CVnU: New York City

@synergy_x:

"Come and meet him"

That laugh - her laugh - touched his ears like pale fingers of ice. She reveled in it. The pain swarming hot through open wounds. The scent of their blood hanging thick in the air. The rush of adrenaline, the cruelty, the dark of a lost life. She was no simple warrior. No assassin from the common rabble. She was death, and she smelled blood. "Introducing me to the family huh?", he rasped, teeth red with blood, the cut on his face running deeper and wider across his flesh. "Kinda forward", he taunted, chest heaving like a laboring tide. He moved, and her feet slid with his, he dodged and parried, clashing his vibranium with hers till a blade slipped through to home in on his chest like a missile - and more blood spilled. A cut stretched deep into his chest, and his growl rolled out through bloodied teeth.

His vision was blurring. The blood shipped to his brain and muscles was little. He felt weaker. He'd lost a lot of blood. No more, he told himself, ruby eyes narrowing into the Pale Spider's one. His grip tightened round the hilt of the sword he held, and he swung, wrist twisting, body turning as a vibranium blade hissed from one angle, two, three, more. He attacked and swung while the dexterous fingers of his free hand made a lasso of the swinging cable on his utility belt's rear. Then, Grimmwald stepped forward and ran straight at her, sword-arm ready to swing till suddenly, at the final instance, his body bent back low like a boneless sack to slide low through her legs. He'd spin round behind her, throw the loop of his swinging cable over her head - and pull till it tightened around her neck. He'd roar, and his muscle tissues'd burn to exhaustion as he yanked and pulled to swing the Pale Spider through the wall of glass windows and out the building.

Shards of glass would follow her fall hundreds of feet to the streets below. She was resilient, she'd survive. She couldn't die. She better not. But what if he failed? What if she cut through his swinging cable and turned to meet his eyes with her murderous spirit? Body weaker and blood leaking, Grimmwald had no choice. He'd dive out the window and vanish with the howling wind.

"Introducing me to the family huh?", he rasped, teeth red with blood, the cut on his face running deeper and wider across his flesh. "Kinda forward", he taunted

His dry humor cracks me up.

That was downright epic.

This reads like a scene out of Cap 2. Loooooove it.

@tessa_callahan: Thank you! That highway scene was a major inspiration.

Thanks!

LOL, glad you liked it.

"Who do you work for?", the man heard, tossing and turning under his sheets as though the voice he'd heard was nothing more than a bad dream. "You didn't answer my question", the voice pressed, raspier - angrier - than before. The man, a low level mafioso, groaned in frustration. Only silence hung in the air now. Nothing but airborne dust carrying the pale glow of a full moon. Though as the silence grew deafening, it was pierced by a sharp knock on the window. Then another, and another, and another till the man sat up from his bed with his wrinkled eyes on the window. There was nothing. No one. He sank back into his sheets, and for a moment there was bliss. Until another knock came and his heart skipped a beat. Again he sat up, but saw nothing at his window. Chest heaving and his breath short, he cursed his mind for playing tricks on him and slipped back into his sheets.

A third knock came. And his heart clamored in his chest. He refused to sit up now. But then he heard a fourth knock, louder and sharper than before, angrier - just like that voice he'd heard minutes ago. He sat up again, brow sweaty and his heart racing, and his eyes widened like saucers at his window. There was a devilman, pale face and red eyes staring into his apartment. The man blinked, and his window shattered. Yet he saw no movement from the devilman, only shards of glass falling to his apartment floor. "You wanted to play games by not answering my question", Grimmwald said, stepping in from the window, "So I obliged". Bed sheets tossed into the air and the sound of heavy footsteps floating to his ears, Grimmwald watched as the man scrambled through his drawers for a handgun. "I'm told you're connected to someone who had something to do with the shit-show in Grimm City", Grimmwald paused, grabbing the man by the ankle and twisting till the sickening snap of bone came sharp and loud in the air.

"I'm going to do this to every joint in your body till you tell me what I want to know. And don't lie. Because I'll know". The man refused, and lost his other ankle. Again refused, now losing his left knee.. then his right... until finally he broke and whimpered a name, "...A..A-Amin", he mumbled, "Karrit".

@grimmwald: :-O

@hawkshade:

@grimmwald:

@hawkshade:

@grimmwald: This is why you didn't have any friends, brother.

@hawkshade:

"Really, gentlemen...you're interrupting my vacation for something so trifling?" Even through the Skype connection, Elsa Beremud's cold voice and colder gaze lost none of their effect, and the board members of the Alaric Foundation shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Several found some excuse to focus on their phones."

"With...all due respect, Ms. Beremud," the director, a balding, heavyset man who looked like he considered any activity more physically demanding than lifting a martini glass beneath him, replied with some hesitation, "is this really a trifling matter? This new convict you're taking on..."

"Ex-convict," Elsa interrupted. "The man has paid his debt to society; if you feel that his debt should have been greater, then I suggest you take the matter up with the court system. My father created the halfway house because he believed that metahumans, even metahumans whose abilities had led them down a dark path, should be given an opportunity to earn a place in society. If we start balking every time a particularly troubling case comes our way, we are not adhering to our own mission and principles. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a much more pressing meeting with my masseuse." With that, she disconnected.

As the board members shared awkward glances with one another, the director took a long sip of his water and cleared his throat. "Well, that certainly went much better than last time, at least. I think we are making real progress..."

@grimmwald:

The red swordsman's blade hissed through the air in lethal patterns as he attacked and the Pale Spider's swords sang as they danced through the air to meet them, picking off his flurry of strikes in a shower of bright sparks as vibranium met vibranium. The ringing clang of blade against blade echoed through the air as their feet tracked across pools of crimson blood and Synergy's mocking laugh rang out, twirling a blade at her side as the Horned saint charged one final time-

-then bent bonelessly to slide under her body and unleashing the trick he had been building up to this entire time. The steel noose wrapped around her throat and she gagged as the man's superhuman strength lifted her off her feet and smashed her through the glass window.

The glass on a sky scraper was a quarter to a half inch thick and tempered until you couldn't break it with a sledge hammer. But Grimmwald's strength and the mass of Synergy's body did the trick.

Green blood dripped from a dozen wounds as shards of glass slashed and pierced her skin and she swung in an arch hundreds of feet off the ground until the cable snagged on a screw that had held the sheet of glass in place.

"Hhhhkkkkkkkkkkk!" The noose jerked tight and the steel cable whipped her body into the building with a resounding thump-

-where she stuck fast, her feet clinging to the glass wall like a spider.

Two swords came up and snipped the steel cable with a scissor motion of the vibranium edges. She gasped, inhaling sweet, sweet oxygen just in time to see Grimmwald dive from the window and escape her wrath.

She let out an inhuman roar of wrath denied, the insectoid scream echoing across empty streets as shattered glass and green blood fell to the streets below.

@synergy_x:

@grimmwald: Keep it.

It'd been days since his battle with Synergy X. And the scar on his face was still fresh, still burned like a hot candle on tender skin. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans hung thick in the air of the outdoors café. Drumming his fingers on his table, Grimmwald sat with his gaze lifted towards the building he and Synergy X had bled in. He was alone, and dressed like everyone else. A baseball cap, red shades, and thick jacket. Normal. Like everyone else. Narrowing his gaze, Grimmwald's mind pulled back in thought, Looks like they fixed the window we broke. I'm not as good at this detective shit as Richard is but if criminals return to the scene of the crime, she'll be here. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day and so on.

"Your coffee, sir?", a soft voice echoed, drawing his gaze to a redheaded waiter. Answering her smile with his own, Grimmwald felt the hot sting of his scar on his cheek, but his smile held. "Thank you", he nodded, eyes flashing to his coffee mug. She could've poisoned it... I don't like coffee anyway. Just keeping up appearances, he thought. Ashley seems to like this stuff. Maybe I should bring her here one of these days.

After Alpha Dog's been dealt with.

?? ??? ???????. ?? ??? ????

Though he had been stripped, privileges, none. Access, denied. There had been some small trace of the former Gothic Ghostshell that had believed there would still be some form of loyalty. The proverbial honor among thieves. A confederacy of digitally linked criminals the likes of which the World had never imagined. United. Strong. Just starting out but strong...united.

On some shitty little bed in some shitty little pay by the hour motel in Queens, Ishmael blankly stared at his phone

In his heart he knew, expected as much cause after all, with Musa in charge the ship was sailing smoothly. Why disrupt the cash flow with a potential civil war when the smart play was to keep the money moving. Keep it coming in. "Thats just fine...lets play it that way then."

He could have returned to HALO. Reinstate some special R&D project with a nefarious end game in mind. Be it financial or political. Check in on the Knightfall Saint and revisit the idea of manipulating her into the political arena of Gothic. What a powerful and influential friendship that could have been. No.

If his time at the LeBeau hacienda had taught him anything it was, 'one's true power to cripple his enemy comes in the ability to move as a singular subversive agent in the wind.' The mistake is in the duality of persona's. The energy, wasted. The time, exhausted. The secrecy, anxiety inducing. Hurt one persona and you cripple the other. Twice the identity, twice the danger.

Sal Salvatore Junior thought he was untouchable. Thought he could mess wit the digital criminal consortium I created and then freeze me out?

"Someone just jumped their fat ass to the top of the list."

@phantomshell: Now that was sharp writing.

@hawkshade: Thanks. The inspiration around here is pretty high. People laying down great stories left and right lol gotta keep up

@phantomshell: I know what you mean lol. People are laying down some good stuff.

@crimson_eagle:

Fluff.

Although it wasn't necessarily a new situation he found himself in, it never stopped being a mixture of hilarious and annoying. Ironic, all things considered. He had been bound wrist and ankle with thick chains to a seating arrangement originally reserved for meetings and whatnot beyond the doors of the esteemed criminal establishment. Criminal? Probably. They weren't too keen on assassins taking up hits against them, so they decided on hunting them down first and chasing off the business in question. It had been easy to find a list of lower-tier assassins, basically just hireable muscle and bodyguards for a budget.

Unfortunately, Warspool could be found on such a list considering his reputation for not being very subtle.

"Hey, guys, I know what you're all thinking," he put his hands up as far as he could given the circumstances.

The thugs surrounding him were frustrated, tired, and had spent too much time in this cramped steel room. Some were breathing heavy. Others were questioning themselves, if they were good enough in the first place. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't kill the Homicidal Jabberwock. Broken bones, smashed skull, claw hammer to the eye, gunshot after gunshot after gunshot... you would think after the first one, given the reverberation noise, they would have stopped but nope - two more times, both of them duds in actually killing the assassin.

"And yes, I still have 'Africa' by Toto stuck in my head," he gave a modest shrug. "Doo doo doo doo doo doo dooooo,"

"What is with this guy?" one of the thugs asked deflated.

"Accelerated healing, think of it like an infinite life cheat code," Warspool replied, tapping his fingers along with the imaginary beat.

"No shit! I was talking about how you don't shut up!" his host roared, pelting him again with the crowbar and leaving a red skidmark deep into his skull.

"Uh..." the assassin mumbled as his brain strained to put itself back together from being smeared for the twelfth time today. It did, and he shook his head like a cartoon character recovering from a point-blank bomb. "Aw, come on Paulie, you'd miss my voice if I just shut up all of a sudden!"

"No I wouldn't! I just want you to die!"

"Well, if you haven't finished your meat you can't have any pudding! How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?!"

[You know, sometimes I think you try too hard with these.]

"Zip it!" Warspool snapped his head to the right.

The man he called Paulie looked over with him. "Again with this, he can't be making fun of us, his head's swimming,"

"I know you are but what am I?"

[An idiot.]

"Shut up!" the assassin spat back to... someone.

"You're an idiot!" Paulie raised the crowbar again.

"Oh boy, more hurty stick! But, as much as I like getting pounded on by two Italians in a windowless room I gotta go," he rolled his torso over, and an audible snap could be heard from inside his stomach.

"Did you... you break something?" Paulie asked, mildly disgusted once again by his guest.

"Nah, I swallowed a C4 charge once and that 'pop' was the trigger being broken,"

Paulie shrugged at the accomplice behind him.

"Then... shouldn't it be going off by now? You might have packed a dud," he retorted with a snarky laugh.

"Nah, I had a talk with the writers about letting me have my catchphrase. They extended it for plot reasons,"

Paulie just stared at him, unable to comprehend what he just said at first. "Wh-"

"Alright fatass, this is gon-"

The World's Most Annoying Assassin's quip was suddenly cut short by a massive explosion that lit up the room, killing everyone inside. That is, of course, before someone from inside the cloud of smoke kicked open the door and staggered out into the street, a massive hole cleaving his torso from sternum to groin.

"Ooooh, those thigh gap exercises got mad results tho," he grunted as his stomach repaired itself, giving him something like a Hot Topic version of Borat's mankini to work with.

[Like I said, trying too hard.]

"Shut up, invisible Brad Pitt."

[Just sayin'.]

@warspool:

"I want the Bam Bam shake!"

"I want the Cake Shake!"

"I want to leave."

The forgotten hero sat with his granddaughter and two great-grandchildren at a popular Burger spot in the village. Hank had enough of the sightseeing and touring of New York City, it was a headache for him to see how much New York had changed. Times Square in his day was full of prostitutes, brothels, crime; and now it was the biggest tourist attraction in the city. The massive screens and commercial shops had now replaced what was at one point considered a taboo section of the city. This was just one change of many. The family had seen the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Little Italy; all changed in it's own time, especially in regards to prices. Hank never wanted to come, but the only reason that convinced him was the fact that there was so much going on in NYC in the sense of crime. He had heard of the multiple battles that had happened over the course of the few years, especially the incident in 2012; he figured he would find something here.

"Grandpa," his granddaughter reached out to touch his hand, "c'mon, it's a family trip, let's enjoy it while it lasts. It's not everyday the kids are off from school." Hank slowly looked down at the briefcase next to his foot. Sensing his anticipation Rose told her grandfather, "Don't worry... later."

"What are you gonna do later?" little Hollie asked with some suspicion.

"Nothing," responded her mother.

"The milkshakes are coming!" Jack gleefully shouted.

BOOM!

The ground rumbled a bit, everyone was spooked. Gasping was heard and all eyes went to the waiter as dropped the milkshakes on the ground.

Jack viewed in slow motion horror the destruction of his milkshake, "Nooooooooo!"

Rose quickly turned, "Grand-".

"Where did grandpa go?" Hollie asked.

Rose looked down and saw the briefcase was gone. "Isn'y obvious?" Jack said, "He's getting more milkshakes."

Hank glided in the air to the site of the explosion, people began to murmur about what could have happened. Suddenly a masked man emerged from the smoke, his chest slowly closing the gaping wound that was apparent. The former hero was thrown off a bit by the mysterious man, but no matter, it was obvious that he was the culprit. Hank would be very direct in his attack. First launching smoke pellets from his gauntlet in mid air toward the assailant. With the visibility lowered the mystery man would hopefully be blinded and cloud the fight from any bystander watching. If gone correctly, Hank would kick the man back into the building, activating his heat sensors in his mask. When the man would be found, Hank assumed a series of strikes should be enough to take him down. A left jab to the face, right undercut to the gut and a followthrough knee strike, aimed at the diaphragm with the intention of knocking the wind out of him.

@hank_galloway:

"I want the Bam Bam shake!"

"I want the Cake Shake!"

"I want to leave."

LOL

@hank_galloway:

[You alright, man?]

"Yeah, I was feeling a little bloated from all anchovy and garlic pizza so this is just sweet relief,"

[Good to know. Also, someone is here.]

Warspool looked around, struggling to see anyone. "Uh, you sure? Wait is he up in the rafters? I bet he's up in the raf-"

Without a chance to vocalize anything else, the Homicidal Jabberwock suddenly lost most visibility while the rest became obscured with tears. He tried to find a way out of the smoke, coughing and hacking, but only found attacks aimed to take him down quickly and quietly. First came his jaw, which snapped to the drumbeat of four knuckles making an imprint in the bone.

"Livershot next?" he managed to mutter before the fact, and he lost all breath in his lungs as his blood-filtering organ got forced closer to his diaphragm than his biology normally allowed.

"OOF... yeah, definitely livershot..."

What he didn't expect came next, a rising knee meant to hit his diaphragm again. If the blow to his liver caused the muscle to contract, this next one forced it to expand again in the opposite direction, pushing his lungs flatter than ever before. He fell in a heap on the ground as the smoke started to dissipate.

"Aaaaha... ooooh..." air filled his body again, even in his fetal position cradling his torso. "Nice ones!" he sprang to his feet sans warning, looking at his new friend in the eyes.

"Where'd you learn those, The 18 Bronzemen? That had a long hallway sequence kinda like this alleyway, went on for too long but it was an okay movie,"

He inane thought processes were suddenly cut short by the emergence of a group of five armed thugs rounding the corner.

"Paulie!" one of them shouted.

"Oh, his name actually was Paulie? Emphasis on was," Warspool replied without putting much effort into subtlety - not that he ever did.

"You bastard!" another one stepped forward, squeezing the trigger at the two already in the alleyway.

Warspool put actual effort into finding cover behind a dumpster, slipping a Desert Eagle out of its sheath on his thigh.

"Hey, Ed Asner, you got a plan that doesn't involve punching me?" he asked with a notable twinge of sarcasm.

@warspool:

The mysterious man seemed to be rather... wrong in the head. He constantly talked to himself, whether it be about indigestion or what he felt in his organs. But it was the very commentary that shook Hank; he spoke with such a nonchalant demeanor, as if he wasn't worried about the potential damage. Hank felt the bones crack from the Mouth, and yet the Mouth was cracking jokes.

What on Earth is 18 Bronzemen?

Suddenly bullets flew as five men came, probably for the chatterbox. Hank jumped behind one of the two dumpsters, bullet's ricocheting off of the metal. Parallel to him was the man, smiling under his mask. "Hey, Ed Asner, you got a plan that doesn't involve punching me?"

Hank gave a piercing look at the mystery-man. He knew that in the end they would probably have to work together. Sirens were heard in the distance. Time was short, to take out the gunmen and the Masked Mouth.

"Shut up and follow my lead. Take two, I take three."

Hank shot out his smoke pellet once more, consuming the men in the dark cloud. He then activated his gloves. Electricity crackled through the backhands. The men screamed at the confusion and bullets began to rain into what became the unknown to them. Broken femur, dislocated jaw, forearm crushed and twitching muscles were only some of the effects of Hank taking on his assigned three men.

Toward the end of the scuffle, Hank aimed to mount his grappling hook and point it at the Assailant's chest with the intention to have the hook pierce through his shoulder and anchor into the wall. An interrogation needed to be done. There were two questions running through the mind of the Forgotten Hero: Who is the Masked man? And who on Earth is Ed Asner?

@hawkshade: Fun fact: those are the actual names of milkshakes at a popular burger spot in NYC lol.

@hank_galloway:

That is some good detailing!

I'll do your post justice tomorrow :]

@warspool: Thank you. I’m really enjoying your posts. Your writing of Warspool is great and entertaining, I love the two voices arguing lol.

@_drake:

A morning in the city of New York, birds singing and chirping in trees in the backyard of residential homes. The people were barely waking up and the sun was not yet fully in the sky. As a young woman, perhaps 19 years old, stood in front of the door to a two-floor apartment. You could hear the barking of a dog a few doors to the right, and the alluring smell of croissants and coffee coming out of a cafe just on the other side of the street. Elizabeth removed locks of hair from her forehead, neatly tucking them behind her ear as she pressed the doorbell, half wishing the residents of the apartment were asleep so that she could go and indulge herself to some coffee, before the start of this probably awkward day. Her superiors instructed her with taking on a newbie for an assignment here in the city, one involving the investigation of a series of murders...unimportant. She carried the files in a bag she wore on her sides,

She waited. This was the first she was going to meet him, and there was that nervousness in her mind as she wondered what sort of guy this Drake is, was he going to be an asshole? A jerk? High and Mighty sort? Humble? She never knew. It always paid to be on her guard when meeting new people, and this was a completely professional meeting, even though it was odd that the first part of her assignment would be to go and fetch Drake right from his home. It was alright though since DSA paid all travel, accommodation, and food for those who were active on the field, provided you brought them bills, of course. So, wherever Elizabeth stayed or whatever she ate, it was important she got bills for them. One of the best advantages of this job, in her opinion, was the traveling, and she got to do that a lot. Still, she felt awkward, getting stares from old people that passed by, a woman who wore only a white tank top and brown olive pants, with a holster for handguns worn around her shoulder and a utility belt around her waist. Elizabeth wasn't exactly sure they would be moving today, but she wanted to be prepared for it nonetheless.

@ryth:

His bed never felt so great as right now, orderly placed in the most comfortable position ever, one of those you would never be able to return to during the entirety of your lifetime. A pleasant simper crossing his visage as he sluggishly awoke from his post-interview night, it felt incredibly good to only lie down and gradually return to real life. It would have been an astounding morning if it weren't for the repeated knocks at his door.

No, nononono. Not falling for that, you come back later. Drake sighed, deciding to ignore whoever decided it was an okay day to bother his slumber. However, Larry had other plans, leaping onto the bed and bathing the archer's visage with his saliva in the most affectionate manner. The man grunted grumpily prior to cracking up to his dog's early disposition. "Okay, alright, I'm up." He chuckled, petting the dog's head head caringly. "Good morning to you too, Larry."

A couple of minutes later and the door creaked open, the man showing up behind the door's gap had absolutely nothing in common to an actual agent, let alone a hero. A somewhat built body due to his trade, a stubby beard complemented by a.jaded gaze, scratching his eyes shamelessly. His pajamas were simple, purple boxer shorts and a plain white t-shirt that looked as old and beaten up as the man himself. "Can I help you?" His eyes widened, focusing on the curvaceous figure standing before his apartmemt's entrance. Oh, I certainly wasn't expecting Aphrodite today, but please do make my day happier. An extremely feminine figure, garbed in odd clothing yet still sustaining that inherent attractiveness.

There was a good reason for her to be worth waking up for. Two, actually.

"If you meant to go go Owen's apartment, that's on the next floor." Drake stated, quiescently envying the ex-jock who lived literally one floor above. He always got pretty women to accompany him. Always. "And if you're Ms. Lieberman's granddaughter, she's wight nexx duor." Pointing to the apartment on the opposite side of his, he explained the girl why she was most likely mistaken while yawning.

@crimson_eagle:

The Homicidal Jabberwock shrugged, realizing that for better or worse he had a friend in this old man for the moment. He laughed to himself, unsheathing a blade from his back to compliment the Desert Eagle already in his hand.

"I have upgraded my talent tree to dual-wield," he muttered to himself, firing off a round from the enormous pistol through one of the gangster's throats. He fell instantly, and the other didn't have enough time between the smoke pellet and the sword going through his lung to react.

The assassin unceremoniously wiped the blood off on the gangster's jacket before putting the sword back where it belonged. He counted the bodies, and sighed.

"Ah, no fair! You took more than half! I thought this was a consummation, not a divorce,"

That was before he got pinned to the wall by a grappling hook, his clavicle suffering from the brunt of the piercing force trauma. The nerve cluster beneath that bone burst, and his arm fell like a limp noodle to his side.

"Okay now you're just being greedy! I will give you bonus points for not punching me at least, that's a step in a more creative direction,"

[I think he wants to talk.]

"Funny way of saying 'Hey I wanna talk to you'. I wanted a pastrami sandwich this afternoon not impalement,"

[Different strokes for different folks I suppose.]

"You're not helping!"

Warspool met the vigilante's eyes with a smile under his mask, despite what the voices would say about that being pointless due to the mask part.

"Hey, buddy, let's be reasonable about this. We trade insurance numbers and go our separate ways."

He almost hoped that would actually be the end of it, but he kinda wanted to kick this guy in the teeth for shooting a hook through his shoulder.

@_drake:

"Can I help you?"

Elizabeth looked at the man who opened the door, down then up. Purple boxer shorts, and a plain white shirt, rubbing his eyes too. Her first guess, he just got out of bed. Second guess, classy dude. She tried to look past his presentable looks and get a word in before he spoke again.

"If you meant to go go Owen's apartment, that's on the next floor." Drake stated, quiescently envying the ex-jock who lived literally one floor above. He always got pretty women to accompany him. Always. "And if you're Ms. Lieberman's granddaughter, she's wight nexx duor." Pointing to the apartment on the opposite side of his, he explained the girl why she was most likely mistaken while yawning.

"I'm no one's granddaughter." Elizabeth sighed, at least no granddaughter that's any of your business, she shook her head with a smile, then produced her DSA badge. "Elizabeth Danger, I'm looking for someone named Drake McIntosh..." Well, she had a feeling she wouldn't need to look further anyway. Elizabeth had seen Drake's file, despite being the first time really seeing him, she was pretty sure she was looking at the person in question, "which, I'm going to guess is you."

Really though, Elizabeth expected someone who was more welcoming, and that was slightly annoying. "Didn't you get the email? I was sure I sent you one last night..." There was 60% chance she did not though, which would explain showing up at his place to completely surprise him without any pretense.

@ryth:

"Oh..." Great first impression, Brad Pitt.Her badge was all he required to see to comprehend the mess me had gotten himself into. It was one of those places where they still used e-mails to notify the personnel expecting them to always male time for their work. Nothing unlike his first missions for the government, when he was something special, truth be told, he somewhat missed the sentiment of ofing recognized. Still, the common laziness he acquired throughout the last years didn't make it a very pleasant invitation. Scratching his eyes once more, he opened the door, gesturing for her to get inside. "Yeah, I'm Drake, and no, I don't think I got the e-mail. My bad." Yeah, good job, getting the pretty women to hate you on the first day. Classic Drake, can hit anything but a woman's heart...

He sighed.

"Pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I'm making breakfast, do you want anything? Once I'm done eating and changing into my... Uh, work clothes? We can go. Just, really, this is a surprise." As in it has been months anyone from the other gender stepped into this place. Wait, it's... Cold. His gaze promptly descended towards his uncovered legs, realizing he had nothing but underwear and a plain shirt. His cheeks reddened a tad. Don't stare at her, don't stare at her, don't..."Uh... I'll go change now if you don't mind." His eyes attentively fixed on the floor, avoiding any sort of sighting that could raise any problems. Quite literally. "Larry, keep Ms. Danger company, will ya?" Drake ordered the dog, who now circled Elizabeth, attempting to sniff her scent as his tail wagged rapidly, tongue sticking out as his joy could clearly be identified by anyone.

@_drake:

Let's just hope I actually sent that email. Elizabeth shook his head. She could check right now, but she didn't want to appear to be nervous. She could check for the mail later on, and even if she had not sent it to him, she had the files in her bag. It was a good thing she remembered to pack them in before leaving.

"I haven't had anything yet this morning, so a breakfast would be nice, and don't mind me, just take all the time you need." She replied. Common courtesy among co-workers, you treat them today, and they treat you some other time. It was an unspoken rule that Elizabeth always made sure to stick by. It was also a good way to make friends, and the fact that Drake was already inviting her in made Elizabeth warm up to him on spot. She followed him inside and sat her bag on the table in the living room.

Elizabeth laughed seeing the flustered Drake upon the realization of how presentable he was that morning. Good thing I don't have to witness his morning wood eh? She wondered as he averted his gaze downwards. She couldn't guess what was going through Drake's mind though, as he quickly turned and left, leaving her with his dog, Larry, visibly excited to get a newcomer in the household. Ryth crouched down and patted the dog a few times.

@ryth:

Riiiight... What does the female of the homo sapiens sapiens species eat during their first meal of the day? I'm pretty sure I'd get shot by suggesting sausage even as a joke, but seriously... Isn't cereal kinda lame? Drake wondered as he climbed the steps back to his room, gathering the pieces of clothing scattered throughout the room as his dog got pampered by his new... Partner? Superior? I should probably ask her what's up.

A couple moments away and Drake soon returned to his living room, greeted by the hanging tongue of his pet. Placing his quiver, as well as his bow, right aside Elizabeth's backpack, shifting his attention back to his guest. "I'll make us some coffee, but, uh... Scrambled eggs and bacon? Or do you want anything else?" Smooth as silk, idiot. Jesus. He didn't await for her answer as he promptly begun brewing coffee, yawning quite a few times, clearly in need of his daily doses of caffeine. "So, while I'm at it, would you mind explaining what exactly we're doing? Did we get partnered up?" Please god, let it be so. "Or is this my initiation?"

@_drake:

Quiver...arrows? Yep. Matches the profile. Elizabeth thought as Drake came down, dressed in the appropriate amount of clothing for work. "Ehhh. no. I don't think we'll be needing those," She pointed out as the guy placed his Quiver by her bag. Mostly because it would be really awkward and strange to walk around in public with a guy dressed as though he belonged in Olympic games. Sure she belonged to an organization where metahumans were a staple and all that, but Elizabeth never liked them or worked with any of them. "And that's mostly because all we are going to be doing is asking some questions from people witnesses of a murder," Also because I'm not going to absolutely babysit a boy scout.

"Coffee, Scrambled Eggs, and Bacon is fine by me," She responded to his question, taking a moment to take the file out of her bag and then sitting down on the sofa with them. She looked up to meet his face, "And well, you are the rookie...and I've been assigned to show you around the streets, show you what we do...it's often not as exciting as what you used to do previously, I'm told, but I hope I don't bore you to death."There might be a chance you are stuck with me though... But Elizabeth decided to not tell him that. "I have a list of names here, addresses and witness testimony attached. All we have to do is walk around the city, question these people...with regards to a mutilated corpse uncovered from Hudson River." Simple enough, except...the corpse belonged to a registered metahuman, and there's a chance the killer is of the dangerous metahuman variety and one of the witnesses are...one of them. Details.

@ryth:

"What good is the bowguy without his bow?" Drake clowned, chuckling a bit as he lit up the stove. Truth be told, firing his arrows were the most fun, he practiced his entire life upon realizing the latent potential on his breathtaking aim, an investment for the long-term of special ops missions, something his jovial mind considered as ground-breaking, until he eventually got shelved. Having his arrows be required once more would be like rekindling some of his thoughts about usefulness. Still, couldn't expect less from a first assignement. "Asking around is fine, I don't mind at all."Especially if I get paid for it.

"Can't discuss with rookie logic. Guess I'll be trusting you to do the better judgement, so please take it easy on my first day." A jocose tone as he adroitly prepared their breakfast. "You wouldn't ever bore me, though. I shoot arrows for a living. You're like an angel rescuing me from the fact my next government mission would most likely be attending a kid's birthday disguised as another hero."Besides, look at yourself, I don't see how I would get bored... Too busy being nervous, y'know? The mission seemed simple enough, oddly so, yet not suspicious as it was allegedly his training. "What if we stumble upon the murderer himself, though? Wouldn't it be better if I had something to be useful with? Or are you like our boss, wanting me to prove myself with a pencil all over again?" He scratched his head, looking over his shoulder towards the accomodated blonde.

@_drake:

Elizabeth laughed. The man certainly had humor and wits about him. "Are arrows all you shoot then?" She asked, putting her files aside and taking the handgun from its holster. "As a marksman, you should be able to be versatile, you know?" She critiqued, appearing to be the council of all rookies at the moment. "A pencil is not a bad idea, but what about guns and sniper rifles?" The boss lady was a smart woman. Her idea of making Drake use the pencil might have been a test. "Eh, doesn't matter. You can bring your bow," She shook her head, then smiled. Elizabeth had a tendency to get hot-headed if she wasn't careful, and she wasn't about to let him know that there was another side to her mannerisms. She also had a tendency to get carried away. All they said was show him around...not to be bossy. "Sorry, I'm just...new at this," She spoke, leaning back in the sofa and relaxing, at which point, the dog had jumped up on to the sofa and sat near Ryth, tongue out and expecting to be patted? "You are also much older and more experienced than me so...you obviously know more than I do,"

@ryth:

Oh, you didn't just... Nonono, that's not what you said, is it? Elizabeth, Elizabeth, don't you teach me how to do my job. Drake's entirety assumed a way more serious tone tor a while, especially when her inquiry about his marksmanship fell fnto his irritable ears. Disrespect his skills? Fine. Laugh at his pathetic excuses for impressing the ladies? Wouldn't have it any differently. Doubting his abilities? Oh, that was not unlike signing a war treaty. "Arrows were a choice back then, but about shooting with other things?" He seized three coins from the coin pot in the counter, other hand holding a knife.

A mere flick of his wrist and the knife arched through the living room. It would take seconds to her, yet to him it felt like minutes. The first coin leaves his hand with deadly precision, hitting the knife, forcing it to flip towards the ceiling once more, just to be intercepted by the second coin and forced downwards. The third coin, however, wheezed by, hitting the wall prior to rebounding towards the knife and ultimately sending it to the ground. "I can handle myself with anything you give me to shoot, I just rather not killing unless I'm absolutely sure it's needed. And I also like being prepared for more than shootouts, that's what trick arrows are for." He smiled, turning back to the stove and turning it off.

Ah, my partner is younger than me, probably means she's impressionable by a veteran's skills... Except most of them are useless. Serving the food in two separate plates and pouring her a cup of coffe - as he would once more use the pot - McIntosh couldn't help but feel a certain amusement upon being called the most experienced one. "You said no bow first, and I agree it would pretty much have people looking weird at us, but, well, you brought your gun holsters." And I totally didn't only realize them there because I was staring too much. "So I assumed we might have need for weapons. Your call, though, boss. Don't really think I have that much experience over your own, so I'll let you show me around. As a rookie all I can do..." He paused, pulling a chair from the table and gesturing for her to take a seat. "Is feed you and make sure I don't screw up on the first day."

@warspool:

There it was again, the talking. The man wouldn’t shut up. Hank wasn’t sure what was worse, the assassin gruesomely killing his opponents or the fact that he would joke about it. In reality, what made the Forgotten hero frustrated was not the mouth on the mercenary, rather he would feel no pain. How a man like him could basically be immortal and still use his abilities for selfish reasons.

The man out of time walked toward the man, his clavicle crushed and his body nailed to the wall. Hank’s no nonsense gaze was covered by his mask, yet somehow he knew the man was smiling underneath his own, talking to himself the entire time.

“Hey, buddy, let's be reasonable about this. We trade insurance numbers and go our separate ways."

“Who are you?” Hank barked, his patience had gone since Times Square. “Why did you place a bomb?”

@hawkshade: The first step to bettering one's self is admitting one's flaws.

@_drake: The bow may have it's weaknesses but archery characters are some of my favorite street level characters. I have enjoyed every one that I can can recall here on CV.

@hawkshade:

I absolutely love them, but honestly what interests me the most is their aim. Coming up with stuff to do with what you're given is awesome.

100%

@hawkshade:

Also, trick arrows rock :P