Ultimate Thunderbolts - IC

[Dayspire]

Manhattan, New York
Home of Anthony Scarpetti
September 12th, 2005 10:35 am

Carla Fuentes was a looker. Nice dark hair, fit body, and a pair of lips that could melt that mutant Iceboy. Iceman. Whatever. The point was, Carla was a beautiful woman, but there was no way in hell Tony was going to touch her.

She was, after all, his parole officer.

“Anthony, look at this place!” Carla strolled around Tony’s home like it was her own, but he didn’t mind. Her way of strolling made it worth it. She picked up an empty bottle of beer and sighed. The house was something of a mess. Imported leather couches covered with magazines and newspapers, marble tables littered with a variety of dishes, and there was a slight… odor.

“The maid has the day off,” Anthony said with wry smile.

“Don’t give me that li-“

“No.” Anthony’s smirk vanished. “I’m serious. She’s off today.” Carla stopped fidgeting and looked up at him, sensing his mood. “I get bored easy, Carla. And when I get bored, I tend to make a mess.” Of course, that had many different meanings.

Carla nodded, clearly not getting it. “The real reason I’m here Mr. Scarpetti - it's about your release.”

Anthony leaned forward suddenly. “What? They takin’ it back?? They can’t -"

“No, no. Not at all! It’s just… my superiors want to know if this… Ummm.” Carla rooted around in her handbag for a moment, and pulled out a business card. “… Mr. ‘Clark’ has contacted you yet, and when you’re going to meet. The provisions in your release guarantee are quite clear.”

Anthony looked out his window that overlooked Central Park. Five grand a month to stay here, but he was looking instead at his own reflection. “Tonight. We’re meeting tonight.” His thoughts, normally disciplined, were in turmoil. Can I do this? Do I want to do this? What if I get signed up with a bunch of yahoos? There was an easy answer though. Go to the Trisk, or do this. Not that difficult a problem, really.

Carla walked over to Anthony’s desk and leaned over. “And the ‘Taskmaster’..?” She asked, her voice low and husky.

Tony's gaze never wavered. “He’s dead. Long live… The Professional.” His reflection gave back a rare smile.

Tony's eyes shifted to Carla. She was leaning over his desk with one of those smiles. Crap. How do I get myself into these situations?”



OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Henreich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc.

 

[Dayspire]

Fracture

Sewer System, Upper New York
Morlock Tunnels
September 12th, 2005 2:01 pm

Callisto strode through the sewers with a purpose, and Deckard followed close behind.

“You have to watch ‘em, Deck. If they find out you’re a mutant, they’ll spit on you and throw you out. I’m warnin’ you.” There was little light down here, and it always amazed Deckard how Callisto could navigate so well. Especially with only one eye.

“I know, mother. I have spent quite a bit of time above ground. I’ll be fine. But getting that call from that German… Clark… was a sign. It’s a chance to make things right. To turn it all around. No more Marrow. Just… Fracture. I’m meeting them tonight.” Callisto turned suddenly, a look of concern on her face. It was a look that few saw, and never anyone who wasn't a Morlock.

“Yeah, I know Deck. I also know that %@$*& Kingpin is still looking for you, and he’ll never stop until you’re dead.”

“Or until he's dead.” Deckard’s voice sounded cold, even to him.

Callisto smiled and patted his face. “That sounds like something I would say, Deck. But him or one of his cronies might sneak up on you when you’re not ready. Like now.” Her smile suddenly became vicious looking.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not paying attention, m’boy. Look down.” Deck looked down to see Callisto’s other hand holding her knife, pressed up against his stomach.

Deckard smiled knowingly. “I saw you do it, mother. And if you press just a bit harder you’ll feel nothing but bone armor.”

Callisto scowled and shoved the knife in. Deckard chuckled. “You’d have to have a bigger knife to get through that…” Callisto turned and started stalking off. “A sword, maybe…” Callisto’s curses echoed throughout the sewer.


OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc.

 

[Dayspire]

Verdant

Glenville, Long Island, New York
Residential area
September 12th, 2005 12:21 pm

It hurt to even think about doing it. Part of him wanted to leave and forget that this house ever existed. But still he stood on the sidewalk, staring. A breeze ruffled his trenchcoat, and he pulled it tighter. It wouldn’t do if anyone saw him. Not that anyone would recognize him now.

The house was still exceptional. Three-stories, eight rooms, and an excellent view of the Lakecrest Golf Course. It probably could go for an easy million, if it weren’t for its single flaw.

Samuel cocked his head and listened. He heard the song coming from behind the stucco wall. It was a dull song, a song of mingled pain and hunger. It was a painful cacophony that only he could hear, sadly. He moved down the walk and peered in through the gate. The grounds of the Evans home were still brown, with occasional patches of green here and there. Several beds of withered flowers lay where he last saw them, with no improvement. Samuel had been gone for two years and still Morris hadn’t solved his problem.

Samuel opened himself up to the Green. He could hear the chorus, and it filled him with a warm glow that transcended anything he felt before his change. But that brief moment settled it for him. Despite what Morris Evans had done – or more appropriately, what his daughter’s friend had done – he wasn’t to blame. Sam was. His actions – his foolish, foolish actions – had put him in their prison. And now, literally, it was time to turn over a new leaf.

God, how he hated that cliché. But it was still true.

Samuel Smithers, once the Plantman but now Verdant, slowly raised a gloved hand through the gate.

And the Green answered.

Shoots of grass suddenly erupted from the ground where there was nothing but dust a moment ago. The quiescent flowers seemed to cry out as color filled them and they straightened and grew. A withered bush sprouted leaves so suddenly that the song it sang was like a hymn of triumph. Everywhere Samuel looked, grass and flowers and trees grew with a vigor never seen around here. Most likely, never seen anywhere.

Samuel drew his hand back, and he smiled. Morris wouldn’t have any gardening problems for some time.

Turning away, Samuel began to walk back down the street to the waiting cab. Now that final bit of rubbish is done with, I can move on, now can’t I? He thought to himself. Let’s see what kind of a team this Clark bloke has gathered, hmm?


OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc.

 

[Dayspire]

Kaiju

Canton, Ohio
CCF Agency
September 10th, 2005 3:45 pm

Robert peered down at the paper, and chewed on the nub of his pencil. This test was harder than the last one.

“And… time.” Mr. Jenkins voice came from the front of the classroom. Robert liked Mr. Jenkins. He was much nicer than Miss Sofia. She didn’t last long, though.

Walking over to Robert’s desk, Mr. Jenkins gave a smile. “How did you do, my big friend?” Mr. Jenkins wasn’t small himself. Though most of it was the donuts he was constantly eating.

Robert smiled back faintly. Mr. Jenkins was still wearing the g-counter. It made him sad in a way. Made him think of those people. Why did he have to keep thinking about that?

“I think I did good. Some of that math gets hard though.” Even as he answered, Robert couldn’t stop staring at the counter on his teacher’s belt.

“You’re doing fine, Robert.” Mr. Jenkins paused for a moment, sensing something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re still wearing it.” Robert tapped the counter with the broken end of his pencil. “I’m ok, you know. The doctors said I’m ok. I’m not giving off rays anymore.”

Mr. Jenkins sat on an empty desk next to his and sighed. “I’m sorry, Rob. It’s… well… it’s Mrs. Jenkins, if you want the truth. She…” He sighed again, louder this time. “She wants children, and she made me swear that –“

“Ok. I understand.” And he did. Robert looked to be in his mid-twenties, and even he knew that he was… slow. But he still understood why Mr. Jenkins was worried. The rays he use to give off could hurt people. He had a lot of different ways to hurt people, didn’t he? It didn’t matter, though. The CCF said that a man named Henry had asked for him, and that he seemed nice. Robert was going to be in the Ultimates! Or rather, something like the Ultimates. They were all over the television! Maybe with the new name he picked for himself people would forget about what he had done. Maybe.

Mr. Jenkins took the test from Robert and placed his hand on his shoulder. Just as quickly he snatched it back, no doubt feeling a slight tingle that would last for a few minutes. Robert wanted to say something, let him know that even that was okay, but he just felt tired of it all. He looked out the window. Very soon now he would be leaving here, hopefully forever. Robert smiled.

No more CCF, no more radiation counters, no more Nuklo.

Just Kaiju!


OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ in two days at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc

 

[Dayspire]

Twister

South Bronx, New York
Apartment of David Cannon
September 11th, 2005 5:12 pm


Dear Cannon: How’s it going, man? I know you’re out of the pen now, that’s cool. You ever comin back to the UCW? Man it sucks without you. Dirty Dog took the title, and I KNOW you could take it back. So, anyways… Write me back! BOOOOOM!

Teddy Devine
Spokane, WA

***

Dear Piece of Crap: You sucked before Giant Man stomped you into the ground, and you suck even more now. I heard on www.mutantwatch.com that you are probably some kind of mutie freak, and if so I hope you die, and –

David stopped reading. It was pointless. When he looked at the number of fans he lost, it only made him angry. So many mistakes were made. Now he couldn’t get a job flipping burgers. Too many people were scared off by his record, and those who weren’t might be afraid of him because he was a mutant. It made him feel… helpless.

The phone rang. That was a sound he hadn’t heard in awhile. He pushed the stack of bills that covered his cell and picked it up.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

David almost didn’t pick it up. Most of the bill collectors had unlisted numbers. But something made him answer.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cannon? Mr. David Cannon?” The man’s voice had a slight german accent that was unmistakable.

“Maybe. Who’s this?”

“Guten tag, Mr. Cannon, my name is Henry Clark. I have a proposition for you…”

For over 30 minutes David listened to the offer. In the end, it sounded like a pretty good deal. Maybe even a chance at building a new fan club, he thought, as he picked up the latest US Today. And I know who just might want to be a member.

The cover showed a distraught Janet Van Dyne, member of the Ultimates. She looked beautiful. The title said it all.

WASP LEAVES GIANT!

Things might be coming together after all.


OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc

 

[Keia]

The Professional

'Ten-thirtyfive in the morning . . . nine hours and twenty-five minutes to myself . . . no maid, no responsibilities . . . maybe soon - no parole officer,' Anthony thought to himself.

Anthony regarded himself in the reflection. He stood 6'2" with a muscular build that silently spoke of the hours of daily training required to keep his reflexes and skills at peak efficiency. It was one thing to be able to duplicate someone's skills and abilities and quite another if his body . . . broke because it tried to do something that it wasn't physically prepared to do. A somewhat handsome face with chiseled features, normal chin, normal nose . . . normal if above average - at least to his own frank interpretation. Wavy brown hair, kept relatively short - both for style and for efficiency . . . mask and cowl hair is definitely not appealing.

'Might need to get in touch . . . privately . . . with my equipment dealer. Who knew what sort of gear would be necessary . . . of course, I could always have Mr. clark supply my gear . . . I would if it would be up to my rigorous standards,' Anthony thought. 'Watching that Japanese swordsmith work on my katana for a week was very informative . . . making my own blades is much more satisfying, though I would have to get near him again to refresh those skills.'

Hearing Carla's voice behind him sparked his interest, 'Parole officer be darned . . . let's see what's under the hood.' Tony smiled warmly and turned to regard her. He allowed his photographic reflexes to kick in, feeling her abilities wash over himself - or at least prepare to wash over himself.

"So . . . I've got nothing but housekeeping to do . . . and I don't plan on doing that. You have anything else going on today other than . . . keeping me straight?" Anthony asked with a grin. "On the straight and narrow path, that is."

 

[Dayspire]

The Professional

"So . . . I've got nothing but housekeeping to do . . . and I don't plan on doing that. You have anything else going on today other than . . . keeping me straight?" Anthony asked with a grin. "On the straight and narrow path, that is."

Carla returns your grin, though hers looks slightly more impish. "You're such a bad boy, Mr. Scarpetti." Walking around the desk, she reaches back and undoes her hair, letting it fall down on her shoulders.

"That's ok. I've always had a fascination with bad boys. Why do you think I became a parole officer?" Carla gives a throaty laugh. She definitely knows how to work it. She reminds you of that Eva chick on that Desperate Housewives show. Beautiful, sexy, and ultimately dangerous. She sits on your lap and wraps her arms around you and gives off something like a purr. Slowly she draws back her left hand and traces your abdomen through your t-shirt. She bats her eyelashes at you for a moment, but it seems somewhat... fake. Just the slightest bit of pressure on the back of your neck from her other hand. Like she planted something on you.

Snake in the grass, you think.

 

[Keia]

Professional (HP:1)

"That's ok. I've always had a fascination with bad boys. Why do you think I became a parole officer?" Carla gives a throaty laugh.

"Could be the fringe benefits," Anthony offered, "Perhaps the feeling of being in control . . . that's a powerful feeling - something I can relate to. Not to mention . . . very attractive. I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to tell me . . . . So, what do you want?"

Anthony tapped into Carla's abilities, reaching for those charsimatic talents she so recently employed. He maintained his grin and was truly enjoying himself . . . he no longer had to worry if Anthony would hurt her feelings or overstep his bounds.

'She's playing me . . . seems only fair that I go along and at least try for the dangling carrot,' Anthony thought.

OOC: Nemesis: her bluff, diplomacy and related feats, if any or better than mine.

 

[Dayspire]

The Professional

You concentrate for a moment, and you feel a mental click as some thing she's said fall into place. Her words, which you took before as a vague come-on, now seem to be a clumsy attempt to manipulate you.*

Carla looks at you with a smile that would melt the hearts of lesser men. She shifts on your lap, and comes in closer. You can smell her perfume even more now, and it's slightly intoxicating. "What do I want?" Carla drags her well-manicured nails down your chest playfully. "What every girl wants... a bad boy to call my own." She smiles again and leans back. "I've always had a certain fascination for men behind masks. When I was a girl it was Zorro, but he's just a bit too goody two-shoes, if you catch my meaning."

Carla looks at you and bites her lip as if thinking of something. But you can feel the currents in the conversation. How she pauses, twists here and there, and flips her hair back. It's an act she's done a thousand times before, but you feel that under it all, she's nervous. "There can be certain... benefits... to having lil' ol' me as your parole officer, you know. And all you have to do is check in, Tony."



* OOC: You now have 4 additional ranks in Sense Motive, and Try Again: Sense Motive.

 

[Keia]

The Professional

"What do I want?" Carla drags her well-manicured nails down your chest playfully. "What every girl wants... a bad boy to call my own." She smiles again and leans back. "I've always had a certain fascination for men behind masks. When I was a girl it was Zorro, but he's just a bit too goody two-shoes, if you catch my meaning."

" . . . and whips don't excite you," Anthony quipped. "That's good . . . quality whip instructors are sometimes difficult to come by. Glad to see I won't be needing to look into one."

"There can be certain... benefits... to having lil' ol' me as your parole officer, you know. And all you have to do is check in, Tony."

"Well . . . I like benefits - I'm certain you do, too, Carla," Anthony replied. "Of course, I don't buy a car without taking it for a test drive . . . ."

OOC: Current mods: Skills: Sense Motive +4. Feats: Try Again: Sense Motive.