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[personal profile] plains_hunter
It's hard to believe that it's almost "that" time of year, again. Good cheer, joyous wishes, the power of the human spirit. You know, all of that crap.

[Thomas is just chilling in his crib with a glass of egg-nog, probably the first he's tasted in at least 7 years. It's not quite as good as he remembers, but then his tastes have changed a lot.]

So, I've been trying to get used to this place for the last few days. You all were new once, you know how it is. See the sights, get the general lay of the land, peruse back through the network entries. That sort of thing. I have to say, it's all some pretty crazy stuff. Guess I've crossed paths with more than a few people here, back home. I suppose I'm in good company.

[A small cat bounds into view, moving onto the top of the couch behind him. With a quick hop, it lands in front of the camera.]

[A loud sigh leaves Tom's lips as he lifts the device up away from the new tenant.]

While I'm at it, did anyone lose a cat? I found this guy outside and had to snatch him up from a couple of street dogs. Looks to be a Scottish Fold, maybe a little over 3 years old. I know these guys aren't exactly cheap. I cleaned the "street" off him and gussied him up pretty nice. If the owner doesn't come forward, can I interest someone in him? I'm not really cut out to care for much besides myself, right now.

[Video 01]

Nov. 23rd, 2012 10:05 pm
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[personal profile] plains_hunter
[Thomas sits back in his chair, clad in his civilian clothes. He hums a little tune to himself as he swirls a bit of bourbon in his glass, watching the moonlight filter through it.]

You know, I have to admit it. You guys certainly know how to be accommodating to brand new guests. Room and board, personal IDs, maps of the city and its various sites. That's real sweet of you all.

[He cracks his knuckles a few times, then leans forward, getting closer to the camera.]

So, since I'm the new guy in town, why don't you all introduce yourselves? After all, I need to get myself established here, don't I? Better get a handle on the kinds of people I'm dealing with. In the interests of fairness, I'll go first. I'm Thomas. Thomas Blake. If anyone here is from a humble little burg called Gotham City, chances are good that you already me. If not, just ask someone who does. I"m sure they'll be more than forthcoming.

Any other Gothamites here? I do so hate to miss out on what's going on back home. I tend to fall behind on the trends.
[identity profile]
[ the video opens up to a very shirtless Thomas Blake, gently watering a beautiful, sprawling garden with gasoline. it’s almost as if the vines are shrinking away from his legs, and flowers are facing away, almost fearfully. he's looking away from the camera, his attention focused on a group of bright blue flowers lying in front of him.

he picks one up before dousing the bed, and very intentionally bites off its head, tossing its stem to the side before speaking up. IT’S ALMOST AS IF HE’S CHALLENGING A CERTAIN SOMEONE. ]

You know how sometimes you find a door closing on you: a major door, a gate, something that you’ve meant for the longest time to go through. But at the same time, you find that more than a few paths have opened, all at the same moment? But you’re still feeling adrift. You still don’t know where to begin.

[ putting the can of gasoline down, he fishes a matchbook from his pocket. ]

You have time to kill—along with other things—you just need to get started.

[ fumbling awkwardly while still trying to hold the communicator, he manages to get a match lit. and, in the matter of a few seconds, it’s all up in flames. he centers the video on the view as he backs away. ]
[identity profile]
[ the pristine, expansive kitchen that the video opens up to is so obviously not Thomas’s, but by the view of the a multitude of sizzling and simmering pots and pans on the stove and him entering the screen hauling more cooking supplies onto the counter, he’s not terribly concerned with that fact. as he’s hurriedly flipping this and cutting that, he speaks, occasionally glancing toward the camera: ]

So. When I was in prison [ he enunciates ], I was reading up on a few things. On the nature of virtue. Laozi said that—I might be a bit off with the quote, but whatever— “A man of the highest virtue does not keep to virtue and this is why he has virtue. A man of the lowest virtue never strays from virtue and that is why he is without virtue.”

I feel like this recognizes, in a way, the fundamental flaw of so-called heroes: in their search for universal goodness, their own motives and intentions cloud their view and prevent them from whatever apotheosis they really would kill to achieve. They’re not people of virtue. They’re people of rectitude, forcing themselves to reinforce the laws, the rites, without having the intrinsic value of benevolence that allows their actions to be positive without an effort or a search to do the right thing.

Truly kind people, virtuous people—can’t be heroes. Passivity is the ideal, not aggression. [ he pauses, holding up a spring squash inquisitively. ] Uh. What am I supposed to do with this?

[ private to Floyd Lawton ]
After I’m done? I’ll be swinging by to grab my things.


Jul. 10th, 2011 02:52 pm
[identity profile]
The minute you tie yourself down is the minute you become a marionette. People in things like the Justice League are puppets to authority, or puppets to conventional ideas about “goodness,” which are manufactured by the former, so it's nearly the same thing. Kind of.

People like the Joker (yeah, I know you're reading this) are puppets to the similar ideal of chaos, hate, whatever. You permanently ally yourself with to a cause and you’re something to be maniupulated for it, basically. So?

Don’t let yourself get bound.

Lady-you-know-who-you-are, about your offer...


May. 14th, 2011 05:57 am
[identity profile]
We can't compare a person to their childhood self. Things happen, people change far beyond the scope of their early years.

So, what do we do? We recuperate, clear our heads and forget about the whole mess, pretend it didn't happen. Seeing how a person used to be will only wreck our perception of them. We shouldn't let ourselves succumb to presumptions.

I'll start if everyone else follows.


May. 7th, 2011 11:51 am
[identity profile]
[ With a bit of fumbling, a chubby ginger kid stares into the communicator, his chin wobbling with barely restrained tears. In one of his pudgy little hands, he's clutching a certain mauve cape rather protectively. ]

[ Pause. His eyes are brimming now, dear god. ]

Does― Does anyone know where Sienna Blake is? She... used to be in the movies. Anybody? Please?

I need my mother. I think I'm lost.


Apr. 13th, 2011 06:54 pm
[identity profile]
Been thinking. For a while now.

What makes a vigilante?

Is it some skewered sense of justice that turns people away from straight copping into being somebody reckless and personal? Parents dying, some type of depressing trauma? Experiences to make you grow to hate those who go against the law who aren’t you? Is it being recruited into it by a hero in your childhood and not being able to take off the cape and quit? That craving for power but not willing to just get out there and take it by force? A sense of superiority against all who don’t follow your petty little rules?

Or is it just ability? I could fight at about the same par as the most of them. Could probably track better than anyone immediately here. I’ve put a few cruel people down. If that’s all you really need, then why couldn’t a person like me go into that edge of the fray?

[ His impassioned voice falters, leaving a rather pathetic note behind. ]

Why the hell can’t I?
[identity profile]
Finished. All individuals listed on the list have been ridden of. Had to cull a handful of their lackeys along with them.

I'd like my compensation. And my flight.


Jan. 11th, 2011 10:47 am
[identity profile]
[ The video starts up with the close-up view of claws awkwardly clattering against the communicator in question, along with some frustrated grunting behind them.

After an agonizing minute, the claws are removed to reveal a disgruntled-looking (and shirtless, but it IS Tuesday) Thomas, face looking as if he was scratched, lightly bleeding. ]

I can't turn the goddamn thing off with these things.

[ He flashes his newly clawed fingers toward the camera. The individual claws are angled all off (being too large for the respective fingers) and his pinky has one growing to the side of it. It seems, at the very least, very uncomfortable. ]

You don't want to see my feet.
[identity profile]
[ It's 11 PM at your local news station and token gorgeous blonde reporter is at her desk, looking appropriately solemn post-commercial break. Beside her, a little girl is dabbing her tears daintily on a napkin, sitting on a sofa that somehow clashes with the rest of the studio. ]

Welcome back to our program. We now bring you a piece in memoriam of a brave woman, life ended too-short by something that even she could not have fought against.

Two weeks ago, an man— now identified as import Thomas Blake— had brutally attacked two people: Mark Friedrich, 23 and Lori Schafer, 29.

The founder of the New Schafer Foundation, Lori was a beloved figure in her community: charitable, welcoming, helpful and loving, she touched the hearts of all those around her, inculding her four children, one of whom is here: Jenny Schafer, age seven.

[ Jenny is, quite simply, precious. A newsperson's dream: straw-colored pigtails, watery blue eyes and pink cherub cheeks. She sniffles, quietly.]

Unfortunately, husband Mark Schafer was unable to make it to our studio. [Grimly:] He's currently in the hospital due to complications in his leukemia treatment.

[ And from here, a touching montage plays; a mix of previously heartwarming, now tear-enducing photos and clips of the woman in question. There she is volunteering at a soup kitchen, helping rebuild an underfunded inner-city school, laughing while joyfully blowing bubbles with her family. It cuts back to the little Jenny, a sole tear sliding down her cheek. Aww. Then back to the newswoman, shaking a little. ]

We beg someone, anyone to bring this monster to justice. We cannot let this poor woman's murder go unpunished.

[She pauses, regaining composure.]

But now, Jenny. Tell us about your home life...


Nov. 8th, 2010 06:34 am
[identity profile]
[ Thomas looks like he's back to his manly, bronzed and healthy self again! ]

Feel better now. Guess it was all just a dream.

Because nothing happened. Not really.
[identity profile]
[For some reason, you’re watching the nightly news at a generic local station! An attractive blonde reporter sits at her desk, shuffling through her various papers, struggling to find the story to introduce. There is a worrying moment before she finds it, and she mouths out a little “Aha!” as she does.]

This just in: Two brutal murders found downtown just several blocks away from eachother, one of them caught on camera. For this, we go to our field reporter Jack Jackson. Jack?

[Cut to a somewhat greenish-looking man with a microphone, standing in front of an alleyway next to a bank—behind him, police officers are milling about under a small labyrinth of caution tape.]

Thanks, Janice.

Just a few hours ago, Lori Schafer, 29 and Mark Friedrick, 23 were killed in two alleyways in downtown City; while the area does have a high crime rate, their deaths will surely raise a few eyebrows.

The victims attacked were apparently bitten on their necks and had suffered significant blood loss both premortem and postmortem—by human teeth.

It seems as if the perpetrator had taken a large amount of muscle from the necks of the victims—deep enough to kill them within seconds—taking apart the skin around it and even tearing the tissues of the bottom half of the face. According to the video evidence and the lack of evidence on the scene, this apparently inadvertent tissue was [pause for dramatic effect] ingested by the assailant.

As one of these attacks had taken place right next to Americhael National Bank, this was all recorded on security camera. With the permission of the local police, we have a still from it, showing the killer in question.

[Cut to the photo. In the grainy black-and-white still, it’s a bit difficult to see clear details. Still, a man is clearly crossing in the center of it—while it’s hard to see his face from the shadow, anyone who knows Thomas will recognize him instantly; the hair, his mass and scar on his chest are also quite obvious. After a moment, it cuts back to Jack.]

Is this man yet another cannibal or vampire fetishist in our fair city? The evidence, as of yet, seems inconclusive.

Back to you, Janice.


Oct. 11th, 2010 05:18 pm
[identity profile]
Hypothetical situation, please answer:

A man, a previously convicted sexual offender, has kidnapped a girl of seven years. Somehow, one way or another, he is in front of you, tied securely to a table with rope.

The girl hasn't been found yet, but he even taunts you that she's still alive, hidden somewhere. There are no obvious clues as to where she is.

You have a knife. What do you do?


Sep. 13th, 2010 03:55 pm
[identity profile]
I'm drifting in creepy abandoned warehouses and as I fall asleep I've realized that I really need to get myself my own place. Of course, I need money for rent.

I do manual labor for private clients back home. Does anyone need a job done or know of anyone who does? Preferably someone with either a decent amount of money burning a hole in their pocket or who has impressive social connections? Or both?


Sep. 7th, 2010 06:38 pm
[identity profile]
[A very, very tired and slightly greenish-looking man-in-costume is glaring at you through the comm; it's clear that if he already wasn't having a horrible week (which it appears he has), he certainly is now.]

Oh, no, no, no. Not again. Not now. Not ever.

When I left this place, I could have sworn it was a dream. Now it's a goddamn recurring dream.

I [voice]

Sep. 10th, 2009 06:19 pm
[identity profile]
I can't get this damn thing to work, how in nine hells could I--

Oh, here it is. Right, I have no goddamn idea what's happening, but this isn't the same place as I was before I passed out, and it feels like it's a different time, too. Have I just gotten amnesia or something about suddenly becoming a hero? Maybe I have a decent sense of self, but I sure as hell am not one.  And, Jesus, is this some Big Brother thing with the cell and the tags? I think I'm going to--

[The unpleasant sound of gagging erupts from the com and a brief silence follows before he picks back up]

If anyone is hearing this, I'd really appreciate some help. By appreciating it, I mean need it; there's something wrong that I'm just not getting at the moment.


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