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Maeve Butler

Calm is a skill.

0 · 564 views · located in Atlas City

a character in “Hadean”, as played by druidquest

Description

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Theme 1 – SMOKE - (K)NoW_NAME:R·O·N
Theme 2 – What Was Created By God - Keita Haga, Ryo Kawasaki
Theme 3 – Xion's Theme - Yoko Shimomura
Theme 4 - Judgement (Night Version) - Kensuke Ushio
Theme 5 - Sleepwalk - Forrest Day
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Full Name: Maeve Butler
Alias: Lig-na-Paiste
Age: 30
Gender: Female ⚧
Ethnicity: Irish

Hair: Maeve has short black hair, with several large white streaks caused by the shock of her initial transformations.

Eye color: Maeve has dark, grey eyes. Her facial muscles are unusually stiff as a side effect of her powers, causing her eyes to often appear listless.

Body: Maeve is a towering, muscular woman with long limbs who tends to loom over others.

Height: 7'2" || 219 cm

Weight: 242 lbs || 110 kg

Hometown: Derry, Ireland

Affiliation(s): Fomóraigh

Face Claim: Ozen the Immovable - Made in Abyss

Personality: Maeve is a mild mannered and friendly sort, easy to talk to and get along with. She's reasonable and principled, which may surprise others due to her occupation, and quick to keep her "coworkers" from getting out of hand. She speaks softly, and keeps her movements measured. To most, she is impeccably calm and rational - an oasis of peace in the underworld.
Look closer, however, and her behavior is revealed to be as much a mask as her stiff, inexpressive face. Beneath this facade is a deep, powerfully rooted, and violent rage. Maeve is extremely careful to maintain precise control over every word and action, even in the heat of battle; after all, she knows what waits on the other side if she slips. Nonetheless, combat provides a much needed outlet for Maeve's fury. Though most opponents could never hope to match up to her, she still throws herself into it as if each of them were a force to rival god - how else is she to attain that slightest degree of release?


Likes:
-   Mobile Games - If you were to track Maeve's monthly expenses, gacha games would easily rank near the top.

-   Fighting - As stated above.

-   Fishing - She prefers river fishing to ocean fishing, but won't complain.

-   Sewing - She finds detail work relaxing. This is also somewhat inevitable, given that she makes most of her own clothing.

-   Juice - Maeve doesn't particularly care about food. This is her one preference.



Dislikes:
-   Mobile Games - She really spends too much on gacha.

-   England

-   Organ Music - It gives her a headache.




Fears:
-   Losing direction

-   That her actions are meaningless

-   Being confined


Skills:
-   Tailoring - Maeve makes her own costume, and most of her own clothes.

-   Fighting Sense - Though largely untrained, Maeve's experience and instincts, combined with her raw strength, more than make up the difference. She's able to gauge her opponents' strengths with remarkable speed.

-   Video Games - Maeve doesn't particularly care about video games, or play them very often, but she always remarks on how easy they are, usually after achieving some form of record speedrun.

-   Perceptive - Years of hiding her own thoughts and emotions have made Maeve surprisingly adept at intuiting others' feelings and intentions.

Costume Identities:
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Costume

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Fully Transformed


Equipment:
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Background: Good evening, you're watching BBC One News, I'm your host, Franklin West. Top story tonight, violence broke out in the city of Derry yesterday when a mob, many of whom are believed to be associated with the terrorist group Fomorayg - am I saying that right, "fomorayg"? Fuh-mor-ee? - Fomóraigh attacked English tourist Tom Farthing, dragging him out of his hotel yesterday evening before beating him to death in the street. Tom, 24, was on vacation from Manchester.
The leader of the mob, 39 year old Jeremy Butler, claims the attack was retribution for the death of thirteen year old Irish woman Caitlyn Dunleavy, who officials say died earlier this weak in a roadside accident.

click. vrrrrrrr. click.

-thirteen year old irish woman Caitlyn Dunleavy, who officials say died earlier this weak in a roadside accident.
click. vrrrrrr. click.

-Irish woman Caitlyn Dunleavy, who officials say died earlier this weak in a roadside-
click. vrrrrrr. click.

-woman Caitlyn Dunleavy, who offi-
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-roadside accident. Polic-
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-irteen year old Irish wom-
click. vrrrr. click.

-leavy, who offi-
click. vrrrr. click.

click. vrrrrr. click.

click. vrr. click.

click. vrrrrrrrrrrr. click.




Powers:

Seething
[Brute 7]
Maeve Butler demonstrates incredible strength and durability, able to lift and throw up to 5 tons (only lift: 15 tons; only push: 25-30 tons) and shrug off large caliber bullets as if they're nothing (standard explosive: bruising; heavy ordinance: break the skin).

Péist Mhór
[Breaker 10]
Maeve is shown to have the capacity to take the form of a great dragon. The trigger for this is unknown, however it seems the draconic form is not a physical transformation Maeve undergoes, but rather something akin to a construct which grows around her, with her true body contained within the chest as a "heart". This form seems entirely uncontrollable, indiscriminate in its destruction, the scale of which alone warrants its high level grade. Fortunately, she can't seem to maintain this state for long; her current maximum is 1 minute and 57 seconds, after which the form dissipates due to fatigue and loss of consciousness.



Power Origins: Spontaneous





Color Code:#443F13

So begins...

Maeve Butler's Story

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Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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March 2, 2045
Stormont Estate, Belfast, Northern Ireland, United Kingdom
5:02 PM

”This is John Martin, reporting for BBC One News live from Stormont Estate, where an apparent bombing by terrorist group Fomóraigh during the seventeenth delegation to vote on reunification has damaged much of the Parliament Buildings, injuring dozens. It is currently not known how many are dead, but estimates are not optimistic. As yet, there have been no arrests, but police are working closely with the British Heroes League and United Celtic Heroes Association to uncover the culprits behind this heinous attack on British democracy. Back to you in the studio, Anna.”

March 2, 2045
Port of Belfast, Belfast, Northern Ireland, United Kingdom
9:21 PM

Maeve pressed herself against a shipping container another pair of supers passed by overhead, flying low as they scanned the area for anyone suspicious. Her fingers dug deep into the metal as they flew off into the distance; she understood the need for subtlety, but she hated having to hide like this, especially when it felt like she was running away.
”Alright, everything’s ready,” Saoirse said, slipping out of the shadows once the hero patrol was gone. ”We got a freight ship willing to take ye. Ye should be there in just a few days.”
”A few days?” Maeve pulled her fingers out of the shipping container and rubbed at her hands. Good thing it was empty, given the holes it now had in its side. ”Where are ye sending me, anyway?”
”Atlas City.”
”America?” She ran one hand through her hair. ”I admit, this is a bit of a mess, but-”
Saoirse shook her head. ”No, this works out. We needed someone to meet with a contact in Atlas City anyway.”
Maeve sighed through her nose as the two of them started walking toward the pier, keeping away from the lights in case any more patrols came through the area. A contact in Atlas City. So Paul had decided to go through with the plan to seek external support. She understood it from a tactical perspective, but it still left a foul taste in her mouth. Even if everyone in their “organization” had powers, Fomóraigh was still less than 100 strong, and despite the media’s insistence to the contrary had existed for less than a decade. Still, Maeve wasn’t thrilled at the thought of them becoming beholden to someone else, especially someone for whom the Fomóraigh and their ideals were little more than a convenient business opportunity.
”So?”
”So what?”
Saoirse pulled Maeve to a stop. ”Don’t play stupid,” she chastised, looking up at the sky instead of at Maeve. Her grip was tight on Maeve’s arm. ”If ye lost yourself at the assembly, then does that mean-”
”Yes.”
Saoirse let out a foul string of Gaelge that was only silenced by Maeve putting her hand over her mouth to keep Saoirse from giving their location away to any supers still in the area. Saoirse struggled under her grip for a bit, then huffed and tapped Maeve’s forearm to signal it was fine to let go now.
”No bleedin’ wonder ye lost it! I would too!” Saoirse spoke in the breathy shout-whisper of someone trying not to wake the dead. ”Seventeen damned blood-fuck years! You’d think they’d just give up the act at this point!”
Maeve sighed. ”Aye, well.”
The Northern Ireland Assembly’s Seventeenth Delegation to Vote on Irish Reunification. The best joke they’d come up with yet. As if they would ever actually vote to leave the Crown’s good graces. Or that Parliament would ever really let them. Instead they played a game every year where they’d gather up in Stormont Estate, pretend they were going to have a serious discussion on the subject, then ultimately vote against it while the English media ran feel-good pieces about how nice and loyal and unified the Kingdom was, and wasn’t it grand how much Northern Ireland preferred them to the Republic? Maeve found it absolutely vile.
”Come on. You’re the one who knows which ship it is.” She turned and continued walking toward the pier. Saoirse’s mouth opened and closed a few times, evidently with more to say, but instead she just huffed and jogged to catch up.
”It’s this one,” she said, indicating a large American cargo ship which appeared to have finished loading at least 2 hours prior. ”They were planning to leave a bit earlier, but we managed to convince them to push back their schedule.”
”Alright then.” She lifted the wide hat hanging off her back up onto her head. ”I’ll be off. Try not to let Paul break everything apart without me, aye?”
”Just a second, Maeve.” Saoirse grabbed Maeve’s arm and turned her around before pulling her down for a hug. ”Be wide, aye? There’re a lot more supers in Atlas. Mind your temper.”
”Are you my ma now?” Maeve quipped, pulling away.
”Not with that attitude,” Saoirse replied, laughing. Maeve turned to leave, and Saoirse stopped her again. ”One more thing. Paul might want ye to get this boxed, but an agreement goes both ways. If ye feel they can’t help us, or ye don’t trust them, just leave. We can find someone else.”
Maeve was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the sea. ”That might not matter,” she said finally. ”But I’ll bear it in mind. See ye when it’s done, Saoirse.” Then she left and boarded the ship to Atlas City, leaving the rest of the Fomóraigh to hold the fort without her.

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March 11, 2045
Hesperides Hotel, Atlas City, North Carolina, United States
8:03 AM


The sharp ringing of an old analog phone jolted Maeve from half-conscious dozing. She opened her eyes blearily, then immediately shut them again as bright morning light struck her from the grated window. ”God- feck off,” she mumbled as her hand fumbled around for the phone. She found it… and then immediately shot it into the opposite wall when she misjudged the strength needed to pick it up in her still-bleary state. ”Ugh.” At least the ringing stopped.
She dragged herself up and moved to the bathroom to splash water on her face, then dried off with a towel that smelled like… something, before moving out into the hall. The next room’s residents, a young woman and another woman twice her age who had a wedding ring on her finger, had also stepped out. The younger of the two was holding… most of what had once been a phone.
”We, uh. Found your phone in our room.”
Maeve sighed and took the wreckage from her. ”Much obliged."
She turned and walked out to the lobby, trying to ignore the sound of footsteps trying to match her long stride.
The lobby was small, and had that musty smell of a place that’s had a roach infestation long enough that they’d given up trying to control it. The clerk behind the desk was a thin man who appeared far more interested in the 30 year old tv on the desk than in any of the customers who came through the establishment. His eyes flicked over to register Maeve’s presence for only an instant before turning back to the television. ”Called to let you know your time was up. Would you like an extension?” he drawled.
”No,” she said, setting the broken phone on the counter. ”This fell off the nightstand.”
The man’s eyes went from the phone, to the Maeve, to the woman lurking behind Maeve, to the wall, then back to the TV. ”Kay.” He set a bowl for room keys on the counter without looking. It was clear to Maeve that this was a thoroughly practiced action. ”That’ll be $126.37 for seven hours in the room.”
”Do ye take pounds?”
”No.”
”Ugh.” Maeve slipped her wallet back into her pocket. She hadn’t had time to switch her currency before leaving, and the banks were already closed when she arrived the night before. ”Do ye do currency exchange?”
”No.”
”Can I go to the-”
”No.”
”Ugh.”
The clerk huffed in annoyance. ”Just have your girlfriend pay.”
”My- What?” She turned to look where he pointed. The older woman from earlier waggled her fingers at her. “Eh-”
”Don’t be so shy, darling,” the woman said, moving past her and producing her wallet from… somewhere. ”You can just pay me back later,” she added with a wink.
With that taken care of, Maeve and the woman walked outside. Maeve followed the woman for several blocks in silence, sizing her up; she hadn’t noticed it the first time, but though the woman was dressed modestly her clothing was made from deceptively expensive material. It was only designed to look cheap; in reality, Maeve estimated this woman was wearing several thousand dollars worth of clothing. She was suddenly very suspicious. It wasn’t that unusual for rich, bored housewives to find fun outside their marriage, but she couldn’t imagine they would go out of their way to help a random immigrant for pure philanthropy.
”What kind of favor did ye want from me?” she probed.
The woman stopped, and Maeve had to take a quick step back to avoid running over her. ”You’re very strong.”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed slightly. [color=44#3f13]”If you’re looking for a bodyguard, I’m already-”[/color]
The woman shook her head. ”No, it’s not that. An… acquaintance told me to be on the lookout for a large Irish woman who would be arriving sometime around today.”
Maeve didn’t like that comment. Paul had told her over encrypted phonecall that her contact would be a white-haired man in his 30s. This woman was none of those things. If there had been an information leak, she needed to get back to Belfast quickly.
”Ah, maybe that gives you the wrong idea,” the woman said, apparently sensing she may have tripped some wires. ”I work for the man you were sent to meet with. He wanted me to bring you to him.”
”...And that’s where we’re going now?”
The woman hesitated. ”Not exactly.” Maeve turned to leave. ”Wait! Wait.” The woman rushed after her and grabbed her arm. ”This is just… a favor, right? Think of it as a chance to impress the new boss.”
Maeve scratched the back of her head, pulling her arm gently from the woman’s hands. This seemed like a giant pain in the ass. So, this woman had decided to put her employer’s business partner to work to do… what? Some kind of manual labor?
”This actually works out pretty well for me,” the woman continued. ”My original entry dropped out when he learned who his opponent was, so having you here-”
”What opponent?” The woman shrank back slightly. Maeve was… a lot bigger than she was.
”R- right, there’s this… event, you see? A game, sort of. People of my particular standing, you see, we like excitement, right? And what’s more exciting than superpowers?”
Maeve leaned her head back slightly as understanding dawned. ”A fight club.” That wasn’t… entirely objectionable. She’d had to keep her distance from the supers back home so she didn’t draw too much attention, but if this was an opportunity to blow off some steam against a real opponent for once…
The woman fiddled with her wedding ring a bit. ”Not so loud, it's not exactly something we like to broadcast.”
”And that’s where we’re going?”
She shook her head. ”No, it’s not until tonight. But there are preparations to make. I need to register you properly, and we can’t just have you showing up looking however.”
Maeve sighed. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea of being dressed up like a toy for some bored socialite. Still, if this was her connection to the contact, it’s not like she had much choice. Or… anything better to do.

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Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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#, as written by Nulix
March 11th, 2045, 8:39pm: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

"Master of 'ze house, doling out 'ze charm. Ready with a handshake and an open palm," Monsieur Vic hummed to himself as he marched through the kitchen. His hands were tucked behind his back, his velvet black tuxedo lintless. White uniformed cooks sliced exotic meats while others sauteed over open flame. The head chef called out to his staff in a thick dutch accent but Monsieur Vic had no time to scrutinize his work. Right now he had other concerns.

He cornered a hall where rows of serving girls stood, hairless legs in black dresses matching his suit. Each held a golden trey in hand. They gave a respectful bow to Monsieur Vic as he marched through the swinging doors and out of the staff area, into the VIP section of the club. The harsh, white oled lighting of the staff corridor was replaced by warm incandescents. One of the duo of bartenders gave the monsieur a nod as he passed before continuing to shake the drink he was preparing.

Shapeless was the most exclusive club in Atlas city. The dining was impeccable: between black marble sculptures stood benches and tables carved from the same oak as the doors of Harvard. There they eat their roast octopus and pheasant, each meal a gourmet work of art. The best of the best for their clientele: old men whose sweat tasted of money and old women whose pussies tasted of wine. And of course their dining companions- voluptuous and dolled in the latest and most expensive fashions. Young and hungry.

At the bar the handsome staff poured out thousand dollar bottles of vodka, music echoing from the distant dance floor where richly dressed guests danced the night away, consumed by the very purest cocaine. "Monsieur Vic," A dressed waitress said, walking with the man as he moved alongside the dance-floor, in the shadows of the lights. "A guest's bought the entire bar shots of '48 LaCron and his credit card just flagged-"

Monsieur Vic raised his hand, dismissing the waitress' concerns. She bowed respectfully and went off to solve the issue herself. The monsieur had more important issues to address right now. Issues concerning tonight's main event.

In the centre of the VIP section was a sunken arena, home to the greatest battles one could pay for. The greatest boxing matches the world had even seen. Gods battling gods.

***

The traffic doors of the alleyway beside Shapeless opened. Monsieur Vic stepped out of the club's warehouse. Between two black turtlenecked members of security a woman stood. Both the muscle bound men measured in the middle of the six-foot range, but she still towered above them.

"So you're the human meat?" Monsieur Vic snorted, his finely waxed moustache twitching as he spoke. "You're late."

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Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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”No I’m not.” The two men on either side of her moved to block her with their arms extended in front of her chest as she took a step forward, and pivoted like turnstiles as she walked right through them.
”Hold it,” Monsieur Vic demanded, puffing out his chest. ”We need to make a few things clear before-” Maeve brushed right past him without a hint of hesitation. She had no interest in the blustering of men sent to ensure she played the losing role in a game meant to entertain a litter of bored aristocrats. ”I’ve been told,” she said without turning to look at him, pushing her way into the kitchen.
There were shouts of surprise and indignation from the kitchen staff, and Monsieur Vic chased after Maeve to find her patrolling down the prep line, picking at food being plated for Shapeless’s exclusive clientele. ”What the fuck are you-”
”I’ve a mouth on me,” Maeve replied, turning over a ball of roast octopus before popping it in her mouth. ”Your woman kept me all day and never offered anything to eat. Doubt your crowd would get much fun watching that hero have a go with someone half starved, aye?”
Monsieur Vic stared at her with his mouth agape for a long moment, his face so red steam was nearly coming out of his ears. He rushed forward to pull her away, but only succeeded at tugging uselessly at her sleeve as she continued on as if he wasn’t there. ”You- you can’t just-”
”Charge it to your flaithulach hero, doubt they’d notice much.”
Vic ground his teeth, enraged at the sheer nerve of this nameless loser hired off the street to serve as fodder for Super Roma Number One. ”Alright,” he began, speaking through his teeth. ”Listen here, you stupid Irish bitch. Cannonade is not-” Maeve was suddenly looming directly over him, her face inches from his own. Monsieur Vic’s voice faltered as he stared into her listless expression, her grey eyes seeming to stare straight through him. He found that he was suddenly very intimately aware of how much smaller than her he was. ”C- Cannonade is not the type to- the, uh… You can’t, just, uh...”
He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze and backing away. He waved down one of his cooks, gave him some quick instructions under his breath, then very quickly went to busy himself with something else. After a moment Maeve was directed to the staff room to wait, and a large tray of potato skins was brought out for her several minutes later.
Maeve tossed one in her mouth, leaning back in the cheap aluminum chair and gazing at the holographic clock projected on the wall. She had about 15… no, 12 minutes now, until she was scheduled to fight- to “fight” the hero Cannonade for the amusement of the club’s VIPs. To think she’d been tricked into something so completely asinine. She’d been hoping to relieve stress with a genuine brawl - a good, solid scrap that didn’t end the instant her first fist connected.
Mother Mary knew she could use it - that mess in Belfast, followed by a week stuck in the hold of the world’s slowest cargo ship and now this nonsense. Maeve knew better than anyone that patience was a practiced skill, but even hers threatened to wear a bit thin.
”oh, wow, you’re really tall.”
She turned her head at the sound of a voice. A young man, college age maybe. Probably one of the dishwashers. ”Can I help ye?”
”Oh, no, I’m just- I’m on break.”
”Mm.”
The boy remained in the doorway, eyes fixed on her. Maeve got the distinct impression he might be the slightest bit nervous about sharing the room with her. ”I’m not going to bite ye.”
The boy looked flustered. ”Oh- No, I- Sorry, it’s just, um. You’re the one the owner hired for the fight tonight, right? That’s cool.” He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit across from her. He leaned forward, his arms on the table, still not taking his eyes from her. Maeve wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.
”So you have powers, right? Like real- like real superpowers, like on the news, huh. That’s cool. I don’t. I mean. Obviously I don’t. It’s cool that you do, though. So do you like… fly? Do you fly? I hear Cannon- Mr.- Miss? Uh, Cannonade can fly. I don’t really know if that’ll matter, though, I don’t really know how big the ring is, I’ve never- I only ever go in the kitchen, here, so I-” The boy blathered on for a while longer. Maeve watched the clock intently, the boy’s rambling only half-registering in her mind. Eight minutes left. Was she in hell?
”Oh, my, would ye look at the time,” Maeve interjected gently, interrupting something about giant wolves and black coats. ”And I would love to stay and listen to ye rabbit on a bit longer - honest, I would - but I need to get going to the arena now. Pleasure chatting with ye, though.” She rose out of her seat and moved to leave the staff room, grabbing the last handful of potato skins to stuff in her mouth.
”Oh! Okay!” the dishwasher boy said, rising with her before realizing he had nowhere to be and slowly sitting back down. ”I’ll be rooting for you.”
Maeve stopped for a moment in the doorway. ”...Aye, ye do that.” Then she went to find her entrance to the arena.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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#, as written by Nulix
The entrance to the arena, as Maeve would find out, was down a stairwell off the side of a staff corridor. A metal door not quite as tall as Maeve was at the bottom. The words: 'Fitting Room' were written on a glass sign on the front. Inside Maeve would be greeted by warm lights and white tiled floors. Though not quite as lush as the rest of the club it was no school locker room. The air was steamy, as though someone had recently used the showers to her left. And instead of the pounding that dominated the upper floors of the club, gentle singing echoed.

"Every day we're taking pills, afternoon and evening quill... putting on a show like vaud-e-ville." It was a raspy voice, the tone unclear if it was a man or a woman. Sitting to the right, on the wooden bench in the centre of the change room, sat Cannonade- unmasked to reveal a bushel of curly brown hairs and tan skin coated in freckles. They wore some sort of black silken kimono, their name on the back. "Twenty thousand years ago I'd probably feel this strong, somewhere in a cave- fighting the ice age. Showing off the tiger that I fought today... and the bite marks on my face."

The tone went dead as Cannon turned to the new entrant. "Oh," Cannonade rose from their hunched over position at the newcomer. Their eyes were bright and green- catlike in their intensity. "Hey."

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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"Howya."
This... wasn't what Maeve was expecting. She hadn't expected to run into her... "opponent" until there were already in the arena, not find them singing alone to themself in a dressing room.
Maeve's apathetic grey eyes swept the room once; her recruitment had been a bit too last minute for the organizers to have prepared anything for her here, so she already wore her attire for the event under a long, hooded boxing coat. There wasn't really much for her to do here aside from pass the last few minutes somewhere without other people... or so she'd assumed.You'd think a club like this could afford more than one dressing room. Unless...
"I haven't found myself in the wrong room, have I?" Her voice was quiet and even.

“I don’t know, are you here to kick my ass?” Cannonade said with a smile. Their voice was fairly neutral American, though hints of Caribbean root be heard beneath it. “If you are, then-“ They clicked their tongue before separating their pointer and middle finger to indicate to the splitting halls at the end of the dressing room, each leading to a respective side of the arena they would enter.

"Ah. Suppose they aren't afraid of a bit of milling before the match proper, then. " Then again, since they're all rigged anyway... "Speaking of."
She moved to lean against a locker near the exit halls, yet close enough for her soft voice to still be heard. "They told me I shouldn't dig ye in the face. Suppose it's understandable they'd have their concerns about that, but I thought I'd ask ye myself anyways. Wouldn't want to offend by seeming like I'm going easy on ye, in the interest of sportsmanship."

"You're really fucking tall," Cannonade interrupted as they stared up at Maeve, making no attempt at responding to their words. “Yeah, face is a no go,” They eventually replied. “Also, I was working earlier today and-“ Cannonade lifted by the leg of their kimono to reveal a thigh coated in bruises. “So watch the punches.”

Cannonade walked toward one of the sinks of the changing room. A few snacks in a napkin were laid out there. “You want some sherry? Maybe a little-” They placed a finger on their nostril and winked.

"I drink a lot of milk," she replied without missing a beat.
They were injured. Hm.
"No. Bevvies and sneachta aren't big friends of mine. Health concerns. But by all means, crack on."
Maeve watched them from the locker, judging their height, their weight, eyes tracing the length of their arms. There were things you couldn't get a proper feel for in just videos, after all. She also paid attention to how they carried themself; were they favoring their leg, or making a show of an otherwise meaningless injury?
Maeve shook her head a bit and pinched the bridge of her nose. Stop looking for openings in a fake fight.
Maeve joined Cannonade by the sink, studying the tiny selection of snacks and more robust selection of narcotics. She picked up a fried shrimp, tapping it once on the napkin to shake off any loose crumbs before leaning away from Super Roma #1.
"Should reconsider the sherry," Maeve commented, her face too stiff and impassive to tell whether she actually gave a shit. "If ye go out and make an ass of yourself cos your too off your face, it won't make for quite the show they paid for." She was quiet for a second, then shrugged and added, "Could still be fun, I guess."

“Could still be fun,” Cannon repeated with a smile and nod before letting out a little laugh at the absurdity. “Toss me out the arena, I’ll throw up on a rich guy’s suit.” Cannonade rose an eyebrow at the woman beside them. They had no idea who this was. They weren't in Nahla or any of the PCs, they'd have recognized her if she was. No, this was someone off the streets. A fucking Irish rube.

“These streaks of white are so pretty,” Cannonade said, crossing one leg over the leg. They knew they could be cute when they wanted to be. They pushed themselves off the sink and turned to Maeve. It was rare they had to reach for anything, but to reach the head of their opponent they had to stretch. The fingers on their left hand touched a loose thicket of white hair and combed them behind Maeve’s ears as she chewed. Cannon let out a smile, baring their white fangs. They smelt of avocado butters, coconut oil, weed, flowers and just a hint of sweat.

They stink.

And suddenly something was wrong. Maeve’s body felt heavy, as though a pressure had started weighing down on them. Cannonade stepped backward, revealing their right hand extended palm first.

“Is this too much for you?” Cannon asked in a baby voice as their grip became tighter. Maeve’s bones grew heavy as the pressure increased. It felt as if her body was being held down on all sides. “Is this?” The grip grew smaller. Maeve’s body grew heavy and her bones creaked under the pressure. She felt the tail of the shrimp catch at the back of her throat.

Off the sink table Cannonade pulled a black mask, seemingly matching the black marble statues of the club, and slid it over their face. They green eyes examined Maeve, trying to find how much gravity their opponent could take.

“How about this?” Their grip grew tighter. Tight enough to crush the body of a normal man. They knew. They’d done it before. Air could barely be pulled into collapsing lungs. Muscles spasmed. The floor beneath Maeve’s feet began to chip as the pressure grew. “In case you didn’t recognize me without the helmet- I’m Cannonade,” Cannonade introduced, leaning forward. “I don’t lose. Let’s keep it that way, eh?”

And then, they released. Maeve could breathe easily again. Cannonade turned, downed the sherry and smashed the glass into the ground before walking off to their side of the arena.

"Aye, I know who ye are, ye wee cunt." Maeve swore under her breath. It was rare she'd been caught off guard like that. This was certainly... a new experience, compared to the capes who haunted the Isles. A thin, almost predatory smile crept across her face as she leaned against the wall for a moment and wiping .a thin rivulet of thick black blood from her nose. "Should I take this as permission to stop being polite?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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March 11th, 2045, 8:43pm: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

Maxwell had finished donning his outfit and took a few moments to admire it in a mirror. The strange, unnatural darkness, coupled with the slight sheen from the reflective materials over top, made it strange to behold. In some darker lit areas even, it could almost appear invisible. He returned to his desk and took a seat, making a few final checks before the match would start. The room was a sumptuous mixture of the classic, and the modern, with dark oak wood panels and book cases lining the walls, black marble floors, tile, and even pillars. Then there were the glittering stainless steel highlights, and the ceiling which shone brilliantly with bright lights making up several rows, though they could be adjusted to different brightnesses or colors. And of course there was his desk chair, with dark oak, red leather, and shiny brass accents and button to decorate it.

He was deep in thought about tonight's fight. It was rigged, of course. Such a shame too. Evidently it was good for business, but he'd already heard all about the Irish giant of a woman who'd been brought in. He had every expectation that she may exceed his expectations, but that just made his feelings all the harder to reconcile. Business was business, but at his core... He almost wished she wouldn't lose the fight...


There was a light knock at the door to Maxwell's office. Ulysses and Willoughby stepped in, two of his oldest companions and employees. Then men were tall, large, and most strikingly, albino. They both wore well tailored, robins egg blue suits, and carried themselves with a sense of professionalism and pride. "Mr. Landon, we've got some interesting news. There's a celebrity in the club tonight." Ulysses smiled softly as Willoughby approached Maxwell's desk and placed a photo down on it. "Vicki Vortex."

After a few moments studying the photo, behind the black mask Maxwell's eyes began to light up a little brighter. "Was she... The girl from the park? Very very intriguing. It seems fate is hard at work today." Maxwell nodded to the two men as he stood and left the desk. "No need to worry about me tonight gentlemen. Let Monsieur Vic know not to cause her any trouble, you know how passionate he can be about the club. But this guest may be VIP material I think, of the highest caliber."

__________________________________________________________________


Vicki stood at the bar counter awaiting her drink, when a slight knock against the counter top snapped her attention to someone now standing beside her. From head to toe he was covered in pure black, a slight sheen from the lights being the only thing that broke the color. The bar man seemed to have focused every shred of attention he had instantly on the man in black.

"This one's on the house for our guest here." He spoke pleasantly, in a voice unfamiliar to Vicki, altered by internal mechanisms designed to obscure one's natural voice. "Apologies for the interruption madame, I hope you have been enjoying your evening so far." He said considerately.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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March 11th, 2045, 8:43pm: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

Maxwell smiled under his mask, already beginning to enjoy the company of the starlet, and starting to understand why others felt the same. "The man of the house?" He chuckled slightly. "I don't think I've met many men with houses quite as busy as this one. But yes, I suppose I am the 'man of the house', and very pleased to have you as a guest Miss Vicky." He did a playful flourish and bow.

She continued by trying to coax him out of the darkness, using some rather charming guile to quite successful effect, but The Shape had guile too, and more than enough experience to know how to keep himself protected. "You make such a tempting offer, and I'd be inclined to accept almost, but there's a little hitch in your plan." He said in a soft voice as he leaned his left arm against the countertop.

"I don't like to make things easy." He waved over the waiter, who quickly brought over a platter filled with packets of cigarettes. The Shape plucked one up, lit it, and placed it to the lips of his mask. When the smoke filtered out, it came gracefully through the lips of the mask, like a gentle, smokey cloud.

"But I suppose it wouldn't be fair of me to play too hard. You can call me Shape if you like, it's what everyone else does. Of course, you don't seem like an 'everyone else'. Trendsetters never are."


__________________________________________________________________


The arena of Shapeless was a glittering gem of a sports realm. The walls were made of black marble, with highlights of white and gold folded into that polished stone. The seating was steep, going high up the cylindrical room to maximize on space as much as possible, and to provide a high vantage point for fights that occurred in the center.

Above the seats were located a series of separated rooms with floor to ceiling windows, reserved for VIP guests, and The Shape himself, to observe fights from.

Crowds had already taken their seats in the tall room, and at the center, the fighting ring, a series of bright white spotlights found themselves centering, landing on a single man. His body was mostly thin, other than the bulging beer belly he sported, jutting awkwardly from the fine, crisp black tuxedo he wore. The hair on his head was black, but heavily balding, and he sported a very long, thin, and curling mustache.

The man was Monsieur Ric, the announcer of Shapeless's prestigious fights. The lights stopped over him, and the sound of an electronic drum set began to resound around the room. The crowd began to clap along in time with Carpenter Brut's "Maniac", the energy in the room quickly rising.

Finally the main riff of the tune kicked in, and the crowd erupted into raucous cheers. Monsieur Ric began to cartwheel, back flip, somersault, and dance around the stage with a kind of possessed energy that absolutely did not make sense in a man of his physical appearance.

"LADIES!!! GENTLEMEN!!! EVERYONE ELSE BETWEEN!!! Welcome back to another Shapeless Superhero SHOWDOOOOOOOOOWN! Tonight, we TRULY have what could be the FIGHT OF OUR LIVES!"

The crowd began to erupt into more cheers and shouts of praise for Ric, for Shapeless, and of course, for Cannonade.

"HAILING from Trinidad and Tobago, the last survivor of the FAMED Super Roma PC, one of Europe's GREATEST heroes, the strong willed, GRAVITY wielding CANON of a person, it's CANONAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADE!" The crowd was electrified as men and women called out the name of their favorite hero, some throwing money, and other symbols of affection, to the center of the arena.

"And their challenger for tonight, HAILING from the Emerald Isle of IRELAND, a GIANTESS of a woman, with strength no MERE MORTAL may yet understand, a MOUNTAIN of MYSTERY, it's MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEVE!" Now the crowd was noticeably less energized, though some did still cheer, and throw their own bits of affections (some out of mere drunkenness), but others still even felt the need to boo. They were fewer, as it wasn't seen as quite as 'high class', but not everyone could maintain the same standards expected in Shapeless.

The match was about to begin.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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"Hey! Hey! Hey!" The woman who had 'hired' Maeve this morning flagged her down as she walked down the hall toward her entrance to the arena. Bloodadder Robinson, as Maeve had learned her name was, was standing off to the side of the large curtains which led out of the fitting room, looking both excited and a little worried.
"Have ye been standing here the entire time?"
"Yeah, yeah," Bloodadder confirmed, sounding a little rushed. "I just wanna go over a couple things real quick before they call your- are you smiling?
"No."
"What's got you in a good mood?"
"Nothing."
Bloodadder huffed. "Well, I suppose it's good to see you enthusiastic, though you could stand to smile a little- Oh, wow your facial muscles are completely dead," she prodded at Maeve's face for a moment, trying to make her smile wider before giving up. She busied herself fussing with Maeve's clothes and hair instead, standing on her toes to reach. "Anyway, remember that while Cannonade is meant to win this, you should still make sure to get few licks in, we want it to seem real after all, so put on a good show and make it look like they have to work for their victory, ok? Oh, but don't go for the face, I hear they sue for that."
The sound of 80's disco pop came through the other side of the curtain.
Oh! Oh, ok, ok, it's starting. Remember, good show, no face, try not to kill them, they aren't very durable without their suit- Oh!" She stretched to pull up the hood on Maeve's boxer coat. "Keep your hood up when you walk out, it'll make you more mysterious."
She turned to hurry off to someplace Maeve didn't particularly care about. The spectator seats maybe, or a viewing box with her - well, their, now - boss. Bloodadder had almost turned the corner when one more thought seemed to occur to her, and she spun back around. "I'll be rooting for you! Even if it's rigged. Never know what might happen! Good luck! Don't die!" And then she was gone.
"-gravity wielding CANNON of a person-"
Guess it was showtime.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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#, as written by Nulix
Cannonade emerged from the shadow of their entrance into the pit. The lean super jumped a few times in the air as warm up, each jump they raising themself higher and higher in the air. They then marched toward their opponent as extremely bad music played overhead, no doubt offending everyone at the club. They weren't here to talk. They were here to fight.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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Maeve squinted her eyes at the bright lights of the arena as she pushed her way through the heavy curtain. She walked slowly, deliberately, coat fluttering around her. She came to a stop roughly five meters from her opponent, looking down the bridge of her nose at them from within the shadow of her hood.
Monsieur Ric stood between them, pulling two microphones from… somewhere. "Do our GLADIATORS have any words they want to say to each other before the CHAOS STARTS?!" he asked, holding the mics out to each of them with clear intent for them to hype up the crowd.
Cannonade shook their head; they were here to fight, not talk. Maeve took her microphone. She looked at it, turning it over in her hands in contemplation. There was some murmuring in the crowd, and the announcer looked at her expectantly.
Then she threw it full force at Cannonade, missing by millimeters as the wind force carved a thin red line in their cheek before the microphone impacted with the wall behind them, causing a horrific feedback screech to scream throughout the arena as it tore straight through the marble. The sound of the now dead mic clattering under the stands on the opposite side echoed through the stunned silence of the arena. Monsieur Ric stared, mouth agape, and for a moment nothing moved. Maeve tore off the boxer's coat, letting the tattered shreds fall to the floor as the spotlights illuminated a simple mma outfit bound to her carved muscular form, boxers tape wrapped around her fists and forearms.
Ric took one step back, then another. "U-uhh… Fight start," he fumbled out, before turning and sprinting through a side exit which led up to his announcer's booth.
The ground shattered under Maeve's feet as she launched herself forward, delivering a rolling kick to the side of Cannonade's head. She'd never been in a fight where she had to hold back before; she honestly wasn't sure how well she'd do at it, but she reasoned she'd at least be able to bring it down to the level of a champion heavyweight kickboxer. That should be good enough. Maybe she'd even get to have a bit of fun like this.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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#, as written by Nulix
Cannonade's body flew to the side, their head barely dodging the projectile microphone the Irish asshat had thrown. Off their shoulders the silken kimono flew, revealing black biker shorts and a top, similar to Maeve's minus the knuckle and forearm tape. Ok, Cannonade thought. They were strong.

And then Maeve launched forward, the giant of a woman immediately consuming Cannonade's view before they had a chance to react, a kick coming to their head. And they were fast. Of course, they were up against Cannon-fucking-nade, who'd made a career out of being fast. Cannon bowed beneath the kick frantically before side-stepping another, though they could feel the loose ends of their hair caught in Maeve's assault. As Maeve's foot came down a second time Cannon Maeve would suddenly find her extended leg crushed and smashing into the marble floor as though it weighed a metric ton.

Cannonade rolled behind Maeve before sending a fist out toward their back, the gravity distorting around it to make it heavier than a normal human's hand, the impact of which would feel like being hit by a wrecking ball.

"I can only get so hard!" A businessman in the crowd yelled, giving Liz an enthusiastic thumbs up as he recorded on his phone.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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Maeve stumbled slightly from the impact to her back. Hm. That would bruise later. She spun around, swinging a backhanded fist at Cannonade. She had no expectation that it would connect; her opponent had proven remarkably evasive, and Maeve doubted any of her attempts to be aggressive would connect while she was forced to hold back. If she could draw them in, though…
She stepped forward in a boxing stance, bringing a series of jabs and hooks to her opponent but not fully committing to any of them. Maeve kept her face and midsection open, preparing herself to grab Cannonade immediately if they tried to exploit it - and bracing herself if the superhero opted to use that crushing attack from the fitting room instead.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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#, as written by Nulix
Cannon dodged the easy jabs, sending a few in return as the two got into a comfortable spar, neither going hard. Her face was constantly open but Cannonade wasn't about to wreck Maeve's pretty smile. The courtesy rule of no face shots went both ways, as far as the Super Roman was concerned. Their stomach however was fair game. Ducking beneath another jab Cannonade fell for the bait, sending a leg forward with a heel coated in weight, not hard enough to damage but hard enough to knock the wind out of the opponent and perhaps open them up for a second onslaught...

"Fighting gives me direction, and also, a raging erection," The businessman called loudly to Liz.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Devon Metzger Character Portrait: Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) Character Portrait: Sasha Belov Character Portrait: Henry Stewart Character Portrait: Klaus Zeit Character Portrait: Yue Bayushi Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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March 11th, 2045, 10:47am: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

"In Russia, using drugs to enhance or even force manifestations of superpowers are not uncommon," Sasha said, bringing another tray of food and drinks, and setting it down on the center table. "Not only among criminals but among officers of the law. The drugs used today, however... they were on a different scale. I hope that no more finds its way into the city, but I suspect that will not be the case."

March 11th, 2045, 8:30pm: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

"Adam Socket, obviously," Sasha sneered, flashing his ID to the guard at the Shapeless's main door. "Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to teach you why dumb thugs like you work for men like me?"

The guard scowled, but Adam Socket was on the list, so he quickly stepped aside and let Sasha into the sleazy but popular establishment. Sasha eased his way through the crowd towards the bathroom, stepping inside and closing the stall door behind him. Humming softly to himself, Sasha allowed his disguise to melt into a random stranger he had seen in the line outside, and threw Adam Socket's ID into the toilet with contempt.

The real Adam Socket would wake up in a few hours with a headache and his wallet gone, thinking himself the victim of a mugging. It was mostly true, although Sasha had picked out Mr. Socket as his target for entry into Shapeless almost a week prior, and he had simply tossed Socket's wallet into a garbage can after extracting his ID.

Flushing the toilet, Sasha stepped out of the stall, calmly washed his hands and began making his way to the VIP section of Shapeless. Approaching the arena, a guard reached out a hand to stop him, his companion next to him staring with glazed eyes at the dance floor and dining area.

"Sorry sir, this is VIP only," the guard said in a bored monotone, his smile plastered on his face in top form. "May I see your ID?"

"Aw shucks," Sasha said, his southern accent rolling off his tongue easily. "You know I think I left it at your momma's place."

The guard stared at Sasha for a moment, then his pleasant smile turned into an ugly grimace as the man's pumpkin-sized hand reached out to grasp Sasha's shoulder. In the next second, the guard collapsed, his eyes rolling up into his head as Sasha's fist connected with the man's chin. The second guard did a double take as his partner toppled, glancing around for the man who had assuredly been there only a second ago.

Sasha, for his part, had already moved on, his disguise once again melting into a new person as he stepped up into the crowd surrounding the arena pit. Taking an empty seat not far from the bottom, Sasha stared down at the fight beginning to take place.

So this is what Roma has fallen to, Sasha thought, a small smile on his face. Reminds me of home.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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"Heh."
Maeve grabbed Cannonade's leg as it swung toward her stomach, feeling the bones in their ankle grind together beneath her grip. She pulled them off their other foot, left fist connecting hard with their face. Maeve released Cannonade's ankle, bringing her arm up and slamming her fist down into their face again from above before kicking them in the ribs, sending them skidding across the marble floor of the arena.
She walked after them, not bothering to hurry as the spectators shifted from hushed silence to a raucous chorus of boos toward Maeve and cheers for Cannonade to get up and kick her ass.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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#, as written by Nulix
The first hit connected cleanly and the world went mute. Their jaw snapped out of place as their face flew backward- the black Shapeless mask they wore cracking at the impact. Maeve's other fist followed, slamming down onto Cannon, who managed to bend their neck so the second hit only grazed their well-defined face. Cannonade's left hand went to grab the broken mask while their right reached up to block a kick. Maeve's barefoot mashed into Cannonade's arm, and if it were in slow-motion you could see the very arm-hair wiggle as it absorbed the blow- like trees in a forest flattened by a nuclear blast.

Cannonade was sent flying. Their body rolled across the floor of the arena and then it came to a stop. They lay there for a moment, their rib-cage expanding and shrinking rapidly as they breathed. Their mind raced as they quickly tried to regain feeling and assess the damage to their form. Their jaw was dislocated, their arm was fractured, and... worst of all, their mask was broken.

Their hands reached up to the mask only to find that it was still attached. The bottom half had broken off upon impact with Maeve's fist, just below Cannon's nose, but the rest remained in place. Pieces of the black reinforced plastic lay on their lips. They rose one knee up, and then another, to the cheers of the crowds. Their hands went to their jaw and with a grunt they popped it back into place. They spat pieces of the plastic out.

Maeve approached, lumbering forward at not at all her true speed. Cannonade began to run, like a gymnast, straight for Maeve. And then, in one athletic stride they launched into the air, over Maeve's maw.

Only airborne for a second the last Super Roman came down behind Maeve. They smashed into the floor of the arena, not so hard to be an harmful attack on it's own (without their suit Cannonade could not stand the gravitational pull nor the impact of such a collision) but just enough to crack the black marble that lined it.

Maeve turned to face the injured superstar As they hurriedly collected rocks of marble from the mini crater. Cannonade looked up at Maeve, their eyes locking for a moment, and then spit at the ground. "Heads up, bol-face." They threw a piece of marble rock forward, straight at Maeve's face.

Maeve moved to block the fairly harmless projectile but it unnaturally dipped beneath their arms. The gravity increased rock collided with Maeve's legs and it swept their knees out from under them. It felt like being hit by a car. The giant flew forward and smashed into the earth. Behind them the rock hit the ground, leaving a fiery trail of impact behind Maeve's downed form.

Cannonade threw another piece of marble into the air and brought it down, directly beside Maeve's head. The arena shook as it broke through the floor and continued to borrow, leaving behind an impact hole that descended into darkness. With enough gravity on it even a piece of marble hitting the ground could become deadly as a high velocity bullet.

Cannonade flung the other rocks out into the air before reaching out and sending them plummeting toward Maeve.

"My defining trait is that I'm horny!" The businessman exposited loudly to Liz as he recorded.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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Maeve grit her teeth, eyes fixed on Cannonade like a cat that had just spotted the bird which would be its dinner. Maeve's fingers left long gouges in the floor where she'd layed and a cloud of rubble exploding from the impact of her foot as she launched herself as her opponent, the stones in the air embedding themselves in the floor an instant too late.
Maeve's fist went wide over Cannonade's head as they ducked to avoid the blow, only for Maeve to bring her hand down on the back of their head and slam their face into her knee. She planted her foot square in the middle of Cannonade's chest on the rebound, sending them flying back several feet into the opposite wall.
Maeve cracked her neck and stretched the knee of the leg where the stone had struck her. This was fun. This was a lot of fucking fun. Holding back was more difficult than she'd anticipated, but it was definitely worth being sore tomorrow if it meant she could experience an opponent this exciting.
She spit out a glob of thick, tar-like blood from where she'd bit her tongue when being knocked to the ground, then charged her opponent, winding up another left hook.
"Don't break on me yet, Super Roma," she purred.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler
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#, as written by Nulix
This time, Cannonade braced. Maeve's jabs were faster now, favouring speed in an attempt to hit the human cannon. And then they felt a hand on the back of their head, for Cannon a very decent 'oh fuck' moment. Luckily, it was softer than the previous hit had been. The facial collision with Maeve's knee was not. They tasted blood in their mouth at the sudden hit before being kicked in the boob. Cannonade was sent flying into the wall. They flung into it like a ragdoll as Maeve charged again.

Cannonade bared their teeth before sliding forward, dodging Maeve's fist and sliding beneath them. With one hand out they grabbed onto anything hard they could grip on Maeve's form. They dug their fingers into the woman's skin and then pulled it to the ground. Maeve was crushed by gravity, smashing into the earth. Cannonade released as Maeve rose their head to look up, only to have the superstar spit a mouthful of blood into Maeve's face. Followed by a right hook.

Cannonade backed away, nearly falling over themself before raising into the air. They floated up as Maeve recovered until they were level with the crowd of spectators. Gasps and faint claps were heard as they came to a stop in the centre of the room, high above the arena floor, holding their head desperately. Another hit to the heat without a helmet would mean crawling to their grave. And Maeve certainly had a thing for headshots.

Cannonade blinked and focused on Maeve on the ground below them. And for a moment the two took a moment to just observe, at such a distance. Yes, distance. They had to keep distance. No more of this close quarters shit.

Super Roma's cannon rose up further until they landed on the curved ceiling of the domed club. They let their body flatten on the uneven architecture for a moment before bouncing off it, down toward the spectators seats around the edge of the sunken arena. Their bare feet touched ground between between two white women in rich dresses and deep cleavage.

"C-C-Cannonade," One of the women guffawed. Cannonade frowned before grabbing a champagne glass from her hand and leaping over the stadium again. As they flew overhead several pieces of the the glass shot down, a dozen shards impacting onto the marble and a thirteenth entering Maeve's body as she dodged. It sliced straight through, coming out the back of her arm. The bloody shard smashed into the ground below her.

Cannonade landed on the other side of the stands, catching their breath and looking for what next they could shoot Maeve with.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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In the distance Liz watched the fight intently, her hand grasping on to a wine glass about to throw it at the horny businessman. She watched Cannonade join the audience, throw the glass at Maeve, and then pause, looking around the arena for some kind of weapon to use against the buff Irish woman. Liz pursed her lips and then smiled. The wine glass in her hand suddenly began to change shape, bending, twisting, growing larger and less opaque until finally the wine glass transformed into a bowling ball.

"M-Ma'am?" Margot hesitated from behind her, "Um, is that allowed?"

Liz turned slightly to glance at her personal assistant, her thin hand holding up the red bowling ball in plain view, "What do you mean, darling? I simply found this lying here!"

The Alchemist gave a sly smile and waited to see what would happen next.

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Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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Maeve watched as Cannonade flew around the arena's skybox, pelting them with bits of glass and whatever else they could grab off the spectators. Apparently they'd grown tired of an actual fight and had resorted back to the idea that this was just a game.

How deeply, profoundly fucking pathetic.

Aside from one shard of glass which had sliced through her arm, Maeve had no real trouble dodging Craven Roma Number One's hail of garbage. Her arm shot out and slammed into the wall of the arena, causing several spectators to scramble away as a large section of it collapsed along with the seating behind it. Several of them screamed in shock and fear, and Maeve was vaguely aware that a few had started toward the emergency exit. Whatever.

Maeve crouched down next to the rubble, eyes tracing Cannonade's path through the air as she lifted up one fist sized stone, bouncing it lightly in her hand. They wanted to play catch. Maeve could play catch. She launched the stone at Cannonade at full strength, causing it to become momentarily invisible to the crowd of onlookers as it tore through the air, tousling Cannonade's curly hair as it barely missed the top of their head before ripping through the roof of the arena, soaring God and Mary only knew how far out into the city.

Maeve picked up another chunk of marble, only a pebble this time, bouncing it in her hand as she followed Cannonade's attempts at evasion before firing it from her hand, this time scoring a deep gash through the back of Cannonade's thigh.

"Is this better for ye?" she asked nobody, her voice too soft to be carried to her opponent. However, though her face never changed expression, there was a sense of deep, animalistic intensity to her gaze which absolutely could not be ignored.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Kiran Kingsley Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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Vic took a cigarette from the platter almost subconsciously. The cigarette held lightly in the fingers of a limp-wristed hand. The waiter's lighter flickered up beneath it and she brought the smoke to her lips. Eyes never once leaving this 'Shape'.

"Shape..." she repeated, the 'p' popping off her lips. Fittingly vague. She’d taken on such an identity before too, a nothing name to a white, blank figure. She found comfort in it, not giving her superpowered identity any, well, power. It was Nobody. It didn’t mean she felt any connection towards the man for it. She knew her relationship with her super identity was different to most.

“Maybe, but give it a couple months. Then everyone will be like me. You can never get slack,” she said while she twisted, her back leaning on the bar and both elbows resting on it. She took in a long draw and tilted back her head. The smoke slowly filtered through her parted lips and nostrils as she looked across the room. Wilma was setting papers out on their table. That never meant anything good.

She chugged the rest of her drink, pushed the glass away, and rapped her scabbed knuckles on the table. "Vodka shot." She ordered, pushing herself up from the bar. She ran her hand halfway through her hair, but quickly drew it back, remembering the Frankenstein's monster-looking stitched up gash across her forehead. "Well, Shape, I came, I drank, I played hooky on business. It's been a night. I'd dance, but," she cocked her head, eyes squinting up at the ceiling and face scrunching at the EDM echoing from the dance floor, "Not my scene."

The Shape smiled under his mask, giving a slight nod in return as she contemplated walking away. "Understandable, it's certainly not everyone's scene." He chuckled lightly to himself. "But Shapeless tries to ensure we have plenty of secnes, for plenty of tastes. Perhaps this is less to your liking, but we even have a fight tonight. The great hero Cannonade, facing off against a giantess named Maeve. I do believe Cannonade was at that terrorist attack earlier, weren't they?"

He let another wave of smoke gently pass from the lips of his mask, spiraling upwards and almost framing the black, sheening face. "I have to go and watch shortly in fact, the man of the house shouldn't miss such important events. I have a private viewing box, which I'd be inclined to invite you to. If you'd think it's more your seen. You can even pick the music if you like, but we can just call that some... Club Shapeless hospitality." The words came out almost luridly as the man leaned quite comfortably against the bar counter, his gaze meeting her's.


Vic’s tongue ran across her teeth behind her lips, and her eyes crinkled at him. “Really?” Oh, this felt dangerous. It wasn’t just the sound of this legally questionable superhero fight nor the alcohol responsible for the adrenaline buzz. This man felt dangerous. And that feeling just made her all the more ready to make some bad decisions. She threw back her shot without a flinch, wiped her bottom lip and chin with her palm, and grinned.

“Right, I’m down. But I’m not making things too easy for you, either,” she said, “You choose the music that I’ll like.”

Though she couldn't see it, The Shape raised an eyebrow under his mask. "Well now, that is quite the challenge you've put to me Miss... Hmm, would it be Vortex you go by?" He asked in a light, playful tone.

"Vic. Skip the miss. Let's go." She answered, in the midst of a little puff of her cigarette, and took a step back from the bar. Before my manager notices.

"Vic it is then." He replied, again in a light, yet unassuming tone. The Shape took a step away from teh bar as well, grinding out his cigarette as he ushered Vic to follow him, with the flair of a gentleman. "Though I have to say Vic, you've got me feeling like we're doing something very bad. That's probably a feeling we're both familiar with though." There was a rougishness to his gentle words, something akin to a gentlemanly bankrobber, an old fashioned highwayman, or perhaps a much more hygenic pirate.

Nonetheless, The Shape led the way to his private viewing box. It was a spacious room, with it's own bar at the back, red velvet chairs with dark oak frame, and a light colored wood that looked only a shade away from gold colored. The room was clean, radiant, and oppulent, in contrast with some other parts of Shapeless perhaps. But The Shape rather enjoyed contrasts.

He noticed Liz Baker across the arena in her own VIP spectators box, equipped with sliding glass windows so that she could have a little more 'active participation' in the fights. The Shape gave her a slight nod in recognition. Liz was an interesting patron to have attending, she was certainly a person who exuded power and wealth, of a calibur that The Shape felt competed with him. Though at this time, it still remained to be seen if they would be competitors or not. "Now Vic, I believe the deal was for me to pick music you would like? Let's see what we got in stock."

There was what looked like an antique record player off to the side, though it was actually part of a much more complex sound system for the room. The Shape flitted through a list of rock songs, trying to sort by artists and genres for a few moments. At the end of the room was a large, floor to cieling window, outside of which sat the monolithic arena, with large crowds belting out muffled cheers.
Vic sauntered up to peer out it. Smoke rolled across the glass as she opened her mouth in an impressed 'o'. It didn't last, and she turned her back on the empty arena, leaning her bottle-red head against the glass.

~~~

A ghostly pale man in a dark red outfit stepped out of a non-descript black vehicle in front of the club Shapeless and marched inside. Nobody gave the striking man a second glance while he didnt so much as slow down for any of the security or bouncers. He shrugged his large blood red fur coat to hang around his elbows and adjusted his mirrored glasses with a hint of a scowl. Kiran Kingsley was not in a good mood. He had been forced to end one of his "test subjects" far earlier then he liked when he had recieved some rather distressing news from his current employer. Super power granting drugs that weren't his own creation had somehow made it into the city. Of all the insults one could muster, somebody had the unmidigated gall to step in on HIS work? Kiran's craft?? This could not and sure as hell would not stand. Oh no it wouldn't survive at all if this doctor had anything to say about it. They at their hands, minutes ago they had been covered in gore from their tantrum moments after hearing the unforgivable news. A coppery tang still hung around them even after they had washed them clean of any blood or viscera. It was a shame really, the test subject had such a good reaction to the recent batches of their new regenerative formula. At least the Biomass could still be used later, for now it was left in one of Kiran's freezers.

But that was business that could wait for another time. The sound of loud EDM and moving bodies filled his ears, almost drowning out the yells and echos of a fight. Right, THE fight. Kiran had been told beforehand and he did want to see it from the start, regardless of it being rigged or not. but he got caught up in his work as usual. No worries though, it sounded like it was still going and there was always videos for later. He struted up to the bar and tapped the counter twice. When the barkeep glanced his way and nearly froze. "Poison me dareling, I need a pick me up." The barkeep said nothing and simply nodded. In less then a minute, a dark purple drink on ice in a short but stout glass was slid into Kiran's awaiting hand. He grinned and set down a one hundred dollar bill on the counter with his other hand before turning on his heel, "Thanks love, now dont mind me, i have to see the boss." and was marching off again. The Doctor stopped at the VIP box's door reserved for Maxwell and knocked on it to the tune of shave and a haircut two bits. He sipped his cocktail paciently. it tasted sickeningly sweet and had a host of drugs masked by the alcohol. Probably would kill anyone else what tried drinking it.

The door opened for Kiran, and as he quickly rushed through he was met by Maxwell, closing the door behind the enraged mad scientist. "Kiran, how very good to see you again. Please, have a seat, enjoy the show and your drink. We've a guest with us this evening, so business will have to be brief. But allow me to introduce you to Vic." He smiled under his mask as he indicated to the girl in the room. She acknowedged him with a lift of her brow, nothing more.

Kiran quickly looked over at the unexpected extra body in the room and tilted their head. "Vic? You seem familiar. Sorry I've been a bit . . . distracted tonight so excuse me if i dont recognize you right away." He gave a wide grin and was careful not to show their maw of fangs, yet. He gave Vic a once over with his eyes. She seemed rather thin, if not unhealthy. poor health leads to swifter deaths. Kiran held his tongue though for now. He had other things to attend to. The scientist turned to Maxwell and sipped his drink before speaking in a more hushed tone. "This is a big problem for me boss, I'll hold off on doing anything too drastic but if this desn't get sorted out . . . you know what im willing to do to make sure this is done." He glanced at Vic quickly before hissing. "We cant have someone stepping into our market this early." Kiran huffed and took another sip before swirling the liquid absently. It was at least starting to calm him a little. sometimes he wished he hadn't mutated and changed himself so much, though his drink might have instead hit like ground glass otherwise.

"The thing that worries me, Kiran old boy, is that they may not be new to this market. We'll have to do some more research I think, perhaps check in with our suppliers and distributors. I don't mean to worry you though, take a seat and relax yourself for a moment." He turned his gaze back to Vic giving a slight nod as apology for the interruption, before returning to the music set up. Another moment later, the sound of The Rolling Stones "Sympathy For The Devil" began to quietly build up in the room, emanating from speakers built into the cieling and other hidden spaces.

"Well Vic, let me know how I did. I was certain I'd heard before that you enjoy a bit of classic rock, and this one certainlly seems like a theme song. Not just for me though, I assure you. I'm certain most people in Shapeless could say this has been their theme once upon a time, maybe even yours. Though, if I'm being honest, I would think the Devil would be considerably older than anyone present here tonight." He chuckled slightly to himself as he made his way back to the viewing window.


Something about the way he said that. It made Vic squint suspiciously at him then check over her shoulder in case the devil really was in the crowd. And this song... she had to have a heart-to-heart with Anastasia for giving away her info. She let out a mildly amused exhale from her nose and flicked her cig into the ashtray.

"I think you're trying to taunt me," she replied, "You know, Slash called this song the sound of a band breaking up." She paused a second. "And he was right. Improv drum solo, right between the bridge and final chorus. That's where it happened for me." A dry smile. "The fucking audacity to release my identity during a cover. Oh, there we go." The announcer's voice boomed over the stereo and she bounced over to to a chair, flopping into it with the same comfort as she would her own lounge.

"A hundred on the big one, by the way," she piped up, "Cannonade might be running on a few less ribs tonight." She pursed her lips, then added nonchalantly, "Not that I would know anything about that. Make it five hundred."

Kiran grumbled but nodded. He slinked over to a seat near Vic and sank into it with an over dramatic sigh. He held his drink up to the light. Cocaine, Meth, touch of Acid, and a bunch of small time synthetics. All floating in a swirl of pomegranate, grape, and moonshine. tasted just right. He downed all of it in a gulp. Not feeling like sipping it anymore. Almost half his tongue flicked out as he smiled broadly. Well, no dwelling on unpleasent thoughts right now. He reached up and took off his glasses, hooking them in the colar of his buttonup. His red eyes gleamed with a manic excitment as he became focused on the match. That giant of a woman was interesting for sure. Kiran's mind started to form all sorts of ideas for what he could do with a body like that. Oh the number of surgeries that could be done on a body that big and strong. "700 on the Big one for me, I wanna see her crush Cannonade. Might be fun~" He cackled a bit to nobody in particular.

The Shape chuckled slightly at the comments made by both Kiran and Vic. He grabbed something from a liqour cabinet next to the record player. The Shape walked over to the seats, taking a middle one placing himself between Kiran and Vic, and placing a bottle on a table in front of them. "Well, I'm not sure if you're a Cognac fan, but as a peace offering for the 'taunting', you're welcome to some of this Henry the fourth." He placed some glasses down along with the bottle as the fighting began outside.

"And I'll unfortunately match your bet Vic, your's too Kiran. Someone has to. $1200 on Cannonade." He smirked slightly as he poured a glass of the vintage liquid from the table. "Although to be honest, it's quite a dilemma for me. My money, like most of the spectators tonight, is on Cannonade. And yet I've got an upcoming business arrangement with Miss Maeve down there. Either way it looks like I'm losing, or perhaps winning. Guess we'll find out."


__________________________________________________________________


Monsieur Ric had tumbled out of the ring with a strangely graceful bumblingness as he ran over to the announcement box.

"LET'S get ready to RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMBLE!!!" As he finished, Maeve and Cannonade began their bought. It seemed like it may be mostly respectable, but it wasn't long till face shots found their mark at Cannonade's head.

"Uuuuuhhhh.... AH!!! A LOW BLOW from Maeve! Going for the face and holding nothing back!" The beatings came swift, hard, and angrily as the two titans clashed. At one point, Maeve sent Cannonaade skidding across the floor of the arena.

Monsieur Ric was silent a moment. Beads of sweat cascaded down his face, soaking into his fine white dress shirt. "C-c-c-c.....CANNONADE IS DOWN!!! The MIGHTY Maeve has sent our beloved hero through the ringer, but CANNONADE is FAR stronger than this! Just you wait, folks, they'll ahh... Get back up and ah... REMEMBER to ask the waiter for a nice, refreshing SLAMMONADE while you enjoy the fight folks! A house special, made espcially to commemorate SUPER ROMA'S surviving member! LEMONADE, VODKA, AND- Wait... CANNONADE IS UP!"

His speech was cut off when the Super of Gravitas stood once more to continue the grandiose match. They went to blows again as an annoying man in the audience made grotesque remarks about his bodily functions to one of their great partrons, Liz. Monsieur Ric was feeling his patience wear quite thin.

The sound of glass, rock, and a variety of other substances breaking filled the room, as Maeve and Cannonade took to projectile combat! No, no no no no no! This was absolutely not part of the deal! The supers WEREN'T supposed to do this!

"Daaaaah, CANNONADE! FINISH THE FIGHT! DEFEAT THE MAD BEAST! And try to reduce the property damage..." He muttered the last words.

"My defining trait is that I'm horny!" The businessman

That DID IT. Monsier Ric was DONE with this night. He marched his way into the stands, face red as a tomato, anger and hatred rising in his entire being. When he reached the perverted pebblian, he stood firm a moment, as if he were a soldier at attention. The gross guest looked Monsieur Ric up and down a moment, before the announcer's fine Italian leather shoe shot up, and into the throat of the rotundely rude rabble rouser.

As the man sat choking on his tongue a moment, Ric grabbed the phone, and threw it into the arena, shattering it on the ground. "DOWN THERE CANNONADE!" He shouted gleefully before returning to the announcer station.

__________________________________________________________________


The Shape rapped his fingers against his glass, getting concerned at the direction the fight had taken. "This fight may need to be called if this keeps up." He spoke quietly with a slight smirk. "It's certainly been more interesting than it was supposed to be..."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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#, as written by Nulix
Cannonade ducked midair as the rock flew over their head. It shot through the domed roof of Shapeless, revealing a hint of the light-polluted night sky beyond. A few cracks spread out across the vintage building's ceiling from the damage. And then, Cannonade screamed. The back of their thigh was sliced. Before they had time to recover a chunk of roof about a metre wide plummeted down from the ceiling.

"Come on!" Cannonade exclaimed before flinging their body down. The businessman who had been recording the fight for his own perverse pleasure yelled out in terror as the chunk of roofing threatened to come down upon him. "Horniness isn't a crime!" But, before it could hit, it began to hover to a stop. The businessman raised out of his seat as Cannonade landed beside them, their hand stretched out and raising the gravity surrounding the chunk of ceiling.

"You... you saved me," The businessman whispered as he began to back away. Cannonade released their grip, and the roofing mashed into the man's now empty seat. Cannonade exhaustedly turned around and looked down at Maeve from the spectator ledge. They presented the Irish irritant with a middle finger before leaping up toward Liz's booth.

Cannon had spotted the famous Liz Baker when they had first entered the club, about an hour earlier, but had not spoken to them. The two had only met once before, at a party in Monaco. It was passing introduced with the other now deceased members of Super Roma. Chances were Liz would not even remember the helmeted wonder of the world. Unless they frequented superherocandids.com and Cannonade's frequently featured backside.

Or perhaps she did remember them for now Liz seemed to be beckoning them from their booth. And in their hand... was a bowling ball? Cannonade landed at Liz's feet and rose slowly. Deep breaths as they nodded at the older woman. They gripped the bowling ball. "Thanks." And with that, they leaped.

As soon as they were in the air more rocks shot up at Cannon’s form, but the super managed to just avoid impact. “I’ve abandoned my BOOOOY!” They said as they rose the bowling-ball. Their body was consumed by intense gravity as they plummeted, at a sudden speed faster than Maeve could react. With a ferocious scream Cannonade brought the gravitationally weighted bowling ball down on Maeve's head.

It cracked apart around their skull, and Maeve went down. Cannonade landed atop them and for a moment there was silence. And then, a cough of recovery. Cannon’s body began to rise into the air off of Maeve's, like a face-down angel. “The fights over," The spoke down to the woman. “Time to give up.”

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Sasha Belov Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Kiran Kingsley Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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Maeve was still for a moment as Cannonade rose off of her into the air, declaring the fight over. The arena was completely silent, aside from a few tentative cheers for the hero’s victory following the brawl which had been quickly growing out of control a second before. The air seemed to take a breath as everything calmed.

Then Maeve got up. Her body rose limply off the ground, thick, black ichor dripping down her chin. Then massive tendons exploded around her, encasing her limbs and thrashing outward as a massive rib cage grew like a horrific white tree out of the air, bone impaling the nearby seats and ripping them apart as the VIPs scattered in terror. Cannonade swerved away to evade before they could get caught in it, and then again as first one shoulder and then another sprouted into existence and a single giant clawed arm slammed down into the center of the arena, sending a cloud of dust and rubble exploding outward to fill the entire building.

The vast, incomplete skeleton tried to lift itself up off the ground as more of it started to form, the back of its spine sending cracks spiderwebbing across the already damaged ceiling as it strained to break through. Tendons and sinew began snaking their way over the skeleton’s frame, muscle crawling down and threatening to encase Maeve’s form inside. It tilted left, unable to support itself fully with only one limb, crushing a few unfortunate patrons under its torso.

Then it fell still. Maeve’s body began to slip, ever so slightly, then snapped free from the meat which had bound her limbs and fell back to the demolished floor of the arena. She stayed crouched there on her hands and knees for a moment, dazed, and the monstrous form above her began to dissolve, dripping down in drops of oily tar which caused whatever they landed on to smoke and hiss from the intense heat. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, manifesting and then vanishing in only a handful of seconds.

Maeve got slowly back to her feet, then stumbled and fell to one knee. She blinked away the fog that clouded her mind, returning to her senses, and tried to stand again. She looked around in a daze at the destruction of the arena, dust and rubble drifting gently down to the abused ceiling of the club. She slapped her cheeks, trying to focus, as she attempted to recall what had just happened.

She had been fighting Cannonade, and then… had she lost control? No, she might’ve gotten a little carried away with the fight, but… Then how…

Oh. The bowling ball, she must have lost consciousness. Her eyes scanned around for her former opponent, then abandoned that when they landed on one of the VIP booths instead. That one in the mask, looking like an anthropomorphic shadow. Was that her contact?

Shit.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker
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Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sound of heels on marble approached the two fighters, stepping over broken pieces of marble and dirt that littered the now destroyed arena. Guests cried out in different sorts of fury; a man swore at the two supers in the center for ruining his suit, a woman cradled a bloody leg that had been hit by a flying clunk of debris, other guests who were backed up against the far walls of the club complained in hushed tones. Dust made a cloud in the center of the arena, turning Maeve and Cannonade's silhouettes into shadowy figures surrounded by destruction. No doubt Shape would be here soon to try and minimize the fallout.

"Bravo, bravo Cannonade!" Liz's voice emerged from the dust, her hand waving the dirt away before her face, "And to you, dear Maeve. Are you alright, darling? Not too injured? And you, Cannon?"

Liz Baker looked around with a dramatic sigh, "Well, you certainly destroyed this place. Ah, don't worry, it was technically my fault," her tone was jovial, "But you see, I had to ensure your victory tonight Cannonade. No offense to you, Maeve, of course. Well, bygones will be bygones, I shall burden the blame for tonight's mess."

In the distance Alec sobbed, his incredible loss of $700,000 echoing throughout the ruined club.