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Thread: Foraminis [RP]

  1. #1
    I came in like a wrecking ball... [Desolate Divine]'s Avatar
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    Foraminis [RP]

    In July on 1952, thousands of families across the USA looked to their skies from their yards, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Foraminis Meteor Shower that was falling to earth. The event itself lasted a night, however the world had no idea how long the effects of the storm would last.

    Unbeknownst to the world, when the meteoroids vaporized upon entry, the dust dispersed over Earth. Whilst this dust itself had no effect on humans, it affected the photosynthetic processes of Earth’s plant-life, creating a colorless, odorless gas, that created genetic abnormalities in young children.

    This was first revealed 1965, when the children born in the year after the meteor shower turned thirteen, and began displaying abnormalities. A mixture of physical defects such as hardened skin, or the growth of extra limbs, whilst others displayed superhuman abilities, such as enhanced strength, night vision or telekinesis.

    Within the first week of this phenomenon, the first casualties occurred, caused by a teenager who discovered they had the ability to chill the air around them, and accidentally froze their classmates.

    Governments around the world focused their resources on discovering the cause of the phenomenon, six months later, determining it was most likely caused by the meteor shower thirteen years earlier and that the effect on Earth was permanent. Efforts were then focused on creating a vaccine, which came to fruition two years later in 1967.

    The abnormalities manifested during adolescence, and as long as the vaccine was administered before then, the effects of the Foraminis Meteor Shower could be negated, and people could live normal lives, with a 99.99% success rate, only being ineffective on individuals with a specific gene. There were eight million children who had manifested abnormalities that could not receive the vaccine in time, five million of which had shown superhuman abilities, whilst the other three million showed physical abnormalities.

    The vaccine soon became compulsory at age two, sparking protest by anti-vaccination groups, however governments didn’t budge. In addition to this, use of superhuman abilities became outlawed, with governments pushing for people to report anything suspicious, due to the slight chance of manifestation. The topic of superhuman abilities was a taboo subject, those possessing abilities earning the title of Foram.

    Over the next fifty years, governments continued to regulate and monitor Foram. The number of individuals reduced over time, as affected individuals died off, with one in ten thousand born having the gene making them immune to the vaccine.

    In December 2014, an individual from New York City, known only as his online handle Impact, came to internet fame. Impact began acting as a vigilante, wearing a mask and using his power of telekinesis to stop petty crime, as well as speaking openly about his abilities in online forums.

    Impact broke society’s rules for Foram, using his abilities, and being open about them online. Following in his lead, dozen’s of Foram began disguising themselves, and taking to the streets, fighting for what they believed was right, and to show the rest of the world they meant no harm to them.

    However others addressed their dislike towards societies attitude towards Foram with extremist acts. A group soon emerged calling themselves Demon’s Run, revealing themselves to the world by destroying a vehicle transporting the Foraminis Vaccine.

    Since the first Demon’s Run attacks, governments have been increasing their efforts to identify Foram, stopping vigilantes and putting an end to Demon’s Run. However on Christmas Eve of 2017, a threat was issued. By the New Year, Demon’s Run would rule Manhattan.

    On Christmas Day, Impact, as well as other well known vigilante’s posted statements online about Demon’s Run threat, whilst the police insisted that they’re doing all they can to put an end to Demon’s Run, and urging the public to report any Foram activity, be it Demon’s Run, vigilante, or anything in between.

    Rules:
    -The usual. No bunnying without permission. No Godmodding.
    -Keep posts substantial. If you want to do a multitude of small posts, PM or Discord, then compile them into one post.
    -Keep it PG. A little violence or language is okay. I don’t see any need for funny business in this sort of RP.
    -Please be active. Or at least let us know if you’re gonna disappear.
    -We are playing superpowered characters. Keep it fair. No invincibility.
    -Keep it realistic. If your character uses their powers in the middle of Times Square, have their house raided by the government or something.
    -Please include a header
    Name:
    Location:
    Affected RPers:




    Notes:
    -This RP will be based primarily in New York City, especially Manhattan. If you wanna have your character based outside of here, please contact me, just so it is smooth.
    -Foram are frowned upon and stigmatized. If people see Foram using their powers and are identifiable, chances are they will report it. The consequences are steep. Months spent institutionalized is not unusual.

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  3. #2
    I came in like a wrecking ball... [Desolate Divine]'s Avatar
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    Name: Tommy Smythe
    Location: Tommy’s Loft/Impact’s Lair
    Affected RPers: None

    [i]Hear our promise, New York City.
    By year’s end, Demon’s run will control Manhattan.
    The time for speaking and diplomacy is over.
    We have tried since the first Foram appeared in the sixties,
    With no change to show for it. No mercy given to those by the government, who are only the way they are because this same government failed them.
    And whilst you may think being a bystander gives you innocence, it doesn’t.
    You turned the blind eye whilst our brothers and sisters, YOUR brothers and sisters, were incarcerated, tortured and killed by our government, for the sake of your supposed safety.
    The time for speaking is over.
    The time for action is at hand.
    Hear our promise.
    Manhattan is ours.[i/]

    This was about the fifth time I had watched this video, trying to find anything that could give me some idea of where to start looking. Some sound from outside like a jackhammer, or even a TV in the background. However whoever put this together was good. The room itself was well soundproofed, and the audio recorded and mixed well enough to not reveal anything but the dialogue itself.

    On the screen was a man wearing a dark hoodie with a paintball mask. His voice had been changed in post production, and manipulated in other ways causing it to be way too difficult to reverse engineer without knowing the original process.

    I looked at the other computer, which was currently running a program attempting to track down the source of this video. When it was uploaded, they used multiple private networks to shield their location, switching between them every few seconds, making it near impossible to track them down. However this was my day job.

    I have had my eye on Demon’s Run for a while, and been waiting for them to post something again, be it taking credit for an attack, or just a general rant. I wasn’t expecting an all out threat.

    After their last few videos, I created a script to analyse the videos for commonalities between them. They had used the same sets, as well as the same general editing style. And whilst their production was generally good quality, they didn’t strike me as the type of group that have enough funding for more than one set of equipment.

    After analyzing the videos and doing some digging, I had discovered that the camera used was a Canon EOS70D with a Sigma 18-50 f2.8 lens. Whilst they had managed to have this not show in the metadata, the video itself had given enough information to discover that.

    After that, I hacked into the servers of all the places Demon’s Run first upload. Usually this would be enough, however they were smart enough to delete the posts as soon as someone reposted it, usually minutes later, and delete all traces of themselves. The only way to catch the original upload, was to catch them whilst it was happening.

    I created a program to watch these servers for data that attributed the camera used, as well as other commonalities in the video, such as the colour temperature and background frequencies in the audio, in the videos being uploaded, and track the locations if they got a hit.

    When this video was uploaded, it worked. It recognised it during the upload and tracked the locations it was being uploaded from, recording them to a database. My computer was currently looking for some number pattern between the IP addresses used. The way I saw it is that most random number generators aren’t truly random and rely on an algorithm to determine the number. And with enough instances of the product, one can see patterns, and identify the source, or the next product. Whilst that would require a masters in mathematics and a solid few years for me, for my computer, a couple of hours would do.

    I looked out the window and saw the sun coming down. Tomorrow was a day off, so tonight, I could work ‘til dawn. I made my way to the cupboard, putting my palm against the hidden biometric scanner in the wall, causing the false back to slide across, revealing my costume…

    Name: Amy Richards
    Location: Lower-east side Manhattan
    Affected RPers: None

    I watched the video on my phone, unable to help but grin at myself. Even though he wore the mask, I knew it was Cole speaking. The part that made it hilarious was how unlike him that script was. It was articulate, whilst the Cole equivalent of this would be ‘This is s***. You’ll pay for it.

    I had my earphones in as I watched this at the local coffee shop, sipping my coffee. It was December 26th, and they were still pulling down the Christmas decorations.

    We had made our statement. Demon’s Run will take over Manhattan by years end. And whilst that seemed like a bold statement, to take over one of the largest cities in the world, after announcing it to everyone, in the space of four days, we knew it was possible. We had planned and predicted everything. Now we just needed to watch the pieces fall into place.

    I finished my drink, before putting away my phone, and walking out of the shop, towards my apartment, a few blocks north...
    Last edited by [Desolate Divine]; 02-05-2018 at 07:19 AM.

  4. #3
    Cheers and good times! Neo Emolga's Avatar
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    Name: Jonathan Miller
    Location: Demon's Run Outpost, NYC Vladeck Houses, Jackson Street
    Faction: Demon's Run
    Affected RPers: N/A

    And then in comes this asshole, right when I'm trying to program the DVR. Doesn't bother knocking, waltzes down the stone steps with his big black cap, puffy jacket, and ripped jeans, walking into my temporary living cellar area like he's King S***. Meanwhile, his four goon with rhinestone pistols follow him around like little children following their mommy. Like this was some kind of joke. He then looks around my empty marijuana garden like this is some kind of disappointment candyland. What a prick.

    "Damn, man, where the hell 'em goods, huh?" He asks, probably high off of his own product.

    "'Cuatro,' I take it?" I ask him by his gang name, knowing he was the only one supposed to pick up today. "This your first time dealing in product?"

    "Hell no, man," he shrugs like the two-bit douche-canoe he is. "Been doin' this fora daamn long time."

    "Then start acting like it," I growl at him. "For your info and so you don't make this same stupid mistake again, I don't hold inventory for damn good reasons, because I swear every night one of these places gets a SWAT team busting into it because some drunken bitch got shot by her plastered boyfriend. Orders are made on demand thirty minutes in advance, no questions asked. You show up late, then you can sit around and wait outside because I burned your first batch and have to charge you an extra 50% for having to create a second one. If that's too much for you to understand, I'd recommend you try working a goddamn food truck instead."

    He sucks his teeth at me in disgust like the tool he is. Meanwhile, I get his wrapped packages of marijuana, put them in a cardboard box, tape it shut, and drop it at his feet. Then, one of his goons presents me with the duffle bag of bundled Benjamins. I unzip it, make sure everything's there and the $100K is accounted for, and well, at least he understood how this part works and didn't try to con me with some god-forsaken counterfeit Monopoly money like one asshole tried to do.

    "Why do-ya gotta be like that, man?" Cuatro shrugs. "Ya know I'm good. I jus' haven't dealt wit' the one dey call 'da plant man' before."

    "Don't ever call me that again or I'll rip out your tongue and stuff it down the steaming crater you call your ass," I told him, cringing about how stupid something like 'Da Plant Man' sounded to me. "The callsign is 'Night Blossom.' If you can't remember something as simple as that, then I suggest you haul your ass to the closest Huntington Learning Center and get the s***stain you have for brains reeducated. When you buy my product, you don't make the rules, I do. And you tell the people using that name with those pissing mouths of theirs not to call me that either."

    "S-sorry, man, I was jus' jokin' an' all," Cuatro apologized. "I won't go messin' wit' ya again, k?"

    "Next time you come here, you act like nothing is going down," I advise him. "I don't want to have to relocate because you can't keep these operations in the dark. You get the product, you go to your dealers, and you don't tell them a damn thing about where you got it and who you got it from. You can even ask your pimp if you still don't get it. He'll tell you the same thing I just did."

    He simply nodded and then headed out the door with the box. I swore, it was so easy to tell the newbies from people who had some sensibility regarding how to deal in the dark and not make a goddamn show out of it like this was the new f***ing Barnum & Bailey Circus. We don't talk, we don't stand out, everything is passed in cardboard boxes or cheap bags and we go on our way. That's it. These transactions aren't even supposed to take more than a minute and if he did this right, he would have been gone and out the door ten minutes ago and back in the streets with a decent head start.

    I turned back to the DVR and figured I had enough for next week's programming. Meanwhile, after switching to the local news, they were talking about the Demon's Run "terrorist threat" on television. Ah yes, this whole mess of a video I had no part in. Well, the truth was I needed Demon's Run and they needed me. 30% of my operations funded theirs. Truth was, we needed the Foraminis vaccine eliminated. Clueless idiots that knew me as a Foram asked me why I cared if I already realized my own powers, but the truth was if they were willing to prevent Forams like they were in a fever rush to do it, they would be willing to kill the ones that were already alive in due time. Meanwhile, if the cops were more focused on Demon's Run blowing up a medical shipment truck with Foraminis vaccines, there would be less scrutiny on the drug dealing and it would be the middle finger to de Blasio.

    Of course, I figured they would be asking for more than just money in due time. All I could respond with that for the moment was "it depends." I don't make promises before I know all the details.

  5. #4
    taking flight! VeloJello's Avatar
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    Name: Aria Leland.
    Location: West Manhattan.
    ARP'ers: None.
    ((Sorry for the long intro post! These two will bust into the scene proper in my next post but there was some stuff I needed to set up. Also, yay Social Justice Aria.))

    The costume wasn’t perfect. Aria had started with a blue morphsuit for the base, cutting off the head of it so that even with the feathery masquerade mask she’d cobbled together, she’d be able to actually see while she wore it. A hooded midriff jacket and a pair of jeans, both white, would complete the look. She’d embellished the jacket a bit, adding some white frills and a few blue designs made to emulate pinwheels and gusts of air. It wasn’t a bad costume for Aria’s resources, really, but it looked kind of silly. The ridiculousness was part of the charm, no one would recognize the normally-demure Foram in a costume like this, but was it really what she wanted?

    She groaned. This was stupid. The brightly-colored, downright gaudy costume, was ridiculous, and Aria was ridiculous for even designing it, much less considering putting it on and going out with it. Lashing out was only going to make this worse. That was how it had happened back in every wave of riots. She’d studied movement after human rights movement, but Foram were different. Women, LGBT people, ethnic or religious minorities - all of them had been, or still were, thought to be a threat to the ethos, dogma, and/or political power of the people in charge. Foram were a very real life-and-limb danger to everyone. Not much more dangerous than the average gun owner - and in some cases, like Aria’s, a lot less - but she’d noticed that fear and hate had this remarkable propensity for feeding on each other and themselves and growing way too strong for anybody’s good.

    Vague dreams of campus rallies, political science class revolutions, and maybe a jailbreak or two, floated through Aria’s brain as she toyed with the fabric frills on the costume’s sleeve. Honest-to-God, what as she even trying to -

    “Hey, kid, dinnertime.”

    As Tam knocked on the door, Aria fumbled with the closet. She had to be careful with this; the fabric paint might not be quite dry yet, and the stitching she’d done on the sleeves wasn’t one hundred percent secure. “One second!” she shouted, her voice just a little too urgent. There was another knock on the door; Aria shoved the bundle of clothes back inside and slammed the closet shut.

    Tam was waiting in the hall, so big that her mohawk nearly touched the doorframe. She gave Aria a grin with too-sharp canines. “You should be more grateful. I slaved over a hot stove all night.”

    The smells of molten cheese and pepperoni traced through the apartment. “Homemade delivery pizza?”

    “Hell yeah,” said Tam, walking back toward the dining room. “It’s catching on. C’mon, sit down and have a bite, yeah?”

    The pizza was good, but neither Tam nor Aria said much of anything. For Aria, that wasn’t really abnormal; for Tam, it was almost disconcerting. Aria considered asking Tam what was wrong, but just as she opened her mouth to talk, Tam said, “I’m going out tonight.”

    Aria nodded. That much was familiar. Being a bouncer, a socialite, and not exactly a teetotaler, Tam was out a lot of evenings. It worked out for both of them, since Aria appreciated her quiet time; in fact, tonight, it just might be an opportunity…

    “How long will you be out?” Aria asked carefully, taking a bite of pizza and trying her best to seem generally nonchalant.

    “Long enough for you to clean up after the wild house party I’m sure you’ve got planned.” Tam licked her lips, flashing oversized, bright-white fangs. “Just don’t take too much of my cocaine stash for your little friends, ‘kay?”

    Aria laughed. “No promises,” she joked. “Have fun.”

    “You, too.” Tam was gathering up her dishes, but she glanced up to look Aria straight in the eye. Despite the stark differences between the two, Aria couldn’t help but be reminded of her father’s eyes. Pitch-black, running deep with understanding and concern in equal parts. “And, Aria, listen. You need to be careful. I don’t really know what’s gonna happen with this Demon’s Run and Impact *****, but this isn’t the same as the FRC. Maybe their motives are good, maybe not. Right now, we don’t know.”

    Aria nodded. “Yeah, I know. Er, I know we don’t know.” She smiled weakly. “You be careful too, okay?”

    A quick hug and a goodbye later, and Aria was alone. She hurried into her room, heart pounding. The opportunity was too perfect. She could finally do something and try to make a difference, leave her mark -

    As she hurriedly grabbed her costume out of the closet, she paused. There was a flash of motion, something like a big, dark-colored animal. It almost looked like…

    The rush of the situation was getting to Aria’s head. There was no way it was Tam out there.


    Button by K'sariya!

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    Paired with noob dummy crazy kid rad friend Nar.

  6. #5
    growing strong Pokemon Trainer Sarah's Avatar
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    Name: Arden O'Conner
    Location: Arden's Room, Rori O'Conner's Residence
    Affected RPers: None

    Arden was sleeping. At least that's what it would look like to anyone entering her messy room. Curtains hung low over the two large windows, barring the morning light from entering. Piles of books were stacked on every surface, and clothes were flung across her desk, chair and carpet. Aunt Rori had made her promise to have the room pristine by the time she returned from work today. Ugh.

    Arden lay completely still, arms by her sides, facing the ceiling. Her eyes were shut but concentration was evident in the way her lips were pursed. As her chest rose slightly with each breath, her mind was far above the ceiling, above the apartment block even, resting safely within her pet bird and dearest friend Rafferty the American kestrel. His blue-grey wings flapped lazily as he circled above the city. It was beautiful up here above the noise and smog and dirty streets. Arden felt a pang of longing for her home in California, full of wide open spaces and fresh air. Projecting into Raff was the only way she stayed sane in this completely opposite place. Still, it wouldn't be for too much longer. When she saved enough for college she would head back to the west coast. At last.

    All at once, Raff let out a series of short squawks and dove toward the ground. Arden felt her stomach drop as he fell, but she felt no fear. She saw the mouse through Raff's own eyes, poor unsuspecting thing. With a slight lurching feeling, she snapped back to her own body, content not to view the impending massacre when Raff no doubt caught his breakfast. After taking a few moments to reacclimatise to being back on the ground, Arden rolled over and sat up, her head spinning for only a second.

    She scrambled to wash and dress, then, decked out in her makeshift work uniform - black leggings and a t-shirt with "Expecto Patronum" on the front - and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on her way outside. Raff greeted her with an enthusiastic squawk and maneuvered himself to perch on top of her curly red hair. Arden laughed but swatted him down to sit on her shoulder. As she walked the familiar block to the bookstore she flicked through her Facebook feed. Among the pictures of college parties and Californian sunsets was a video from Demon's Run. Arden felt her stomach drop. She had heard of the rogue group of Foram - who hadn't? But she had been careful to keep right away from that mess. Didn't they, and the other Foram who had gone public, realise how hard they were making it for their fellow Foram just to stay safe? Arden's powers were relatively inconspicuous but plenty of others weren't so lucky. She closed the window and pocketed her phone without watching the video, but the rest of the walk was undertaken with heightened alertness.

    Once she arrived at the shabby old building housing the book shop, Raff flew from her shoulder to join the other birds perched in the eaves. The store almost looked abandoned but it was an aesthetic that had somehow become popular in the last few years. David often joked about how he was glad he never updated the store since buying it in the 80s or he would have had to change it all back again. Arden entered the little store, greeted by the tinkling of the bell above the door. David popped his head out from behind a towering, overstocked shelf. He was not a small man, but he looked even larger among the narrow walkways between the shelves. "Good timing, we have about a hundred sale items to mark," he said cheerfully. He weaved through the packed store and handed Arden a roll of price stickers. Arden glanced at the door, who knew what was happening out there? Maybe she should have watched that video after all... She turned back to the books and got to work. At least in here, everything was normal.
    GCEA


  7. #6
    Actually Prefers Popeyes Kentucky Fried Torchic's Avatar
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    Name: Roberta Lee "Arlee" Garlake
    Location: A Starbucks in Midtown Manhattan
    Faction: Unaffiliated
    Affected RPers: N/A

    It may have been late, but at least one element of the songs was true: the city of New York never seemed to sleep. At least that was how it seemed to Arlee Hicks. Back in her sleepy one coffee shop hometown, getting a venti caramel machi-whatever after ten in the morning, not to mention when the sun had gone down hours ago. Not so in New York; here people were always moving and refueling with cups of concentrated caffeine and sugar into the wee hours of the night.

    On one hand, it meant that there was never really a lot of downtime for her as a barista, that was what it was called, right?, but on the other hand Arlee was scheduled quite a bit and was actually able to make some money so that trips to the city's myriad network of soup kitchens and homeless shelters were far less frequent than they had been when she had first arrived in the city four months ago.

    Plus, it felt nice to have a kind of routine. Even if it was not ideal, there was at least some rough outline of what her days would look like when she got up. The work kept Arlee distracted too. Even after a whole season had passed since she had run away, the young woman had been unable to completely shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen to her. That she would be found out and arrested, or worse.

    Arlee looked up from the peppermint-flavored drink she was making to the television playing CNN for the customers. The commentators on the ten o'clock news were still talking about the threat that had been issued by a group of Foram terrorists to take over the borough by the end of the year. Even though the same story had been getting attention all day, the reheated news still made Arlee shiver. She knew what she was, a Foram, a freak, but she that did not make her a bad person automatically. At least, that was what she believed, but each day seemed to bring new reports about super-powered criminals robbing and hurting people. Every now and then, the mayor would make a speech about how the wave of crime and violence needed to bring New Yorkers together and that the city was turning a corner in confronting and handling these criminals.

    If he was telling the truth each time, it seemed like the city had turned enough corners to be right back where it started.

    "Aw shoot!" Arlee cried out in pain as hot milk surged over the side of the drink she was making and burned her hand. She dropped the cup and its contents splattered all over her ragged sneakers and loose black slacks.

    A few of the customers looked over with mild curiosity, but like good New Yorkers most of them just studiously ignored the clumsy girl. One of her coworkers, a girl named Crystal, was by Arlee's side in a flash, however. "Hey, are you alright?" she asked, reaching out for the other young woman's arm to steady her. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

    Arlee jerked away from her touch. "No! I'm-I'm fine, I'm going to head home for the night though, okay?" Without waiting to hear Crystal's reply, Arlee went into the back, carefully removing her name tag, forest green apron, and visor in the break room and punching out.

    When she was working, it felt like everyone was watching her (no matter how many times Arlee told herself that the feeling was just her imagination). Being outside on the streets of the city was so different. You could lose yourself entirely in the blob of anonymity. Back in her high school in Alabama, Arlee thought that she knew what being invisible felt like, but she had no idea that you could disappear like this. Her red face was no longer caused by embarrassment but by the far less troubling cold. That took some getting used to, but it was a small price to pay to fly under the radar and try to plan her next move.

    As Arlee turned onto the next street of her carefully rehearsed route back to the youth hostel, she tightened the downy coat she had picked up from the Salvation Army and tried to forget that she had no earthly clue what that next move was.

    Name: Conrad Campopolus
    Location: The Lobby of a Best Western in Midtown Manhattan
    Faction: Vigilante Fanboy
    Affected RPers: N/A

    It had taken a fair bit of effort, maybe more planning than Conrad had ever had to muster in his life before, but he had somehow done it: navigated the Amtrak routes and schedule, made reservations for a hotel, and, hardest of all, convinced his parents to let him sneak away after Christmas to spend time in New York City with some friends. Of course, said friends did not know that he even existed yet, but after he helped stopped Demon's Run's mad plan, he would undoubtedly be showered with praise and adulation by the more, let's say, established superheroes. After all, if Batman could be pals with Superman, why couldn't the Righteous Armadilloman be friends with Impact?

    Conrad was snapped out of his daydreaming by the receptionist behind the hotel desk clearing her throat and repeating a little louder this time, "Next, please?"

    Sheepishly, the bulky young man sidled up to the desk and casually laid one arm across the top while extending the other for a handshake. "Hiya, Conrad Campopolus, that's, uh, P-O-P-O-L-U-S, checking in."

    The taken aback woman did not take his proffered hand, but instead typed in the information he had given her into her computer with slow and methodical clicking and clacking of keys on an ancient desktop monitor. "Credit card?" was all she said.

    "Here ya go," Conrad said after fishing the plastic Mastercard out of his back pocket.

    "In the machine," the receptionist said without looking up from her monitor.

    "Ah, right." After he shifted his duffel bag to sit more comfortably on his shoulder, Conrad ran the card through the reader on the side of a small black machine on the desk.

    There was an annoyed-sounding beep, one that was almost matched in its passive-aggressive irritation by the woman checking guests in. "Does your card have a chip, sir?"

    The three or four people behind Conrad in line were tapping their feet, but if he felt the atmosphere, the young man ignored it. He studied his credit card briefly, and then fumbled to jam it into the opening at the bottom of the reader. This time, the machine gave a begrudging beep of approval and Conrad hastily scribbled his signature on the screen.

    "Welcome to Best Western," the receptionist said, holding out a paper booklet. "Your room is number 315, the key and the Wi-Fi password are in the booklet. Next?"

    "Thanks a million," Conrad said, flashing his trademark winning smile. "Say, what would be a good place to grab a bite? I know it's a bit late, but-"

    "Next!"

    With a sheepish shrug, the student seized the handle of his suitcase and rolled it to the elevators. As he waited for the elevator, stepped inside of it, and went up to his floor, Conrad's mind was ablaze with daydreaming once more. What would be the best way to attract some positive attention to get noticed by existing superheroes? But not too much attention, unless he felt like testing the patience of those government agents who said they would "squash him like a bug" if he stepped too far out of line. His musings were ended as his stomach rumbled.

    "Alright, food first, then saving lives!"
    Dreams do come a size too big. It's so that we can grow into them.

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  8. #7
    Not insanity. Supersanity. Death's Spook's Avatar
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    Name: Magenta LaRue
    Location: A Best Western in Midtown Manhattan
    Faction: Really Complicated
    Current Power: Minor Luck Manipulation - can choose to induce minor mishaps on contact
    Affected RPers: @Kentucky Fried Torchic

    Magenta screwed up.

    She had heard that one her dear father’s coworkers from once upon a time might have been here. Furthermore, she was actually correct, which she had intended to exploit by walking into his room, grabbing a nearby pillow, and putting it over his face until he stopped twitching. Unfortunately, she was pretty certain that she underestimated how familiar her face would be to someone who saw her burn her father to death, given that he acted downright scared when they made eye contact even though the makeup she had on should have kept him from recognizing her. She quickly took an opportunity to disappear into a stairwell, hopefully before he could catch up to her or even fully understand whom he just saw, running up multiple flights before almost randomly choosing a middlish floor to go into. She paused at the doorway to the floor, composing herself for a second so that she didn’t look too rushed, and walked in.

    She figured that it would be a best to hide out in an empty room for the night, which was possible thanks to the master key card she had pickpocketed from a cleaning lady (admittedly for the purpose of smothering her father’s friend). But before she could start a routine of figuring out which rooms were empty, she saw someone near the elevators who immediately piqued her interest.

    Conrad Campopolus, a.k.a. “The Righteous Armadilloman.”

    And Magenta realized that she struck gold.

    Conrad was a bit of a laughingstock on the parts of the internet that Foraminis frequented: an idiot with an idealistic streak who claimed to be a Foram, only without any powers to actually back that up. Like most people, she laughed at the news story, but filed it away under “unlikely to matter.” But the moron was here, in New York, where the Demon’s Run douches just declared their intent to rule the city by the start of the next year, which was unlikely to be a coincidence.

    And when Magenta saw that guileless look on his face, she might as well have been reading the words “BORN SUCKER” tattooed on his forehead.

    It took Magenta all of a second to figure out how to play this con. As she walked from the stairs towards the elevators, her face took on a distracted quality, intended to look almost distressed. She walked briskly, and when she passed by the elevators, she “accidentally” tripped into Connor, using the brief contact to impart an additional amount of bad luck onto him: unlikely to seriously hurt him, but definitely likely to make the resulting tumble cause something of a Rube Goldberg bit of obnoxiousness.

    As she started to pick herself up off the ground, Magenta allowed her eyes to fill with tears, since a clearly distressed damsel was likely to poke at Connor’s known white knight sensibilities. Her voice acquired a bit of a stammer as she clamped down slightly on her usual valley girl mode of speech, “I’m so so sorry! I-I didn’t notice where I was going and I d-didn’t mean to trip and and and-” she cut herself off with an Oscar worthy sob.

    It was laying it on a bit thick, perhaps, but she figured he’d eat it up hook, line, and sinker.
    Last edited by Death's Spook; 01-31-2018 at 02:44 AM.
    Avatar taken from Scarfgirl and TheOtherChosenOne of Deviantart. Two great tastes that go great together! You know, when they aren't trying to kill each other horribly.

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  9. #8
    The Queen of Shaymin
    Noblejanobii's Avatar
    Site Editor

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    Dec 2014
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    US
    Posts
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    Name: Roy Acciai (Blind Spectre)
    Location: Lower-east side Manhattan
    Affected RPers: @Desolate Divine

    Roy walked through lower-east Manhattan as he checked his emails on his phone. Congress may be on recess but a Representative's job was never truly done. Especially not with this Demon's Run business. His buddies from back on Capital Hill were none too pleased. It was going to be an interesting few days and no matter the outcome the next few weeks in Congress were going to be busy for the anti-forams. That much Roy knew for sure.

    He closed his phone and continued down the street towards the coffee shop. He had opted to go for a caffeine break at the office and needed to pick up everyone's coffees. It was the least he could do for his staff. They had been working tirelessly the last couple weeks and the few that stayed in the office for Christmas week were real troopers. It felt wrong not to reward them for their efforts.
    / / / / / / / /
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  10. #9
    I came in like a wrecking ball... [Desolate Divine]'s Avatar
    Senior Moderator

    Join Date
    Mar 2013
    Location
    Melbourne Australia
    Posts
    3,473
    Name: Amy Richards
    Location: Lower-east side Manhattan
    Affected RPers: None

    As I walked home, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw an incoming call from a contact called Iketani. All of us in Demon's Run had aliases that were used outside of our meetings, in case a phone gets taken by the police, or worse. Iketani was the alias used for Cole, the dummy-head of Demon's Run.

    "Did you see the video?" Cole asked as I answered the phone.

    I struggled to hear him over the traffic, so made my way into an alley a few meters away from the street.

    "Yeah it was perfect." I replied, "Granted, knowing it was you behind the mask made it hilarious."

    "Wow, that was surprisingly insulting." Cole said, sounding slightly irritated.

    "You're a big boy. You'll live." I said condescendingly.

    "Phone and purse. Now!"

    I looked to my left and saw I had been followed into the alley. Standing between myself and the exit was a fairly short man, dressed in dirty looking clothes. His skin crawled as if he needed his fix.

    "Amy, what's going on?" Cole asked on the phone. He must have heard the mugger.

    "I gotta go." I replied, before hanging up.

    I could handle this. Last thing I wanted was Cole thinking I needed saving, and getting himself into trouble trying to do that...

  11. #10
    Actually Prefers Popeyes Kentucky Fried Torchic's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2013
    Location
    Minnesota
    Posts
    826
    Name: Conrad Campopolus
    Location: A Best Western in Midtown Manhattan
    Faction: Vigilante Fanboy
    Affected RPers: @Death's Spook

    Conrad fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

    Of course, that was only after he had literally fallen. The girl had seemed to come out of nowhere and barreled into the young man with enough force that he knew there was absolutely no way that she could have seen him. Unfortunately, his plan, so much as one could call it that, to lean up against the closed elevator door all cool and respectable-like to offer her a non-threatening hand was fouled up by the elevator doors opening without any ding or indicator that it had been called. Conrad must have hit the call button on accident somehow, or maybe the girl had struck it when she fell? There was not a lot of time to linger on those whys and wherefores because the elevator itself seemed to have decided that it was in fault and quickly closed its doors again. That reversal mean that the hood of Conrad's winter coat was securely caught in the elevator door's clutches when it began moving back down to the lobby.

    It was a lot harder to look like a helpful but unobtrusive bystander when one is slowly being dragged to the floor by a rogue elevator, but, like with everything else he did, Conrad put in a valiant effort.

    The sheepish "aw shucks" grin was fixed on his face as Conrad's legs splayed out below him as he went from leaning to sliding to laying on the hallway's carpeted floor, as if this was no more troubling that a traffic light staying red for a little longer than expected. Fortunately, and before his veneer of casualness would be challenged by the unsightly scene of him being strangled to death by the bizarre conspiracy of coat and lift, Conrad faintly heard something tear and then the pressure on his neck was released. Without missing a beat, he stood up and perfected the pose he had been trying to accomplish before, albeit this time on a wall instead of a set of elevator doors.

    By that time, the olive-skinned girl had her own ascent well under control, but now a new factor was in play: she was crying. If there was one thing that was Conrad's Kryptonite (to coin a phrase), it was a girl with a good hearty sob. He recognized that part of him, but sometimes just being aware of an issue you have is not enough to stop you from shaving a not-unimpressive anchor into your chest hair so that you can serve as a waiter for a fundraising event put on by Delta Gamma.

    "Hey now, it's okay!" Conrad said perhaps a little too cheerfully. Obviously he didn't know exactly what was going on with this stranger, but he had always been a firm believer that if you see someone without a smile, it was your duty to give them yours. "I'm totally fine, see? Do you need help getting up...or anything?" He drew slightly closer and offered his arm in case the girl needed to something to pull herself up with besides tackily wallpapered hotel walls.

    Hunger could wait; the Righteous Armadilloman, even in his expertly concealed civilian identity, could hardly ignore a damsel so obviously in distress!
    Dreams do come a size too big. It's so that we can grow into them.

    Current Projects:
    Fanfiction: Pokémon: Exodus (Chapter six of nine posted)
    Nuzlocke: "Dude, Where's My Bellsprout?": A Totally Radical Red Version Nuzlocke

    Avatar by the illustrious Neo Emolga.

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