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[personal profile] maskurbates
[As reported by the dashingly handsome young anchor Bart Clinton!]

Multiple homicides occurred earlier tonight in an undisclosed warehouse in the Bronx. At least six are dead after gunshots alerted locals. Police arrived on scene to discover the aftermath of what several witnesses have called "a slaughter without rhyme or reason". We can't show you any footage, but one witness, who wished to remain anonymous, described it as "something out of a horror movie".

Alleged mob boss Roman Sionis, alias Black Mask, has been identified among the dead, despite the brutalized state of his body.

There are currently no suspects.

[ooc: Black Mask is now dead thanks, Midnighter.]
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[personal profile] maskurbates
[The focus is on this mask. Black Mask narrates from off camera.]

"The mask being in a great measure contrived to prevent the dispersion of the voice, the mouth was so formed, and was so encrusted with metal, as to have somewhat the effect of a speaking-trumpet-hence the Romans gave the name of persona to masks, because they rendered the articulation of those who wore them more distinct and sonorous..."

[There's the soft sound of a book closing as the view moves from the theater mask to another.]

Through the sublimation of the personality, inhibitions and societal pressures die. The wearer assumes more primitive instincts; the cunning and predatory nature of a cat, for instance. An individual may tap into the mask's spiritual power and create a new persona to achieve an end the original self cannot. To steal. To go among polite society while despising them. To fight evil with fear.

[The camera pans down the wall to the next mask.]

And sometimes the wearer becomes the mask.

[A heavy pause as he lingers on the Hannya mask for a moment longer before turning the angle on his own face. Doing so reveals a glimpse of the room: a study or a living room, perhaps, somewhat minimalist in style with black furniture, the floors and walls white.]

Midnighter. Let's talk, shall we?
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[personal profile] maskurbates
[The video focuses on a headless G.I. Joe figure lying on its stomach. The floor surrounding it is scorched and riddled with small holes that, upon closer inspection, seem to have been caused by the doll's missile launcher arms. Suddenly, a foot wearing a black leather dress shoe appears in the frame, whereupon it proceeds to stomp the doll to pieces.]

Real fuckin' funny, Calendar Man.

[Yes, Black Mask, breathing hard and positively snarling, sounds very amused.]

You're on my list now, you demented whackjob. What the hell were you thinking? You can take your goddamn Merry Christmas and shove it up your ass.

[Private (separately) to Oswald Cobblepot and Two-Face, a bit later when he is calmer:]

I'd like your professional opinion on something.
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[personal profile] maskurbates
[The audio begins with nothing but the background noise of a city in terror: screaming, honking horns, snatches of crying here and there, the sound of patent leather shoes on pavement--whoever is posting is walking somewhere.

Then the low, gravelly voice begins, clearly amused.]

Hero, huh? And on such an auspicious day. You people really know how to welcome a guy.

[There's a quiet snicker. His tone is full of disdain and utterly mocking.]

Yeah, I wore the costume, the pointy ears, the whole nine yards...I tried the hero gig once--

[A horrified howl erupts nearby, coupled with "Stay away from me!" But our speaker seems to ignore it.]

--tried it, had my kicks, but ultimately? It wasn't for me. Sorry to disappoint you people, but you picked the wrong guy. But believe me: I appreciate the gesture. When I say I'm thankful, I really, truly am.

[The sound of the city dies away--he must have stepped inside a building.]

And a shout out to all my party people--you know who you are: I'd like to personally wish you a very happy Thanksgiving.
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[personal profile] maskurbates
["Stuck in the Middle" by Stealer's Wheel is heard behind a god-awful screaming. The shrieks change to rapid gasps, as though someone were hyperventilating. There's an exasperated sigh.]

What? I haven't even touched you yet and already you're squealin' like you want your mommy.

[There is a slap and the man's gasps become hurt yelps.]

That wasn't so bad, now, was it?

[The dominant, gravelly voice chuckles and sings along to the music, the audio punctuated every so often with shrieks from the second man.]

"'s so hard to keep this smile from my face..."

[The video clicks on to reveal our protagonist, Roman Sionis: the Black Mask, and a bound man wearing a tiger mask. Sionis focuses the picture on Mr. Tiger.]

New city, new agenda, folks. Well, the folks that care, which should be all of you sheeple, but I know right now only a select, special few of you care, so I'm counting on you to fill in all your little caped friends.

[The picture jerks upward to reveal a grinning Roman. He waves, and the picture wildly swerves back to Mr. Tiger, who dramatically slips out of his faked bonds. He also waves. Roman can be heard snickering.]

Say 'hello', Mr. Tiger.

[Mr. Tiger bows stiffly at the waist. Black Mask moves into the video, his hands spread before him in explication.]

I know what you're thinkin': it's damn rude of me to insist he wear a mask, but I know how Batarang-trigger happy some of you can be and Mr. T. here has a pretty spiffy resume, dude can type 120 words-per-minute, so...can't blame a guy for wanting job security these days, am I right? I know I'm right.
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[personal profile] maskurbates
[The audio clicks on and there is the echo-y sound of the device making contact with the floor in an apparently empty room, as well as muttering.]

...sure don't make these things like they used to...

[Fumbling noises as the communicator is picked up, and again, the slightly gravelly voice only certain Gothamites would remember.]

Real nice town you folks got here. Big place, huh? Lotta places to see, lotta hot chicks, lotta people to-

[The voice stops and there is a low chuckle. Video comes on, showing an empty basement at a sideways angle, and then suddenly, the camera pulls around, focusing on a leering black skull.]

Who's gonna show this stranger around?


May. 2nd, 2009 04:55 pm
[identity profile]
[Here, Raven. Have another birthday gift. A small package sent to her apartment with Terry, it doesn't look suspicious at all. Even has a return address. A fake one that will lead to some (possibly dead) little old lady, but a return address nonetheless. Inside is a DVD case, plain; across the DVD itself 'Home Videos' is written. The content of the DVD? Raven turns into a demon and kills kids.

Best home videos ever.

A small note is taped to the case.]

Happy Birthday.


May. 1st, 2009 10:08 pm
[identity profile]
[Oh, he is angry. He is back, and he is fucking angry.]


[There's silence, for a half second, before the sound of things being thrown and broken fills the air. This is fury as taken out by Black Mask. Good thing it's not video, there may very well be kittens being slaughtered in the back ground.

Something shatters, and everything falls silent, the sound of Roman's breathing faint but heard.]

I'm killing every cat in this Goddamned City in your name, Selina. Since when are you a fucking murderer?

And wher'd you get a Goddamn ROCKET LAUNCHER? THAT WAS A PRIME PIECE OF REAL ESTATE. Worthless bitch, I was ENJOYING having the place to myself.

[There's a yowl of a feline, then a hissing, then a whining and yeah, he just strangled a cat.] Every God damned one of them, you cunt.
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[personal profile] meowminx
[Trailers are not made to be stacked, yet stacked they are. Go figure. Or at least blame the gelatinous red and black creature of the trailer park.

The mansion of mobile homes is two stories high, in the shape of a three walled rectangle. This monstrosity is comparable to Versailles, yes. The two arms stretch forward, flanking the main entrance. The haven of domesticity stretches on behind that, giving plenty of room for... whatever it is the trailer triplets do.

As seen from above, the stacking of the trailers looks a bit... haphazard in places. And it's the wobbliest of the second-story trailers that's suddenly hit by what appears to be a rocket-propelled grenade. The explosion is spectacular. The crash of the flaming mobile home toppling over onto the "courtyard" even more so.

God damn it, no one respects architecture anymore! Roman knows that trailer falling over last week was Bullseye's fault. Fucker. Black Mask is out of that deathtrap almost as fast as he'd run out of his bazooka-exploded office building in Gotham. He really hates all things bazooka-like. When they aren't in his hands, anyway. His]

What the FUCK!

[is closely followed by an extensive amount of expletives. He's out in the open. Exposed. Alone. And apparently too pissed to notice the red light of laser sight dancing across his forehead right away.

will she or won't she or will she or won't she... )


Apr. 7th, 2009 02:12 am
[identity profile]
[Roman's leaning back in his desk chair, holding a glass in a black gloved hand, sipping scotch on the rocks. The sleeves of his white button up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, black tie loose around his neck.] Been a good day's work and GOD am I bored. The streets are lookin' a little more colorful though, at least there's that to work with. Got to have SOMETHING to brighten the damn day, right?

Except for the loser in the cocker spaniel mask. Some one shoot that motherfucker. And call me Morgan fucking Freeman.

(Cut oocly for possible squickness) )
[identity profile]
[It's a short clip, angled down at a city stoop. This may be security camera footage, or it may be the work of a creepy stalker. Who knows. The stoop is empty, for a moment; soon enough a package is dropped off, a large, plan brown box, unmarked. The buzzer is rung, and the deliverer - his face never in view - leaves. A few moments later the door opens, and a puzzled old man is staring down at the box, opting to open it where it is.

Inside are several different kinds of masks: horse, pug, clown, domino, feather. They come in every shape and size, some harmlessly adorable, others scarier than the shit in the back of that Halloween store you avoid. Confused, the man brings the box inside, and the feed ends.]

(((OOC: Roman's putting some plans into motion, so these boxes full of masks are being delivered silently and anonymously all over the City: it can be whatever you choose, feel free to get one or don't. Roman obviously won't be replying. <3)))
[identity profile]





[He's just snickering, one power drill hand whirring.] Speaking of old times, I had this little tape for you. It was going to be a parting gift, but I don't know if you GOT it. Seen Slam lately?

[Grinning (promise he's grinning, though it's hard to tell) ensues, and then the feed ends, back to text.]



Mar. 31st, 2009 03:22 pm
[identity profile]
[Here we have Roman. Here we have Roman staring at a pair of power drills in his hands. Actually, here we have Roman staring at a pair of power drills which ARE his hands.]


[And that's the sound of the drills turning on, whirring with a low but loud zzzzz sound.]


[His shouts of disbelief are facing, and for a moment the only sound is the whirring; then he starts to laugh. A lot.]

[identity profile]
Greedy bastard broke my power drill. How the fuck do you break a power drill? Came right off. All the times I've drilled straight into bone, and now it decides to break. Now, I told Jimmy he damn well better reimburse me - that's what good guests do - and he just wouldn't shut up! Kept on blubbering, on and on and on. Had to get the gag, it was so annoying, and I really hate using the gags.

So get this, I'm out one perfect power drill, and don't you know it, that's when I need it most? Talk about your irony, right? So this guy in a metal suit - damn capes and their tinker toys, lemme tell you - comes on with this 'welcome to the city, hero.' Hero? Yeah, I'm a real hero all right. Should fuckin' nominate me for sainthood. My capos would (if I hadn't wasted them, anyway).

All right, I'm electing one of you snitch. Someone tell me what the fuck's goin' on here, cause I've got some business back home to take care of. CW just can't get by without me. My name's Roman Sionis, but you, my party people (you guys better be at least a little amusing), can call me Black Mask.


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