indicate he'd been joking a moment ago, "What brings you by if it ain't just my lovely voice, old friend? Or is it something personal?" Toad left the question ambiguously phrased, in case whoever she was tailing was still around, so she could answer it like a casual inquiry or as the actual question he was asking. "I'll leave you guys to talking, now that I actually have a few customers to serve," Mathilda said with a friendly, if star-struck, smile, wandering off to other tables. "She's got perfect timing," Toad noted, "Like, I ain't just being nice or nothing, I mean, that's her power. Above my head how exactly it works, but it seems to me there's better uses for it than as a hyper-tactful barista. I check up on all the ones what I've brought back, see if I think they've got something we could use. Every little bit helps and all, long as they're ready." One more in the Brotherhood was one more step away from being alone against the world, one more grain of sand towards crushing the oppressors. At least one more mutant who wouldn't have to live another day of growing up the way Toad had. |
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2:10 PM Jul 11