Setting
Default Location for The Alternates #1: Define Good
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Gigaverse is a part of 
The Alternates #1: Define Good.
2 Places in Gigaverse:
5 Characters Here
Drake Herminski [6] Solar Energy based powers do not make me a hippie. Stop calling me a hippie, you blithering idiot.
Delphinium Razportia [6] Where I come from, there are no heroes.
Sia Ryans [5]
Nathan Fenris [4] "Shut yer cakehole, unless you want to experience life Mc Escher style."
Jack Jackson [4] You got solar powers? Bahahahaha, ya fuckin' hippie!
Start Character Here »
Setting
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"This is a pre-recorded message set to play at a specific point in time…" Rang the robotic voice. It was then followed by a more human voice. A softer, youthful voice which belonged to a Mr. Drake Herminski, the young solar-powered super genius who was currently traveling at approximately 768 miles per hour towards the chosen meeting place, which was essentially just an abandoned gas station out within the mojave desert. He began the transmission to the others by relaying an image of the supposed meeting place, as well as the coordinates. The others were well within California, and he had apparently been assured each would arrange to get there somehow unless something came up.
"Hello, folks. Drake again." was the greeting he'd left on the message. "It's just about time for us to meet up in the desert. I know, weird place to set up shop, but I promise we'll fly into Los Angeles or something to go look for trouble, if it doesn't already find us. I just want you all to know it's time to form up, and just have a get-together to discuss if any of us are doing anything major, need any help, that sort of thing. Everything else will be spoked of in person, and off the comm. Keep the waves clear of anything important, and maybe we'll be able to have our cool secret club without too many problems, aside from the fact we're liable to get ourselves killed against some omega level 'post-human' mutation or something…Drake out."
-
Drake made a calm landing a short distance away from the abandoned station, spending the rest of the way walking. Everything seemed to be clear, lacking much life besides himself, and some small lizards and such after the first mile. The station itself was rather decent for a place abandoned, having lost its previous owners a mere three years ago. Coincidentally it had previously withstood the test of time, having been around since somewhere within the earlier 1960's, possessing a diner for travelers to grab some decent eats. But now, the cushy red seats were open for any and all to take refuge on. The walls were a simple beige, and still held a couple of old portraits. It was as if it were a building out of a ghost town.
Drake began to consider another similar place that could suffer the same fate if not properly cared for...
"Hello, folks. Drake again." was the greeting he'd left on the message. "It's just about time for us to meet up in the desert. I know, weird place to set up shop, but I promise we'll fly into Los Angeles or something to go look for trouble, if it doesn't already find us. I just want you all to know it's time to form up, and just have a get-together to discuss if any of us are doing anything major, need any help, that sort of thing. Everything else will be spoked of in person, and off the comm. Keep the waves clear of anything important, and maybe we'll be able to have our cool secret club without too many problems, aside from the fact we're liable to get ourselves killed against some omega level 'post-human' mutation or something…Drake out."
-
Drake made a calm landing a short distance away from the abandoned station, spending the rest of the way walking. Everything seemed to be clear, lacking much life besides himself, and some small lizards and such after the first mile. The station itself was rather decent for a place abandoned, having lost its previous owners a mere three years ago. Coincidentally it had previously withstood the test of time, having been around since somewhere within the earlier 1960's, possessing a diner for travelers to grab some decent eats. But now, the cushy red seats were open for any and all to take refuge on. The walls were a simple beige, and still held a couple of old portraits. It was as if it were a building out of a ghost town.
Drake began to consider another similar place that could suffer the same fate if not properly cared for...
"What's your fucking problem? You just hit a blind girl, you tool!" Del can hear someone shouting at the government official who had just pushed her to the ground, the fall slightly cushioned by a few people stepping out to try and catch her. She can feel slight scratches on her palms from where her hands hit the concrete below them, though, and quickly wipes her hands so that her blood, a completely clear substance resembling some thick variation of water, will go unnoticed. Indeed, the shouter is correct in calling her blind, for Kole Caltarions lack the sense of sight, this being part of the reason they were treated as second class citizens, other than being the minority. Of course, those who consider themselves to be the highest class of Caltar, the Rashna people, have the smallest population on the planet, and so perhaps the amount of Koles is not the only reason for their persecution back on Del's home planet. One thing that the shouter is unaware of, however, is that, in some ways, Del can see perfectly fine- just not with her eyes. As long as something holds some sort of energy signature, as long as it is living, she can sense and locate its presence using a sixth sense of hers- a benefit to being a Kole, perhaps. A compensation prize. Fine- don't want to play nice? she thinks, anger coursing through her veins. Of course, she had come to this place already feeling some frustration -Why else would she be protesting here?- but the use of violence on the part of the man (or so his voice appears to be) before her increases that anger. She isn't exactly the most forgiving of people, after all, certainly no saint though she is on a constant fight for the rights of all. After all, her home planet had no saints or heroes, so there was no one for her to be taught from.
Del rises to be standing, and rolls her shoulders back. Now standing in front of the person, she can tell that they are larger than her, but then the Caltarian race is not known for a great height. They are not particularly tiny, but rarely grow past 1.6256m, by Human measurements. Del, for her race, is on the taller end, standing at approximately 1.6m, even. Still, that leaves her a head or so shorter than the person before her. Despite that, she doesn't hesitate to curl her hand into a fist and swing it against his face. A sickening crack alerts her of the impact, as does the feeling of his nose breaking beneath her fist. A thud tells her that he has fallen down, as does the sudden cheering of the people around her. The young woman does not try to suppress her smirk of satisfaction. Her moment of joy is interrupted, however, by a buzzing in her pocket, coming from the communicator used only for The Alternatives. She begins to push her way through the crowd, and probably steps on several people's feet on the way through. When she is out of the mass of people, the young woman begins to find a place with no traces of living energy, only to bump straight into a wall, leaving some red pain on her forehead. "F'asdne," she mutters the Caltarian swear word, rubbing her head as the voice begins to speak, that of the brainiac of the group, one Drake Herminski. On her particular recording, the coordinates is read out and the energy radiation of the place explained, though she knows just to look for Drake's energy. His is powerful enough that she should be able to read it fairly well, though she will place the coordinates in her vehicle just in case. One thing that she smuggled on board when she and her parents immigrated to this planet was her precious bio-bike, something she had stolen from a research lab back on Caltar. It reacted to her biology and was able to shift into either a bike or a car, or a one-person plane, as well as go to the coordinates given- making transportation a lot easier on the blind extra-terrestrial young woman.
Lele, come, she instructs, using the telepathic link which she shares only with the bike. She is able to see into the minds of others in order to control them, but any communication with the minds of others would instantly become influence, as that is the nature of her mental abilities, and so she avoids using them unless she can remain completely neutral in her message- a very rare thing indeed. The bike seems to come out of nowhere, and she can sense it when it arrives, for it has some degree of life in it. Knowing that she is a good hour's drive away from the Mojave desert at the moment, she instructs 'Lele' to change into a plane, once they have left the city. The plane is small, and could only fit one person, unless the other was very small and basically sat on top of Del. Still, its sleekness is ideal for quick and stealthy mobility, and she is very fond of her little thing. Otherwise, she'd have to find some sort of public transport to take her, or make the stupid decision of attempting to drive there herself, despite being blind. She may be able to read energy and such, but that doesn't mean she isn't as useless at driving as any other blind person.
The plane moves quickly, and they arrive in a fraction of the time that would have been required had she taken it in driving form. In ten or so minutes, give or take, the plane lands in the parking lot of the gas station, and Del trustingly gets out. Perhaps it is possible that someone of great knowledge in alien technology could mess with her precious biobike and cause it to lead her incorrectly, but she doubts it. That bike is one thing in which she has complete confidence. Besides, it helps that she can read the familiar energy signature, one which is far too powerful for a human and reminiscent of a star (namely a sun). She is not surprised that Drake is already here- he's the one who chose the location, after all.
Sia flipped through the pages of her book. The words were all strange and hazy. She'd given the book to a librarian to see if they could translate the language, but he hadn't been able to translate it. Instead he'd tried to keep the book. Sia was pretty sure she'd killed him. She'd let him have it for an entire week and... well, so long without the book made her mind grow a little...noisier. She'd actually killed someone with her Inner Vibration attack... She wasn't about to mention it to the others, though.
Her head ached, like it always did when Drake sent some stupid message to her. "It's just about time for us to meet up in the desert. I know, weird place to set up shop, but I promise..." She sighed, tuning him out. So they were meeting up in the desert, like they'd promised to do. She understood. She was pretty far away from the desert, though.
Sighing, she stood up, dusting rubble from her cloak. The remains of the library were sinking into the shadows at her feet. The books and shelves were like crags sinking into a black ocean and as Sia gazed at the ground, she wondered what people would think when they came to the library and realized that it was all gone. She'd heard screaming as she was destroying the building, but she'd barely given any living thing inside the building a chance to escape, having used her Splintered Sound spell and following it with a Sonic Boom spell. The library had crumbled so easily... She didn't even remember doing it. Now that her head wasn't screaming at her and was no longer splintered into hundreds of shouting voices, she could admit that maybe destroying the library was too much. Maybe.
Her head wasn't all in one place yet. Other voices were still chattering, mostly nonsense, mostly pleading for blood to be shed, mostly asking her why she wasn't terrorizing other places. She didn't listen to them, just asked repeatedly if there was some way they could teleport her somewhere else. The voices in her head weren't her own voices and though she didn't know who they were, she knew that the voices came from the book. Perhaps they were previous owners of the book? Or maybe one was Nyarlathotep itself? It didn't matter, as long as she could get something useful from them.
She asked for about fifteen minutes before the voices began responding. Words from the book kept flashing in her head, mostly unclear and hazy, until finally she was able to clearly see one:
She whispered it and felt the familiar rush of magic surge through her. The voices in her head were dying down, quieting. Whenever she used magic that's what happened to them, so she wasn't surprised. It was a weird kind of paranoia, where the voices in her head would scream that she needed to use the book, but she couldn't use any spells but Noise ones when she wasn't holding the book. Noise spells just amplified the voices when she wasn't holding the book. Any other spell quelled them. So in a blissfully quiet state, she found herself at the abandoned gas station.
She tried to recall the word that had gotten her there, but her mind kept drawing a blank. There was a slight buzz of noise in the back of her mind, like the other voices hadn't shut up yet, but she ignored it. Instead, she wandered around until she saw Delphinium. Sighing, Sia kicked a pebble and started towards the alien woman. If luck would have it, Delphinium wouldn't bug her with her normal ethical bull. But Sia knew better than to believe in luck. Odds were if someone was going to bug her about the fact that she'd killed a librarian and possibly some library patrons as well as destroy a library, it would be Delphinium. But she couldn't hide from the alien female-- the girl could sense people around her, after all. Sia couldn't see Drake yet... but chances were he was just out of Sia's sight.
Just a few more people... and we're together again, Sia thought, wryly.
Her head ached, like it always did when Drake sent some stupid message to her. "It's just about time for us to meet up in the desert. I know, weird place to set up shop, but I promise..." She sighed, tuning him out. So they were meeting up in the desert, like they'd promised to do. She understood. She was pretty far away from the desert, though.
Sighing, she stood up, dusting rubble from her cloak. The remains of the library were sinking into the shadows at her feet. The books and shelves were like crags sinking into a black ocean and as Sia gazed at the ground, she wondered what people would think when they came to the library and realized that it was all gone. She'd heard screaming as she was destroying the building, but she'd barely given any living thing inside the building a chance to escape, having used her Splintered Sound spell and following it with a Sonic Boom spell. The library had crumbled so easily... She didn't even remember doing it. Now that her head wasn't screaming at her and was no longer splintered into hundreds of shouting voices, she could admit that maybe destroying the library was too much. Maybe.
Her head wasn't all in one place yet. Other voices were still chattering, mostly nonsense, mostly pleading for blood to be shed, mostly asking her why she wasn't terrorizing other places. She didn't listen to them, just asked repeatedly if there was some way they could teleport her somewhere else. The voices in her head weren't her own voices and though she didn't know who they were, she knew that the voices came from the book. Perhaps they were previous owners of the book? Or maybe one was Nyarlathotep itself? It didn't matter, as long as she could get something useful from them.
She asked for about fifteen minutes before the voices began responding. Words from the book kept flashing in her head, mostly unclear and hazy, until finally she was able to clearly see one:
She whispered it and felt the familiar rush of magic surge through her. The voices in her head were dying down, quieting. Whenever she used magic that's what happened to them, so she wasn't surprised. It was a weird kind of paranoia, where the voices in her head would scream that she needed to use the book, but she couldn't use any spells but Noise ones when she wasn't holding the book. Noise spells just amplified the voices when she wasn't holding the book. Any other spell quelled them. So in a blissfully quiet state, she found herself at the abandoned gas station.
She tried to recall the word that had gotten her there, but her mind kept drawing a blank. There was a slight buzz of noise in the back of her mind, like the other voices hadn't shut up yet, but she ignored it. Instead, she wandered around until she saw Delphinium. Sighing, Sia kicked a pebble and started towards the alien woman. If luck would have it, Delphinium wouldn't bug her with her normal ethical bull. But Sia knew better than to believe in luck. Odds were if someone was going to bug her about the fact that she'd killed a librarian and possibly some library patrons as well as destroy a library, it would be Delphinium. But she couldn't hide from the alien female-- the girl could sense people around her, after all. Sia couldn't see Drake yet... but chances were he was just out of Sia's sight.
Just a few more people... and we're together again, Sia thought, wryly.
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"FUCK. FUCKING FUCKING FUCK. MOTHERFUCKING FUCKING FUCK."
Jack Jackson viciously lobbed the wrench clutched in one large, sweat-slick hand to the desert ground with all his might, and the ineffectual tool burrowed its way into the dirt, buried itself several feet under the surface. Which, curiously enough, didn't do jack fuckin' shit to help Jack with the quandary before him, and only infuriated him all the more.
"It's fuckin' days like this," he growled through his teeth as he stalked around the muscle car that sat rather uselessly in the middle of the Mojave Desert. "Motherfuckin' days like this that remind me why absolutely everything fucking sucks. Because everything is a useless goddamn piece of shit that breaks down halfway where I need to be." And, in his rage, he slammed the hood of the old Camaro down for something like the fifth time, evidently under the impression that if he slammed the hood enough times, the engine would finally get the fuckin' picture and quit dickin' around and actually fuckin' work, which was probably not gonna happen seein' as the issue lay not in the engine but in the flat rear tire. One could have presumed Jack had either, in his utterly unmatched skills of perception, failed to notice the thing, or he had but, with no clue as to the mysterious art of changing a car tire, he had resorted to seeing if maybe the tire would inflate again or something if he yelled enough cuss words at the car.
This tactic, mysteriously enough, did not seem to be working.
"Hello folks, it's Drake again-- just about time for us to meet up in the desert--"
"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT." Jack all but lost it at this latest of irritations, and he roared to the heavens as though any hypothetical gods, goddesses, and assorted other mythical forces in the sky would hear his torment, take pity upon a poor mass murderer turned sorta-hero, and make all the shit that was fucked up in this world and in his head right again. "I HEARD YOU THE FIRST FUCKING TIME, YOU PATHETIC FUCKSPIKE. FUCK. THE FUCK. OFF." Alas, this alone was not sufficient to dispel the brewing fury the repeated message had stirred in him, and, just because he had nothing better to do and because it seemed like something that oughta be done, Jack stooped down, lifted the car with both hands, and with a grunt of exertion, launched it clean into the air. The vehicle sailed gloriously across the deep blue sky, like a bird freed at last of its cage, experiencing for the first time the joys of flight unfettered and uninhibited, spreading its wings across the beauteous desert sky, just before it met an unceremonious end in the form of the Earth.
For a few seconds, Jack simply stood there, stared at the battered, ruined remnants of the Camaro, lying smoldering and smoking not far down the way, with his mouth hanging slightly open, wondering why the universe hated him.
"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO," he howled in renewed angst and despair as he tore the communication device from the pocket of his tattered jeans, prepared to stomp the stupid fucking thing into a goddamn powder. "PERFECTLY GOOD RIDE, WASTED, 'CAUSE YOU HAD TO GO AND FUCKIN' TELL ME SHIT I ALREADY HEARD THE FI--the... first... time?" His aimless bellowing slowly died away as he looked down at the screen of the communicator and realised that the last received message had indeed been about an hour ago, the first time he'd heard it. Which meant the voice he'd heard...
"...oh." Jack sighed, and then began to chuckle maniacally as he shoved the communicator back into his pocket. "Oh, I see what you did there. Thought you'd pull one over on 'ol Jack Jackson, eh? YOU TOY WITH FORCES BEYOND YOUR RECKONING, SIMPLETONS," he suddenly bellowed, wheeling around and pointing a finger out into the horizon as if his tormentor stood just before him. Man, fuck deserts. Nothin' 'round here for Jack to direct his rage at. Nothin' to beat the shit outta. 'least out in the city, you got pissed off, you could just grab some random fucker, haul off, slug 'em right in their ugly-ass fuckin' mugs. He was tryin' t'cut down on that-- for some reason, people tended to get awfully cranky when he used them as his personal stress relief.
Still, this would all'a been a hell of a lot easier if he had something here to punch. Weren't nothin' 'round these parts but dirt and cactuses, and he'd learnt pretty damn quick that punching a cactus just wasn't worth the trouble anyway.
"Fuck it," he decided firmly. "Enough dickin' round. I got places to be." And, casting one last wistful glance to the smoking wreckage of the Camaro (may its soul rest in peace in the heaven reserved for the most faithful of muscle cars), he turned around, and began to sprint in the direction he'd been driving in, muttering to himself about the horrible tragedy that was life, when a perfectly good, generous, kindly, law-abiding citizen such as himself was deprived of his ride.
Meh. Fuck it. Damn thing hadn't actually been his to begin with. Hell, Jack had just about decided it really didn't matter until he realised he'd had his only copy of Devourment's Molesting The Decapitated in that car, and a furious call of "SON OF A BITCH" echoed through the empty, arid landscape of the desert as the lone figure sprinted across its expanse, towards a dingy little gas station stuck somewhere in the middle of the Mojave.
"Fuck everything."
Thusly did Jack greet his fellow Alternates as he trudged into the gas station, scowling like somebody'd just drop-kicked his puppy out a window or somethin'.
Looked like he was late to the party, which was... well, just about par for the course. Looked like Sia was here, and Delphinium (with that dumb fuckin' name of hers that sounded like dolphin or some shit), and, of course, Drake Herminski, the fuckin' hippy nerd with the solar powers. What a motley fuckin' bunch, he grumbled silently to himself, glaring from one to the other. Half of 'em were staunch do-gooders-- especially Dolphiniwhatever over there, with all her protests and her rights and her animal cruelty or whatever the latest injustice was that she'd chosen to get all prickly about, like it made a goddamn difference. And the other half-- Sia, of course, and yours truly-- now they knew what was up. None'a this dumb heroism do-gooder bullshit. Knew it didn't mean nothin' in the end.
Didn't stop Jack from thinkin' Sia was a jackass, though. Then again, what ever did? Heck, he didn't trust a single one of 'em farther'n he could throw 'em... which, on second thought, was not a particularly apt analogy.
Speakin'a jackasses, it was right about then Jack realised only four of their five were present, and he groaned in irritation. "For fuck sake, we gonna have to wait for that asshole Fenris?" And then he added, in a low mutter, "Cocky little fucker. With his dumb fuckin' hat 'n shit."
Jack Jackson viciously lobbed the wrench clutched in one large, sweat-slick hand to the desert ground with all his might, and the ineffectual tool burrowed its way into the dirt, buried itself several feet under the surface. Which, curiously enough, didn't do jack fuckin' shit to help Jack with the quandary before him, and only infuriated him all the more.
"It's fuckin' days like this," he growled through his teeth as he stalked around the muscle car that sat rather uselessly in the middle of the Mojave Desert. "Motherfuckin' days like this that remind me why absolutely everything fucking sucks. Because everything is a useless goddamn piece of shit that breaks down halfway where I need to be." And, in his rage, he slammed the hood of the old Camaro down for something like the fifth time, evidently under the impression that if he slammed the hood enough times, the engine would finally get the fuckin' picture and quit dickin' around and actually fuckin' work, which was probably not gonna happen seein' as the issue lay not in the engine but in the flat rear tire. One could have presumed Jack had either, in his utterly unmatched skills of perception, failed to notice the thing, or he had but, with no clue as to the mysterious art of changing a car tire, he had resorted to seeing if maybe the tire would inflate again or something if he yelled enough cuss words at the car.
This tactic, mysteriously enough, did not seem to be working.
"Hello folks, it's Drake again-- just about time for us to meet up in the desert--"
"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT." Jack all but lost it at this latest of irritations, and he roared to the heavens as though any hypothetical gods, goddesses, and assorted other mythical forces in the sky would hear his torment, take pity upon a poor mass murderer turned sorta-hero, and make all the shit that was fucked up in this world and in his head right again. "I HEARD YOU THE FIRST FUCKING TIME, YOU PATHETIC FUCKSPIKE. FUCK. THE FUCK. OFF." Alas, this alone was not sufficient to dispel the brewing fury the repeated message had stirred in him, and, just because he had nothing better to do and because it seemed like something that oughta be done, Jack stooped down, lifted the car with both hands, and with a grunt of exertion, launched it clean into the air. The vehicle sailed gloriously across the deep blue sky, like a bird freed at last of its cage, experiencing for the first time the joys of flight unfettered and uninhibited, spreading its wings across the beauteous desert sky, just before it met an unceremonious end in the form of the Earth.
For a few seconds, Jack simply stood there, stared at the battered, ruined remnants of the Camaro, lying smoldering and smoking not far down the way, with his mouth hanging slightly open, wondering why the universe hated him.
"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO," he howled in renewed angst and despair as he tore the communication device from the pocket of his tattered jeans, prepared to stomp the stupid fucking thing into a goddamn powder. "PERFECTLY GOOD RIDE, WASTED, 'CAUSE YOU HAD TO GO AND FUCKIN' TELL ME SHIT I ALREADY HEARD THE FI--the... first... time?" His aimless bellowing slowly died away as he looked down at the screen of the communicator and realised that the last received message had indeed been about an hour ago, the first time he'd heard it. Which meant the voice he'd heard...
"...oh." Jack sighed, and then began to chuckle maniacally as he shoved the communicator back into his pocket. "Oh, I see what you did there. Thought you'd pull one over on 'ol Jack Jackson, eh? YOU TOY WITH FORCES BEYOND YOUR RECKONING, SIMPLETONS," he suddenly bellowed, wheeling around and pointing a finger out into the horizon as if his tormentor stood just before him. Man, fuck deserts. Nothin' 'round here for Jack to direct his rage at. Nothin' to beat the shit outta. 'least out in the city, you got pissed off, you could just grab some random fucker, haul off, slug 'em right in their ugly-ass fuckin' mugs. He was tryin' t'cut down on that-- for some reason, people tended to get awfully cranky when he used them as his personal stress relief.
Still, this would all'a been a hell of a lot easier if he had something here to punch. Weren't nothin' 'round these parts but dirt and cactuses, and he'd learnt pretty damn quick that punching a cactus just wasn't worth the trouble anyway.
"Fuck it," he decided firmly. "Enough dickin' round. I got places to be." And, casting one last wistful glance to the smoking wreckage of the Camaro (may its soul rest in peace in the heaven reserved for the most faithful of muscle cars), he turned around, and began to sprint in the direction he'd been driving in, muttering to himself about the horrible tragedy that was life, when a perfectly good, generous, kindly, law-abiding citizen such as himself was deprived of his ride.
Meh. Fuck it. Damn thing hadn't actually been his to begin with. Hell, Jack had just about decided it really didn't matter until he realised he'd had his only copy of Devourment's Molesting The Decapitated in that car, and a furious call of "SON OF A BITCH" echoed through the empty, arid landscape of the desert as the lone figure sprinted across its expanse, towards a dingy little gas station stuck somewhere in the middle of the Mojave.
"Fuck everything."
Thusly did Jack greet his fellow Alternates as he trudged into the gas station, scowling like somebody'd just drop-kicked his puppy out a window or somethin'.
Looked like he was late to the party, which was... well, just about par for the course. Looked like Sia was here, and Delphinium (with that dumb fuckin' name of hers that sounded like dolphin or some shit), and, of course, Drake Herminski, the fuckin' hippy nerd with the solar powers. What a motley fuckin' bunch, he grumbled silently to himself, glaring from one to the other. Half of 'em were staunch do-gooders-- especially Dolphiniwhatever over there, with all her protests and her rights and her animal cruelty or whatever the latest injustice was that she'd chosen to get all prickly about, like it made a goddamn difference. And the other half-- Sia, of course, and yours truly-- now they knew what was up. None'a this dumb heroism do-gooder bullshit. Knew it didn't mean nothin' in the end.
Didn't stop Jack from thinkin' Sia was a jackass, though. Then again, what ever did? Heck, he didn't trust a single one of 'em farther'n he could throw 'em... which, on second thought, was not a particularly apt analogy.
Speakin'a jackasses, it was right about then Jack realised only four of their five were present, and he groaned in irritation. "For fuck sake, we gonna have to wait for that asshole Fenris?" And then he added, in a low mutter, "Cocky little fucker. With his dumb fuckin' hat 'n shit."
Well fuck. Always the late one, wasn't he? Didn't help that his older bro wouldn't give in to Nate's pleading words. Christ was it a hassle to borrow his motorcycle for just a day, just one day. Okay, he probably could've poofed, but ehm... Not the best way to draw attention. So? Bike it was.
Parking the old wreck of a cycle with everlasting patience, Nathan couldn't help but wonder how things were going to roll. He was definitely late, so a warm, care-free greeting wouldn't do. Sod it, he'd just walk in like he owns the damn place.
And just as suspected, a warm welcome wasn't one of the things immediately apparent either. Good God, ass-hat numero uno was definitely in the house! Fuck, that guy had to be a mental escapee. There is no sodding plausible way that this... Testosterone-powered machine, guy.. thing didn't attract any attention in every day society life! Okay, yeah, Nathan knew his name was Jack. But fuck that! Psycho is much, much more appropriate.
“'Ello ladies and gents! Sorry for being late. I had some problems getting 'ere.”
Nathan butted in with his trademark overly joyous voice, like this was daily routine for him, as Jack fell into the void of his usual tantrum. --That insane fuck-- But hey, there were much more interesting people that had decided to show up for the party!
“Drake.” Nate nodded at the young man as he took a seat, kicking his feet on top of the generic grey tables. “Aaand, can't forget 'bout our two lovely ladies, can I? Didn't miss anything good I hope?” The man turned his wide grin at the only two female members of the group, raising his fedora to reveal his black eyes as they gazed at the two... How'd he call it? Lady friends, I guess.
One, two, three... Yep, that makes five, all of 'em. Let business begin.
Parking the old wreck of a cycle with everlasting patience, Nathan couldn't help but wonder how things were going to roll. He was definitely late, so a warm, care-free greeting wouldn't do. Sod it, he'd just walk in like he owns the damn place.
And just as suspected, a warm welcome wasn't one of the things immediately apparent either. Good God, ass-hat numero uno was definitely in the house! Fuck, that guy had to be a mental escapee. There is no sodding plausible way that this... Testosterone-powered machine, guy.. thing didn't attract any attention in every day society life! Okay, yeah, Nathan knew his name was Jack. But fuck that! Psycho is much, much more appropriate.
“'Ello ladies and gents! Sorry for being late. I had some problems getting 'ere.”
Nathan butted in with his trademark overly joyous voice, like this was daily routine for him, as Jack fell into the void of his usual tantrum. --That insane fuck-- But hey, there were much more interesting people that had decided to show up for the party!
“Drake.” Nate nodded at the young man as he took a seat, kicking his feet on top of the generic grey tables. “Aaand, can't forget 'bout our two lovely ladies, can I? Didn't miss anything good I hope?” The man turned his wide grin at the only two female members of the group, raising his fedora to reveal his black eyes as they gazed at the two... How'd he call it? Lady friends, I guess.
One, two, three... Yep, that makes five, all of 'em. Let business begin.
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"Yeah. Glad to see you all as well. I just hope we'll be enough for the 'oncoming storm.' I've gathered you all here to discuss a rather important matter. Following that, we'll need to work on the latest crime rates over in L.A. We can share some stories once we get the current updates out of the way."
Drake made his way over behind the main counter to where he produced a remote. A panel opened up in one of the walls, and a screen was within. The first thing to appear was an image with a slight blur. But more importantly, the image featured a large violet form with what seemed to be purple hairs on certain areas, such as the chest, brows, arms, and shins, for some strange reason.
"Say hello to the Zamzonite. Originally thought to be an alien being, but in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently. The alien angle was suggested after the being came into contact with a species the government has currently labeled as hostile. Now, there is a chance the beast may be related to these beings for one reason or another, but let's not jump to conclusions, shall we?"
Drake then began to press a couple more buttons. From a device on his belt was a holographic keyboard, which he clicked several buttons on, the screen ahead showing off several graphs and stats.
"Creature is believed to have a degree of superhuman durability, enough to withstand several tank rounds, and a single missile. All together, coupled with a possible regenerative factor. The durability has been believed to exist where the hair does, leading me to suspect the hair is like a kind of armor. Should we run into this thing head on, I deem it wise we give it a good shave before it uses whatever defense mechanism it has to turn those hairs into solid steel. Any questions? Care to mention any stories of your exploits prior to coming here? I myself have just accidentally condemned two men to the chair, and feel rather guilty for it. Anyone at all?"
Drake made his way over behind the main counter to where he produced a remote. A panel opened up in one of the walls, and a screen was within. The first thing to appear was an image with a slight blur. But more importantly, the image featured a large violet form with what seemed to be purple hairs on certain areas, such as the chest, brows, arms, and shins, for some strange reason.
"Say hello to the Zamzonite. Originally thought to be an alien being, but in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently. The alien angle was suggested after the being came into contact with a species the government has currently labeled as hostile. Now, there is a chance the beast may be related to these beings for one reason or another, but let's not jump to conclusions, shall we?"
Drake then began to press a couple more buttons. From a device on his belt was a holographic keyboard, which he clicked several buttons on, the screen ahead showing off several graphs and stats.
"Creature is believed to have a degree of superhuman durability, enough to withstand several tank rounds, and a single missile. All together, coupled with a possible regenerative factor. The durability has been believed to exist where the hair does, leading me to suspect the hair is like a kind of armor. Should we run into this thing head on, I deem it wise we give it a good shave before it uses whatever defense mechanism it has to turn those hairs into solid steel. Any questions? Care to mention any stories of your exploits prior to coming here? I myself have just accidentally condemned two men to the chair, and feel rather guilty for it. Anyone at all?"
Sia flicked her eyes towards Jack when he showed up. Sometimes when she went for long without the book, the voices in her head would scream at her to maim him somehow. He was strong and she wasn't as strong, so that was probably why they would do that. She didn't have any particular feelings for Jack, though. He was just a big dumb oaf. Still he was quiet for some time, until he noticed that Nathan wasn't around. Nathan was a good looking guy, but Sia thought he could be kind of airheaded. He didn't seem to be too bothered by Sia's behavior usually and he always spoke politely to her. The voices in her head never actually addressed him-- it was as though he didn't exist to them. Perhaps they were afraid of him? Of course if she could read the stupid book she might be able to figure out why those stupid voices were like that. She went to a table and sat down, gazing at the pages of her book without actually seeing the words.
Nathan finally appeared and addressed Sia and Delphinium. She nodded at him and said nothing. If she spoke, Sia knew either an argument would start or Delphinium and Drake would start getting on her case. Sometimes Nate did too, though Sia didn't pay him much mind one way or another when he started yapping at her about good versus evil. It was weird, but she usually just argued with these people and they were supposed to be her friends. Okay, but if they weren't always trying to do the moral thing instead of just doing what's gotta be done, we wouldn't have to argue this much. She thought.
Drake finally got the meeting started. "Say hello to the Zamzonite. Originally thought to be an alien being, but in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently." He said as he brought up a creature on the monitor within one of the walls. Sia paged through her book idly. The creature was definitely different... she'd give the thing that much. Violet was not a flattering color or good for hiding. I've gotta say that I'm not a fan of the hair either, Sia thought, looking the creature over. She wasn't sure what it was-- a conglomeration of other animals, maybe?-- but whatever it was, it was covered in coarse hair in specific areas. Drake continued, talking about the creature's regenerative powers and a strange defense mechanism that made the coarse hair become as solid as steel. Then, almost abruptly, he said, "Care to mention any stories of your exploits prior to coming here? I myself have just accidentally condemned two men to the chair, and feel rather guilty for it. Anyone at all?"
That was too funny-- Drake, the champion of morality, sending someone to their death? Smirking, she leaned forwards. "You sent two men to the chair? Were you channeling my aura or whatever it is that you hippies do?" She asked, chuckling. "...What, were they against the use of solar power in homes? Not going green? Or did they harm some precious animals?" Sia tipped her head. "...Well... No, that would make Del mad. Not you, Drake. Maybe they were just wondering why a lumberjack was wandering around in the city instead of being in the backwoods?" She purred, glancing at his flannel shirt. "...But as long as we're asking about our day jobs and straight up murdering people, I did happen to demolish a library and it's patrons a few minutes ago." Pausing, she stared at Drake. "...And as you can tell, the guilt is just wracking my system." Sia sent him a saccharine smile that could have melted paint off of walls. "But I like to think my reasoning was sound." She said teasingly. Before he could respond to this, she followed up with some questions about the creature. "So, what, the government made this Zamzonite thing and we're supposed to stop it... or is it just a mutant creature of unknown origin? What methods have already been tried to stop these guys outside of just shooting the things? I can bust through steel pretty easily, so I'm gonna need more information than what you've given me here. Are their hairs some kind of special alloy or do we not know that yet? And why exactly are we stopping them, anyway?"
Nathan finally appeared and addressed Sia and Delphinium. She nodded at him and said nothing. If she spoke, Sia knew either an argument would start or Delphinium and Drake would start getting on her case. Sometimes Nate did too, though Sia didn't pay him much mind one way or another when he started yapping at her about good versus evil. It was weird, but she usually just argued with these people and they were supposed to be her friends. Okay, but if they weren't always trying to do the moral thing instead of just doing what's gotta be done, we wouldn't have to argue this much. She thought.
Drake finally got the meeting started. "Say hello to the Zamzonite. Originally thought to be an alien being, but in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently." He said as he brought up a creature on the monitor within one of the walls. Sia paged through her book idly. The creature was definitely different... she'd give the thing that much. Violet was not a flattering color or good for hiding. I've gotta say that I'm not a fan of the hair either, Sia thought, looking the creature over. She wasn't sure what it was-- a conglomeration of other animals, maybe?-- but whatever it was, it was covered in coarse hair in specific areas. Drake continued, talking about the creature's regenerative powers and a strange defense mechanism that made the coarse hair become as solid as steel. Then, almost abruptly, he said, "Care to mention any stories of your exploits prior to coming here? I myself have just accidentally condemned two men to the chair, and feel rather guilty for it. Anyone at all?"
That was too funny-- Drake, the champion of morality, sending someone to their death? Smirking, she leaned forwards. "You sent two men to the chair? Were you channeling my aura or whatever it is that you hippies do?" She asked, chuckling. "...What, were they against the use of solar power in homes? Not going green? Or did they harm some precious animals?" Sia tipped her head. "...Well... No, that would make Del mad. Not you, Drake. Maybe they were just wondering why a lumberjack was wandering around in the city instead of being in the backwoods?" She purred, glancing at his flannel shirt. "...But as long as we're asking about our day jobs and straight up murdering people, I did happen to demolish a library and it's patrons a few minutes ago." Pausing, she stared at Drake. "...And as you can tell, the guilt is just wracking my system." Sia sent him a saccharine smile that could have melted paint off of walls. "But I like to think my reasoning was sound." She said teasingly. Before he could respond to this, she followed up with some questions about the creature. "So, what, the government made this Zamzonite thing and we're supposed to stop it... or is it just a mutant creature of unknown origin? What methods have already been tried to stop these guys outside of just shooting the things? I can bust through steel pretty easily, so I'm gonna need more information than what you've given me here. Are their hairs some kind of special alloy or do we not know that yet? And why exactly are we stopping them, anyway?"
The first person whom Del can sense nearing is Sia, a human who has the ability to use what this race calls 'black magic', though she doesn't appear quite capable of controlling her own potential, from the times that Del has been around for more powerful exhibitions of Sia's powers. The two aren't exactly close, both having their own moral standpoint on how to go about doing things. This isn't to say that Del isn't above swinging fists and getting her hands dirty to reach the desired goal, but at the same time she isn't going around blowing things up just because her temper is a bit foul that morning. Sia's seeming disregard for the lives of others is something which never ceases to get on the alien woman's nerves, and the two women getting into small arguments over such things isn't all that unusual. When the group had first formed, Del had hoped to somehow befriend Sia, because she hadn't really had much interaction with humans outside of school and protests, but it was clear almost immediately that such a thing wasn't going to happen in this millennium. Instead, the two manage to tolerate each other to an extent, although the line is very thin and constantly seems near breaking. For now, she says nothing to Sia, only nodding in her general direction, her unseeing eyes facing her but not registering anything as she senses the energy in her mind. She can smell smoke on the young woman, but does not comment on it, for now. Though Del is far from nonconfrontational, she doesn't desire to step on Sia's feet so soon in the regrouping.
"Fuck everything," growls a familiar voice, angry as usual. Honestly, even if his voice and energy weren't familiar, Del probably could have identified the team member simply based upon his words of greeting. Sia may be a bit temperamental, but as far as Del is concerned she had absolutely nothing on Jack Jackson, the human man with the stupid name and a mouth that, if human swears transferred to Caltarion ones, could rival the most vile and drunken of City Koles, who are, unfortunately, well known for vulgar language. Due to having been raised as a servant of a wealthier Rashna, Del never really adopted such a language, if only because using it in front of her family's employers would have meant a very harsh beating that would have had to be treated for the next week or so. Even the thought of it makes Del grimace slightly, remembering how she learned the lesson to keep her vocabulary in check. "For fuck sake, are we going to have to wait for that asshole Fenris? Cocky little fucker, with his dumb fuckin' hat 'n shit."
He would have been cut up and beaten until he couldn't move for months, Del muses coolly when she hears Jack speak further, swearing becoming more condensed with each sentence that was spit out of his mouth. Subconsciously, she notes that, apparently, Fenris always wears a hat. It hasn't been brought up before, and for all she knows everyone could be waltzing around completely nude- clothing doesn't exactly give off an energy for her to read, after all. The alien woman doesn't even bother greeting Jack- it'd only send him into some psychotic rant about the fact that 'he doesn't need no damn greeting from some fuckin' dolphin girl' or something like that. She really wishes he wouldn't mock her name every single time they meet- well, he hasn't yet. Not that she knows of, anyway, as she hasn't entered anyone's mind.
Del can hear the roar of an old motorcycle nearing, but it is the mystical energy flowing off of the rider that lets her know that Fenris, and apparently his hat, are nearly here. Unlike with Jack and Sia, Del has no real issues with Fenris, or Drake for that matter. They both have decent personalities, and the latter has intelligence that is comforting, considering that this planet does typically seem slightly lacking in that department. "Ello, ladies and gents! Sorry for being late. I had some problems getting 'ere." Del turns towards him, or rather his energy and general area, and nods in greeting. She clearly isn't the sort for actually saying hello, preferring brief nods. Besides, she'd really like to get on with whatever Drake has to tell them- she has things to do, after all. Finally, Drake comes out and begins to speak, but it is soon clear that he forgot to take her into consideration when making a diagram of this "Zamzonite" thing. He explains it briefly, and based on the slight whirring of a shifting image puts other things up on the screen- yet more stuff for Del to be ignorant of. He mentions a hostile species, but does not offer any names.
This would be a lot easier if- oh, f'asdne, Del thinks with a soft sigh, crossing her arms over her chest and giving up on pretending like these little visuals help her at all, not bothering to even angle her head towards them anymore. "I myself just accidentally condemned to men to the chair," Drake mentions, making Del narrow her eyes ever so slightly with irritation. Perhaps he has a good reason, but until it is given she isn't really too pleased with such a thing. Honestly, sometimes these people are no better than the Rashna, she thinks irritably. When Sia speaks, it is practically with the intention of angering Del further, as the human girl speaks sarcastically about what transgressions the men may have committed, drawing Del into it by mentioning that the harm of animals would have insulted her enough to kill people, not Drake.
"We can't all be Rashna-f'asdnein J'orglas," Del spits back at Sia, before remembering that the girl won't have the slightest clue what she is talking about. "Oh, forget it," the young woman begins to mutter when she hears Sia mention demolishing a library. Del practically worships the fact that this country has public libraries, even if they are absolutely no good to her, because such an institution would be laughed at on Caltar. Things available to be borrowed for free? Preposterous. Everything has its price and security is always provided when transactions are made- at least, if a wealthier person wants there to be, anyway. "What were-" Del falls silent again, closing her eyes and trying to regain some sort of calmness, only succeeding because Sia goes on to ask some legitimate questions. She waits for an answer to those before posing her own inquiries.
"Fuck everything," growls a familiar voice, angry as usual. Honestly, even if his voice and energy weren't familiar, Del probably could have identified the team member simply based upon his words of greeting. Sia may be a bit temperamental, but as far as Del is concerned she had absolutely nothing on Jack Jackson, the human man with the stupid name and a mouth that, if human swears transferred to Caltarion ones, could rival the most vile and drunken of City Koles, who are, unfortunately, well known for vulgar language. Due to having been raised as a servant of a wealthier Rashna, Del never really adopted such a language, if only because using it in front of her family's employers would have meant a very harsh beating that would have had to be treated for the next week or so. Even the thought of it makes Del grimace slightly, remembering how she learned the lesson to keep her vocabulary in check. "For fuck sake, are we going to have to wait for that asshole Fenris? Cocky little fucker, with his dumb fuckin' hat 'n shit."
He would have been cut up and beaten until he couldn't move for months, Del muses coolly when she hears Jack speak further, swearing becoming more condensed with each sentence that was spit out of his mouth. Subconsciously, she notes that, apparently, Fenris always wears a hat. It hasn't been brought up before, and for all she knows everyone could be waltzing around completely nude- clothing doesn't exactly give off an energy for her to read, after all. The alien woman doesn't even bother greeting Jack- it'd only send him into some psychotic rant about the fact that 'he doesn't need no damn greeting from some fuckin' dolphin girl' or something like that. She really wishes he wouldn't mock her name every single time they meet- well, he hasn't yet. Not that she knows of, anyway, as she hasn't entered anyone's mind.
Del can hear the roar of an old motorcycle nearing, but it is the mystical energy flowing off of the rider that lets her know that Fenris, and apparently his hat, are nearly here. Unlike with Jack and Sia, Del has no real issues with Fenris, or Drake for that matter. They both have decent personalities, and the latter has intelligence that is comforting, considering that this planet does typically seem slightly lacking in that department. "Ello, ladies and gents! Sorry for being late. I had some problems getting 'ere." Del turns towards him, or rather his energy and general area, and nods in greeting. She clearly isn't the sort for actually saying hello, preferring brief nods. Besides, she'd really like to get on with whatever Drake has to tell them- she has things to do, after all. Finally, Drake comes out and begins to speak, but it is soon clear that he forgot to take her into consideration when making a diagram of this "Zamzonite" thing. He explains it briefly, and based on the slight whirring of a shifting image puts other things up on the screen- yet more stuff for Del to be ignorant of. He mentions a hostile species, but does not offer any names.
This would be a lot easier if- oh, f'asdne, Del thinks with a soft sigh, crossing her arms over her chest and giving up on pretending like these little visuals help her at all, not bothering to even angle her head towards them anymore. "I myself just accidentally condemned to men to the chair," Drake mentions, making Del narrow her eyes ever so slightly with irritation. Perhaps he has a good reason, but until it is given she isn't really too pleased with such a thing. Honestly, sometimes these people are no better than the Rashna, she thinks irritably. When Sia speaks, it is practically with the intention of angering Del further, as the human girl speaks sarcastically about what transgressions the men may have committed, drawing Del into it by mentioning that the harm of animals would have insulted her enough to kill people, not Drake.
"We can't all be Rashna-f'asdnein J'orglas," Del spits back at Sia, before remembering that the girl won't have the slightest clue what she is talking about. "Oh, forget it," the young woman begins to mutter when she hears Sia mention demolishing a library. Del practically worships the fact that this country has public libraries, even if they are absolutely no good to her, because such an institution would be laughed at on Caltar. Things available to be borrowed for free? Preposterous. Everything has its price and security is always provided when transactions are made- at least, if a wealthier person wants there to be, anyway. "What were-" Del falls silent again, closing her eyes and trying to regain some sort of calmness, only succeeding because Sia goes on to ask some legitimate questions. She waits for an answer to those before posing her own inquiries.
There wasn't a whole lot of chatting. None at all, in fact. Granted, Psycho took up most of the vocal space in this crummy little building, with his foul-mouthed vocabulary and all that, but at least have the decency to act like they were somewhat acquainted. Nathan gently tipped his hat forward over his eyes, closing the black beads as his mouth uttered a single, muffled sigh when Drake began the meeting, slash personal speech about some otherworldly creature, fish, hairy-ape... Mutant!
Thing looked god-damn ugly, or maybe that was just high-tech technology not showing the reject's natural charms. Either way, someone had to guide that thing to the nearby barber, maybe discuss the possibilities of pigment alteration? Yuck- Pinkie mutant. Nate could feel a shiver of disgust crawling ever so slowly up his fragile spine, did they really have to? Oh- Jolly joy-ho! They were going to trace this thing down, weren't they?
As time passed, Drake brought up many interesting charts, including assumed powers, attributes, and whatnot. Okay, that pretty much caught his attention right there, what shampoo does that guy use? Nathan could certainly use some of that! Not a scratch to lay on 'm, cement, maybe?
When Drake had finished talking, not without going on his proud deed for the day, accidentally or no, Nate listened on the posed questions from Sia, slash her possible taunt directed at Del- Dela- Deli... Delphi! Honestly, he hadn't a single clue as to why that was necessary. But! Then again, from what Nate managed to gather, those two were like opposites. Like, complete polar opposites. Bah, as long as they hadn't planned on flipping each other's shit while on hero duty. Bad team-influence that is!
Not that Nathan would actually vocalize his many opinions. It was basically live and let live for him, don't bother Nate, and you won't be bothered either. He had yet to form any concrete opinions on both ladies. Personality-wise, anyway.
“...And why exactly are we stopping them, anyway?”
Sorry, what? Hadn't they planned to set out just yet? Oh, question rounds. Nathan flicked his mind back to reality as he found his mind having wandered away from the mutant subject, though he had registered Sia's barrage of questions.
“Don't need a why, do we? Anything to nudge us from our boring, daily routines. Me, anyway.” Nate butted in, stretching his back as on hand scratched the back of his head.
“Still, the lass throws a few legit darts. What exactly is this thing made of? And, have you tried torching the bugger? Fire is a damn good exterminator if ye ask me.” Actually, Nate could just snap his fingers and send it to the moon if one so wished, not that hard! But the method of elimination wasn't what bothered the young man's mind. Rather, why they haven't heard of it before, surely there must've been sightings? And, if not, how did it hide itself so well?
Thing looked god-damn ugly, or maybe that was just high-tech technology not showing the reject's natural charms. Either way, someone had to guide that thing to the nearby barber, maybe discuss the possibilities of pigment alteration? Yuck- Pinkie mutant. Nate could feel a shiver of disgust crawling ever so slowly up his fragile spine, did they really have to? Oh- Jolly joy-ho! They were going to trace this thing down, weren't they?
As time passed, Drake brought up many interesting charts, including assumed powers, attributes, and whatnot. Okay, that pretty much caught his attention right there, what shampoo does that guy use? Nathan could certainly use some of that! Not a scratch to lay on 'm, cement, maybe?
When Drake had finished talking, not without going on his proud deed for the day, accidentally or no, Nate listened on the posed questions from Sia, slash her possible taunt directed at Del- Dela- Deli... Delphi! Honestly, he hadn't a single clue as to why that was necessary. But! Then again, from what Nate managed to gather, those two were like opposites. Like, complete polar opposites. Bah, as long as they hadn't planned on flipping each other's shit while on hero duty. Bad team-influence that is!
Not that Nathan would actually vocalize his many opinions. It was basically live and let live for him, don't bother Nate, and you won't be bothered either. He had yet to form any concrete opinions on both ladies. Personality-wise, anyway.
“...And why exactly are we stopping them, anyway?”
Sorry, what? Hadn't they planned to set out just yet? Oh, question rounds. Nathan flicked his mind back to reality as he found his mind having wandered away from the mutant subject, though he had registered Sia's barrage of questions.
“Don't need a why, do we? Anything to nudge us from our boring, daily routines. Me, anyway.” Nate butted in, stretching his back as on hand scratched the back of his head.
“Still, the lass throws a few legit darts. What exactly is this thing made of? And, have you tried torching the bugger? Fire is a damn good exterminator if ye ask me.” Actually, Nate could just snap his fingers and send it to the moon if one so wished, not that hard! But the method of elimination wasn't what bothered the young man's mind. Rather, why they haven't heard of it before, surely there must've been sightings? And, if not, how did it hide itself so well?
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Of course, not long after Jack took it upon himself to express, in as subtle and polite a manner as ever, that that douchebag Fenris was takin' his sweet fuckin' time gettin' here, the roar of a motorcyle pullin' up to the gas station notified everybody of the asshole's presence. Goddamn motorcycles. Fuckin' things pissed Jack the fuck off. You saw 'em in all the movies-- some fuckwit in a trench coat and gay-ass sunglasses or some shit ridin' off on a stupid fuckin' chopper or whatever and you just know you're supposed to think this cocksucker is the fuckin' shit just 'cause his ride got two wheels instead'a four but he's not 'cause whose goddamn idea was the motorcycle anyway? What, did some faggot look at a car and decide four wheels was for lesser men? Fuck it, Jack could totally see it playin' out that way. What a load'a bullshit.
... okay, so maybe only half of his rage was 'cause motorcycles were honestly stupid. Sixty per cent. Fuck it, seventy five per cent. The other twenty five was 'cause the one time Jack had tried to fit on one, it'd looked like Sasquatch ridin' a tricycle.
Balls to it all. When did I start thinkin' about all this bullshit? Fuck it. Who even gives a shit. I for one have run out of fucks to give on the subject, and henceforth resolve to spare no further consideration to such inane trivialities. And thus, Jack turned his attentions back to what was happening around him, whereupon he discovered that Fenris had finally seen fit to grace those collected here with his presence, and Drake was doin' some shit with a remote. He pressed some button, and then, like somethin' outta a Bond movie, one of the wall panels slid aside, revealing a big-ass TV screen. Thereupon was depicted pretty much the ugliest cunt Jack had seen since... well, the last time the team had gone toe to toe with a particularly ugly son of a bitch. It was kinda weird, really, how villains tended to look like a baboon's ass. But then, not everybody can be as ruggedly handsome as I am, he reasoned evenly.
"Say hello," Herminski announced grandiosely. "To... the Zamzonite."
... and seriously, what the fuck had happened to villains pickin' names with some fuckin' spine? Did that go out the window along with not lookin' like the wrong end of a donkey?
"Originally thought to be an alien being," the hippy solar-powered geek-nerd dude continued. "But in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently. The alien angle was suggested after the being came into contact with a species the government has currently labeled as hostile. Now, there is a chance the beast may be related to these beings for one reason or another, but let's not jump to conclusions, shall we?"
"Wait, Zamzonite?" Jack blurted out, possessed suddenly of a spurt of inspiration. "Like... Samson? That one faggot with the hair? So clearly all we gotta do is shave the asshole's hair off, right? 'cause that's probably where it keeps its power or some bullshit like that." Haha, check that shit out! Jack Jackson, bein' the smart one for a change and pointin' shit out. And they call me a big lumberin' oaf, he thought proudly to himself.
"...the durability has been believed to exist where the hair does, leading me to suspect the hair is like a kind of armor," Herminski was saying, just in time for Jack to hear, and the superhuman visibly deflated.
"... ah." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, and cursing in a low mutter to himself. "Always fuckin' somethin'."
The assholes then took to sharin' the tales of their journeys here-- Herminski had apparently condemned a couple fuckers to the electric chair, and, to the surprise of absolutely fuckin' nobody, had his panties in a twist about it; Ryans had blown the shit outta some library and everybody in it (And they call me a fucked up some of a bitch, he mused, before he went back to daydreaming about drop-kicking puppies); Dolphin Chick muttered some shit in R'lyehian or whatever; and fuck Nathan, Jack decided he was gonna make a show of not giving a fuck about that son of a bitch by deliberately not hearing whatever he had to say about his trip here. 'cause that'd teach him to be late to shit, it would.
At first, he'd been set on waiting for everybody to shut the fuck up and get down to the important business at hand-- which was to say, the butt-ugly asswipe still plastered across that TV screen. But then, Jack started thinkin' about his trip here, and then he decided, fuck it, he had some shit to get off his chest. Sharin's therapeutic 'n all that shit. "I lost my ride, and my only copy of Molesting The Decapitated," he declared once everybody else was done talkin' about blowin' up libraries and doin' whatever Nathan had done that Jack had decided not to give a fuck about. "My only fuckin' copy. Y'know how rare that shit is these days? I swear, sometimes life just fuckin' hates me. Guy throws his towel in with the good guys, fights evil 'n all that dumb idealistic bullshit, and still gets pissed on by life. And they say karma's a thing." He paused, and then shrugged. "Wasn't too concerned 'bout the car. Guy I took it from's got two others, the rich fuckwad."
As usual, nobody was really payin' much attention to him, having decided to do that whole 'get down to the important shit' thing that Jack had been all for until he'd decided everybody had to hear about his mortal woes and pains. Meh. Fuck 'em. It was always the same shit anyway. Jack never thought of anything to contribute to the planning stage of things-- Herminski was the smart one. Well, balls, they were all smarter than him. 'least when it came to this planning shit. He'd never pretended otherwise, and if they all thought he was just the dumb bruiser, then that worked to his advantage. So he just sorta sat back, half-listened to what was bein' said, and waited for 'em to tell him what he was supposed to beat the shit outta.
... okay, so maybe only half of his rage was 'cause motorcycles were honestly stupid. Sixty per cent. Fuck it, seventy five per cent. The other twenty five was 'cause the one time Jack had tried to fit on one, it'd looked like Sasquatch ridin' a tricycle.
Balls to it all. When did I start thinkin' about all this bullshit? Fuck it. Who even gives a shit. I for one have run out of fucks to give on the subject, and henceforth resolve to spare no further consideration to such inane trivialities. And thus, Jack turned his attentions back to what was happening around him, whereupon he discovered that Fenris had finally seen fit to grace those collected here with his presence, and Drake was doin' some shit with a remote. He pressed some button, and then, like somethin' outta a Bond movie, one of the wall panels slid aside, revealing a big-ass TV screen. Thereupon was depicted pretty much the ugliest cunt Jack had seen since... well, the last time the team had gone toe to toe with a particularly ugly son of a bitch. It was kinda weird, really, how villains tended to look like a baboon's ass. But then, not everybody can be as ruggedly handsome as I am, he reasoned evenly.
"Say hello," Herminski announced grandiosely. "To... the Zamzonite."
... and seriously, what the fuck had happened to villains pickin' names with some fuckin' spine? Did that go out the window along with not lookin' like the wrong end of a donkey?
"Originally thought to be an alien being," the hippy solar-powered geek-nerd dude continued. "But in truth, a mutant that's been tearing up the west coast recently. The alien angle was suggested after the being came into contact with a species the government has currently labeled as hostile. Now, there is a chance the beast may be related to these beings for one reason or another, but let's not jump to conclusions, shall we?"
"Wait, Zamzonite?" Jack blurted out, possessed suddenly of a spurt of inspiration. "Like... Samson? That one faggot with the hair? So clearly all we gotta do is shave the asshole's hair off, right? 'cause that's probably where it keeps its power or some bullshit like that." Haha, check that shit out! Jack Jackson, bein' the smart one for a change and pointin' shit out. And they call me a big lumberin' oaf, he thought proudly to himself.
"...the durability has been believed to exist where the hair does, leading me to suspect the hair is like a kind of armor," Herminski was saying, just in time for Jack to hear, and the superhuman visibly deflated.
"... ah." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, and cursing in a low mutter to himself. "Always fuckin' somethin'."
The assholes then took to sharin' the tales of their journeys here-- Herminski had apparently condemned a couple fuckers to the electric chair, and, to the surprise of absolutely fuckin' nobody, had his panties in a twist about it; Ryans had blown the shit outta some library and everybody in it (And they call me a fucked up some of a bitch, he mused, before he went back to daydreaming about drop-kicking puppies); Dolphin Chick muttered some shit in R'lyehian or whatever; and fuck Nathan, Jack decided he was gonna make a show of not giving a fuck about that son of a bitch by deliberately not hearing whatever he had to say about his trip here. 'cause that'd teach him to be late to shit, it would.
At first, he'd been set on waiting for everybody to shut the fuck up and get down to the important business at hand-- which was to say, the butt-ugly asswipe still plastered across that TV screen. But then, Jack started thinkin' about his trip here, and then he decided, fuck it, he had some shit to get off his chest. Sharin's therapeutic 'n all that shit. "I lost my ride, and my only copy of Molesting The Decapitated," he declared once everybody else was done talkin' about blowin' up libraries and doin' whatever Nathan had done that Jack had decided not to give a fuck about. "My only fuckin' copy. Y'know how rare that shit is these days? I swear, sometimes life just fuckin' hates me. Guy throws his towel in with the good guys, fights evil 'n all that dumb idealistic bullshit, and still gets pissed on by life. And they say karma's a thing." He paused, and then shrugged. "Wasn't too concerned 'bout the car. Guy I took it from's got two others, the rich fuckwad."
As usual, nobody was really payin' much attention to him, having decided to do that whole 'get down to the important shit' thing that Jack had been all for until he'd decided everybody had to hear about his mortal woes and pains. Meh. Fuck 'em. It was always the same shit anyway. Jack never thought of anything to contribute to the planning stage of things-- Herminski was the smart one. Well, balls, they were all smarter than him. 'least when it came to this planning shit. He'd never pretended otherwise, and if they all thought he was just the dumb bruiser, then that worked to his advantage. So he just sorta sat back, half-listened to what was bein' said, and waited for 'em to tell him what he was supposed to beat the shit outta.
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