undeadsidekick: (pic#4712987)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
How to Center a Novel Around Someone with No Discernable Personality
a summary of the Luminescent Moon Trilogy Parts 1 & 2
by Jason Todd
(you're welcome)

I'd like to start off with some disclaimers. First off, this review will not teach you how to actually center a novel around someone with no personality. If our illustrious writer Moira March is capable of it, well, I don't think it's something that actually needs to be taught. Secondly, and probably most importantly I DID NOT PURCHASE THESE BOOKS FOR MYSELF beggars just can't be choosers and the next part of Raise the Mast won't be out until next month, according to Amazon. Time is a cruel mistress. The gregorian calendar is her asshole manservant.

All that said, let's begin. )


PS - My copy of Pride and Prejudice is now blank. Someone explain and use small words. I'm emotionally distraught.
undeadsidekick: (pic#4712635)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
[There's non-descript ambient city noise in the background. Jason's outside, and it's obviously a pretty public place, but other than that, there are no specific cues as to what part of town he's in.]

Hey Network!

Who has two thumbs and an official warrant out for his arrest?

... This guy.

[There's a few more seconds of people talking around him, the sounds of a typical Saturday night, and then the feed cuts. At least you were spared the hideous 80s music this time.]
undeadsidekick: (pic#4712622)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
I'm debating the pros and cons of skipping out on a court summons. Unregistered fire arm, potentially linked to a few unsolved homicide cases. The weapon in question has been confiscated for further testing. Shame too, it was nice.

If anyone has experience with this shit, I'm listening. Consider it your not-entirely-open-ended-question-of-the-day.
greatestfailure: (robin. brood)
[personal profile] greatestfailure
[It's dark, but from the looks of things, Jason's up on a rooftop somewhere. He looks younger. Like, significantly younger, barely managing to keep the sleeve of one of his ratty hoodies from blocking the view finder of the comm. The ambient noise is such that the wind overwhelms the microphone every so often, drowning him out now and then. It's just as well, his voice is squeaky and cracking anyway. No one needs to hear that.]

A lot of people want to relive their youth, but I didn't have it so easy back when I was actually this age. In fact, I can confidently say that I'm not nostalgic for childhood in any way that I'm consciously aware of. Modern therapy would probably have something to say about that. Anyway, it must be nice for those of you who are into that kind of thing.

[He pauses, running his other hand through mussy black hair. There's just the hint of auburn red root that's visible underneath.]

But I'm not posting this just to wax poetic on childhood, and psychotherapy and all that crap. I don't really care if you're enjoying this trip down memory lane and shitty hormones or not. The reality of all us being kids is that there's less protection for normal people out on the street.

Anybody got a plan for that, by the way? 'Cos I'm stuck here without my pixie boots.

[From behind Jason comes a flash of color in the form of a small blond in a bright purple coat. Jessica seems entirely oblivious to his current moody state as she bounces up to him to tug on his hood sleeve.]

Come on, Jason! Let's go ride your motorcycle! It'll be fun!

[And with that, he very hastily shuts off the feed. He was done anyway, but no one needs to see the rest of this.]
undeadsidekick: (_let's dance in style)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
Carrie Kelley has been ported out. Sorry to anyone who knew her. I personally blame #527206.

That's all.

[There's a delay in the transmission, as if Jason stops typing and then reconsiders it for whatever reason.]

PS - Does it bother anybody that these Vulcanus assholes apparently have something similar to the porter? Just curious.
sweetvalleygirl: (thumbs up)
[personal profile] sweetvalleygirl
[Hello network! This is a bird's eye view of a pretty disheveled looking living room in a pretty mundane looking apartment. There's a ratty couch and an armchair, off to one side, a hallway that probably leads to some bedrooms. Overall, it's not much to look at. Well, not on its own, anyway.

Strung up from the ceiling fan is this guy. Terrifying, right? Truly the stuff nightmares are made of. Anyway, underneath him it is a crowbar with an attached note that reads "use me". The general area of the floor around these things is covered with one of those recycle-able blue tarps. You know, like the kind they use for pools in the winter? Completely water (and everything else proof).

So there you have the set up for scenery. The video continues on this peaceful image for about three minutes. In that time, a shaggy German shepherd walks through and barks once at the pinata. It probably deserves to be barked at, really. Finally, there's the sound of a key turning in a deadbolt, and someone shoving what's probably a very heavy front door open.

Within another minute, none other than the Red Hood enters the room, but only still half dressed in his typical Red Hood getup. He doesn't seem to notice the head floating in the air at first, and makes it about three paces into the small room before looking up, yelping the post manly of yelps, and jumping back to the very edge of the camera's view.]

Holy fucking shit!

[And with that, Jason shoots the piñata three times, just to be safe. From the portion of him still visible to the, his body language is defensive, as if he's expecting the thing to spring to life and come after him. Look, it's a pretty legitimate concern. When it just sort of... Oozes, he advances, finally spotting the crowbar and the note. His brow is furrowed and he refuses to take his eyes off the floating head as he picks it up and reads the note. There's another minute or so of him surveying the oozing, bullet ridden head, and hefting the crowbar from arm to arm, presumably considering whether or not he should follow the instructions.

Eventually, he shrugs and goes with it. It only takes two good swings to drop the pinata, but the second one sends a glob of red something or another flying at the comm's lens, obscuring the image. The feed cuts out pretty soon after that.]
undeadsidekick: (-her diary sits on the bedside table)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
[From the sound of it, Jason's outside, probably the rooftop of a shitty apartment building in Brooklyn. There are birds chirping and the sound of cars on a nearby express way. Other than that (and the faint music in the background), it's eerily quiet and when he speaks he sounds tired.]

The one redeeming value of ERs is that they give you time to read. I'm not normally Mister Positivity, but I can't fault them there. If they have to be so goddamn backed up with people trying to scam them for drugs, they at least make up for it with a good selection of magazines. Fortunately enough, I was in the position where I didn't really mind sitting and waiting for a while. Unlike the guy who game in half an hour after me with three of his fingers removed. And I thought my limbs suffered tonight. Anyway, my point in all this is that the reading material is pretty decent up at Lenox Hill. You should check it out sometime.

Anyway, I'm better at segues in text.

Turns out, despite our best efforts for this fair city, crime is on the rise. Stupid, boring, low-level crime, too. Jacking tires, of all things, which takes me back even more than the burning thing that happened earlier tonight. You see, when the local economy drops for whatever reason --for the sake of argument here we'll blame those Skrull things-- petty crime picks up. Tires make a pretty penny, are easily resold, and are virtually untraceable. Most tire thieves work in pairs, but trust me when I say it's not that hard to pull off by yourself. Even the locks on the wheels are easy to crack. And by crack, I mean literally chisel off. This type of theft requires absolutely no brain power, a kid or a trained monkey could do it. Perfect for your average goon, right?

Funny thing is, the article I found says that this kind of crime hasn't been widespread since the mid-80s. This is an alternate universe, sure, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only kid in Gotham who tried to lift a set or two well after that.

... But then that's Gotham. Damn, this place gets more like home everyday.

[Another, slightly more awkward pause and he sighs, seemingly collecting his thoughts for round two. Too bad for him, another voice appears mysteriously over the comm.]

I thought you were done.

[There's another (very brief) pause and then a crash as the communicator hits the roof, followed by static. Red is Jason, Navy is ghost!Bruce. Replies will be ICly delayed as Jason just broke the screen on his communicator. Oops.]
undeadsidekick: (.sounds like fun)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
[Jason's sitting in what sounds like a public place. There's a lot of random noise in the background. People are laughing, and carrying on. Maybe it's a mall or something? (Yes, it's totally a mall). This song is playing in the background and it's pretty ambiguous whether that's the music from the mall or well... His shitty powers.]

Admittedly I'm a little late for the April Fool's thing, but this isn't really a prank. I'm actually really bad at pranks. Lack any sort of subtly, I guess. Maybe being subtle just isn't my style. But I'm going to tell you a joke anyway. Because pranks might not be my style, but stupid, really un-funny jokes sure are.

So once upon a time, a family walked into a talent agency. There was a mom, a dad, and two sons. We'll say they were 15 and 12, respectively. cut for the world's most tasteless joke that isn't actually funny at all. )

And the talent agent wipes the blood splatter off of his glasses and he says "Wow, that was one hell of an act. What do you call yourselves?".

And just then, out of fucking no where, the dad's body reanimates itself, and he shuffles, all zombie-like, across the floor, puts his hand proudly on his surviving son's shoulder, turns to the talent agent and says... "We're... The Aristocrats." [There's a pause here as Jason waits for somebody to react. Oh wait, they can't. Network posts aren't that interactive. Shucks.]

That wasn't funny at all. It was gross. Grody.

Your mom's not funny at all.

Are we doing jokes about your mom? Okay! What's the difference between you and a mallard with a cold?

... One's a sick duck! [there's a pause] I can't remember the punchline. Long story short--

[And this, ladies and gentlemen, is where the feed cuts. Black is Jason, purple is Jessica]
undeadsidekick: (.i am the night)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
Just so we're all clear, February was a shitty month. Leaked posts, alien invasions, and undisclosed drama in my personal life just made for all around fun times. Personally, I was looking forward to March and having it all done with.

So much for that.

Hey, Johnny Storm. What exactly do you have against my guy, Boraf? And where do you get off setting him on fire? Inquiring minds want to know.
sweetvalleygirl: (omnomnom)
[personal profile] sweetvalleygirl
[The feed shows Jessica delicately nibbling on a french fry. She is very clearly in a fast food restaurant and someone else is very sneakily (and shakily) holding the camera.]

Yeah, so anyway like I was saying, Johnny and Jessica and I were in the bathtub, too. And then the water turned on and we were all soaking wet and then Johnny was all--

Holy fuck. We've been here for an hour. Eat your goddamn chicken nuggets or I will shove them down your throat.

Don't curse at me! Ohmigawd! Rude!

I don't care. Just eat your damn food.

I can't eat those. [Another fry in her mouth.] I'm on the yogurt diet.

Yogurt isn't food.

Yes it is! It was revered by the ancient Greeks for it's healing properties.

And look where that got them.

Whatever. Anyway, Alexander the Great got really sick while traveling through Turkey, and some locals gave him yogurt and he got better. He said it was the food of the gods. You see, the Greeks didn't have yogurt technology back then. Their civilization hadn't progressed that far. Also, Abraham credited yogurt as the reason for his longevity. Abraham as in the one from the bible, I mean.

[several seconds of silence]

How the fuck do you know all that?

Don't curse! And anyway it's like, common knowledge. Duh.


Hahaha, yes, Jason.

I refuse to accept that Alexander the Great and Abraham's eating habits are common knowledge to someone who didn't know that McDonald's has apple pie.

[Jessica makes a face. She's not impressed.]

Sorry apple pie is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of fast food. Gawd.

Okay, sure. Just hurry it up, fatty.

[A pause, then RAEGFACE as she's reaching across the table to swat at the communicator.]

What the hell! You're such a di-- Ohmigawd have you been recording me this whole ti--

((ooc: Red- Jason, black- Jessica))
undeadsidekick: (.naked times - PARTY IN THE USA)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
[The following video should be encrypted to Carrie Kelly, Dick Grayson, Tavros, and Johnny Storm. Due to network glitches, it ends up going to Matt Murdock, Sanji, Gwen Stacy, Andy, Mitchell Hundred, Thomas Blake, Kate Kane, and Parker Robbins. Umm yeah.]

[Jason's in his shitty room in his and Carrie's shitty apartment. On the wall there's a poster of Joan Jett with some terribly done sharpie art. Sort of kind of under the poster, is a futon mattress with some mismatched sheets, a unicorn pillow, a stuffed unicorn, and a plain pillow with no case. He's wearing a beat up tank top, and an even more beat up hoodie and kind of... Dancing around awkwardly...

Oh yeah and this song is blaring. It's about 3 minutes in.]

Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.

[He continues dancing around. At some point, he takes a container of Carmex from the pocket of the hoodie and starts slathering it on. This continues for another minute or so, and then he resumes just dancing and lip-syncing. Then, as the song fades out, he calmly zips his hoodie back up and straightens his hair a little.]

Oh by the way, Johnny. Your sister says hi.

[And then he reaches forward and cuts the feed.]
undeadsidekick: (3 - Talia's smile)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
Do you know what I hate about drug dealers? (Well, there are a lot of things I hate about drug dealers, but that's neither here nor there.) They're so fucking paranoid. Sometimes asking for directions to a good halal truck is just that. I'm not looking for you to squeal on your buddy down the block, I'm not trying to insinuate that I'm going to murder your nephew in his sleep, I'm just hungry and want some goddamn lamb and rice, for less than the cost of my morning coffee.

It's enough to make me want to move to the burbs and get in on that dexedrine racket. Bet the soccer moms would know where to get some cheap food.
undeadsidekick: (red hood)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
You know, I'm all for incorporating elements of classic fiction into everyday life. It if weren't impractical as shit and contribute to a good number of health problems (not to mention get me a bunch of shit for being a misogynist which totally isn't true, by the way), I'd even suggest the revival of the corset. Because honestly, no one can tell me they didn't look fucking classy.

But that's all besides the point, really. My lecture for this evening is how goddamn jaded we all have to be for getting over a creature of unspeakable Lovecraftian horror descending on the City so quickly. Seriously? What the fuck kind of heroes are you people trying to be? But hey, it's not like I haven't seen and punched out worse.

So what's next? Aliens? Extra-dimentional invasions? Cults created by former science fiction authors? Bring it on.

[Filtered to Jessica Wakefield terribly. Completely hackable. Seriously come at me bro.]

undeadsidekick: (3 - fuck you up)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
I need the least offensive way to ditch a teenage girl. Stat.

Seriously, this is fucking important.
undeadsidekick: (who can you trust)
[personal profile] undeadsidekick
It’s weird looking through the backlog and realizing there have been a few of you here before. I mean really fucking weird. Almost as weird as waking up to a robot telling you you’re a superpowered cop and oh yeah, have superpowers.

Which would be fucking swell, except for I apparently got the shit-end of the meta-spectrum. Superman gets heat vision, I get Jon Bon fucking Jovi.

Um. Yeah.

I know there’s no use asking for a way home, so I’ll settle for an easier question: What brand of earplugs do you prefer? I’m really gonna need some. Assuming this isn’t all in my head, because I really needed a new psychosis.

1; Voice

Aug. 16th, 2011 11:01 pm
deadbird: (Default)
[personal profile] deadbird
How much would it take to make you kill somebody? Would it be easy for you? What if they killed people? What if they killed someone that you cared about, like your kid?

There aren’t any wrong answers, but I’m going to call bullshit if anybody says that they would never kill. Everyone has a limit.

[There’s silence for a few minutes, disrupted by the occasional sound of gunfire.]

What is the definition of “hero”? Do you all believe that it’s about beating up the bad guys while holding onto pointlessly strict morals that only end up getting more innocent people killed? How about the Greek interpretation that a hero is a person idealized for possessing superior qualities, defined by his or her courage and fortitude, even if they sometimes do things that inspire fear in others, sometimes terrible things?

[A few more shots ring out, this time closer.]

Tick-tock, City. Time is about to run out for some very unlucky guy.
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
All right, fuck this, I'm going to South America.

If any of you want to come, you have 24 hours to get your shit together and meet me at [location]. We've got a bit less of a budget this time, unless Manchester put something together while I was out for two months, but honestly, that's never stopped me before. I think we can afford to take this a little slower, too.

... if you want to, anyway.
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
[No you can hack it, Jason doesn't care, he just doesn't want to talk to any of you. :C Not even Selina.]

* 8 doves, 4 squab or 2 pigeons
* Fleur de sel or high-quality sea salt
* Top-quality olive oil
* 1-2 lemons, cut into wedges

1. Take your birds out of the fridge and let them come to room temperature, about 30 minutes.
2. Get your grill hot and scrape the grates down well. If you are using a broiler, turn it on and prepare your broiler pan by wrapping some foil on it.
3. Paint the doves with olive oil and sprinkle some salt over them.
4. Get a paper towel and some cheap vegetable oil and, using tongs, wipe down your grill grates or the foiled broiler pan.
5. Grill your doves breast side up, or broil them breast side down, for 3-4 minutes over high heat with the lid closed. Up this to 5-6 minutes for squab or pigeon.
6. Open the grill lid and turn your doves on their sides. Do the same if you are broiling. Let them sear for 1-2 minutes on each side. Now turn the birds over — breast down on the grill, breast up on the broiler — and cook until the skin is nice and crispy, about 2 minutes.
7. Take the birds off the heat and arrange them on a platter breast up. Drizzle olive oil over them, squirt them with lemon juice and sprinkle a little more salt over them.

[video/encrypted to Carrie and Miho]
Hhh. So both of you still have both hands, right?

Is Danny gone?
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
Holy fuck, never retire. Just don't do it. Especially not when you're still twenty. I am so fucking bored, I could — I could do something extremely fucking inadvisable that I won't specify because people will think I'm actually threatening to do it and be fucking douchbags about it when in fact I was just fucking joking and maybe they need to get a life, anyway.


Danny, are you done with your vacation yet? How about now? Now? What about now? Hurry the fuck up.

I'm so fucking bored I'm actually right here, right now, saying to a network of people I've made no pretense of liking or even respecting that I'm bored. You know what you guys would be good for? A fight. I know there are fighters on my level out there. That's not always the case. It's usually almost everybody else sucks and then the remaining few can rip me apart by breathing too hard. Not here. But the fuck of it all is that I don't even feel like it.

The fuck am I supposed to do, take up watercolor? Learn to cook? Macramé?
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
so Africa cost... a lot.
low on money.

[Poll #1665647]

where are you staying now?
why didn't you ask me?
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
[ Evening is falling fast in the African grasslands, the stars above peeking through the darkening veil of the sky. People occasionally pass by in the background, but Jason is the one filming, wearing an olive-colored t-shirt and a slight frown. ]

Welp. Here we go.

Hey Batman, you asshole! ... Not you, the young one. Thanks for fucking off as soon as we hit the fucking ground, dickweed. Hope you got your own transportation back, cause we're not waiting around for your punkass. On my way back? I'm gonna sabotage all but the slowest goddamn plane, so you can spend a twenty hour flight whacking off to dreams of the Batmobile.

[ Despite all the shouting and cursing and allegations of... autophilia?... Jason doesn't actually seem to be mad. Irritated, sure, but when he pauses, it's just business as usual.

And then he grins — a terrible, awful, somewhat disturbing and perhaps even unnerving grin that promises all manner of trouble. It's a grin that has come to eat your children, or maybe just the cat. ]

Defection aside, things are going well. Not perfect, but that'd be boring. I'm definitely doing this again, assuming we don't all die a pointless, bloody death, our bodies left to rot under the sun and feed the shitload of vultures that have taken to following us around during the day. FUCK OFF! [ Yeah, that was shouted off-screen. ] Jesus fucking christ. Anyway... Batman mark two, we are over professionally. [ Deadpan. ] Over.

I like the food here, though. Indian influenced and they use different starches. Didn't like the grasshoppers, however. I mean they tasted all right, but they're not exactly filling. Fortunately that's not what we're eating tonight. Just in case you were concerned Blake flipped out and killed a zebra or something. It's all right. We're all right. Not that you fuckheads give a shit, am I right?
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
Are you sick of winter?
Sick of holiday spirit?
Feel like getting away to somewhere warm?

⇒ land mines to be detected and disabled
⇒ warlords to kill
⇒ weapons to steal
⇒ child soldiers to rescue
⇒ corrupt political leaders to assassinate

Come on. When's the last time YOU tipped the moral balance of an entire goddamn country?

⇒ political coups
⇒ killing non-combatants
⇒ instigating pogroms
⇒ littering
⇒ bush fires
⇒ animal husbandry

We provide the plane ticket, bottled water, sunscreen, and insect repellent. Bring whatever you can sneak aboard and carry by yourself. Let's have some good clean fun.
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
[ private/encrypted/text → Carrie Kelly
how's things ]

[ private/encrypted/text → Danny Rand
I'm coming by. you have 12 hours to tell me not to. ]

[ private/encrypted/text → Miho
bored? ]

[ private/encrypted/text → Dick Grayson
you owe me ]

[ open/text → everyone
what are you doing right now? ]
[identity profile] wantsapprentice.livejournal.com
[The black disappears abruptly, and there on the screen is a man pinned to a wall by a thick spear or weapon of some sort. He's still alive; though bloodied and bruised, the torn red domino mask revealing a black eye, and though the spear goes through his midsection, he's alive. Black hair, well built, early or perhaps mid twenties. He's speared high enough off the ground that he can't quite get enough purchase with his feet to push himself off (the spear is quite long, anyway), though he's still trying. Blood cakes his shirt and jeans, but he continues to pull, leaving a smear of blood and viscera behind him. Hunched and making low, animalistic noises of pain, he's obviously unaware of being filmed — someone deliberately left it there and turned it on. His breath comes harshly now, one hand spasming on the weapon, open shut like a bird's claw.

On the wall perpendicular to his wall, there is an enigmatic message:

Eventually the feed idles out.]

[ooc: The video is live, set to record twenty minutes after brainwashed!Nightwing and Slade vacated the premises. It is indeed traceable so Jason's location can be tracked. (Lucky for him.) Replies will be spotty, if non-existent.]
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
Healer needed at [location].
Can pay cash.
Discretion necessary.

situation resolved.
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
What the fuck?

He's only a man. I once walked right up to him and beat him half to death with a crowbar.

Is it his powers? Because he didn't use any the last time I found him and again, beat him half to death with a crowbar. What? What is it? What the fuck is it that time and time again he gets the better of people stronger, faster, smarter than he is? And vanishes into the fucking air?

It isn't him. It can't be him. It's us. This... this insanity that is the number of times people have saved his life. If I could get my hands on him I would still beat the shit out of that Bolton kid, and I'm not sorry, and I'm still saying it, Danny, and I mean it. Oh, but we're not all like him. You too hate the Joker, right? Maybe you even want him dead, although here that only means he'd come back. Maybe you even agree, secretly, with what I did, the surest way of making sure he stays put... barring fucking magic, that is.

Then why is he still free?

Us. It's us. It is a personal failure on the part of everyone who gives a damn that he is free. We are not civilians. We are not victims-in-waiting. We are a city of superheroes and we can't find him or when we do we fuck it up and it kills what little compassion I have inside for humanity.

When I had him, I didn't torture him — I used anesthesia when I cut off his limbs, even — but if I had I would have been completely justified in doing so. Admit it. There is no punishment sufficient for what he's done, and what he will do. Admit it, and move on. I want this city out for his blood. I want this city to give a damn, to redeem itself.

I want the Joker caught.

Well, we all want things.

I'm used to being disappointed.


Jul. 27th, 2010 08:19 pm
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
what is your favorite thing to destroy? |
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
[ It may not be Caturday anymore but it is certainly kitten o'clock. With a bat of its paw, this white cat has turned on the communicator and activated video mode. It stares intently into the camera before starting to purr, the entire communicator vibrating from the proximity. Eventually it moves away, stalking off silently despite being a bit tubby — someone feeds it well. What's left is a nice view of Jason sleeping, fully dressed and domino mask still on, like he only intended to lie down for a few moments. His breathing is slow, very slow, almost imperceptible; in fact, to the casual viewer, he might look dead.

... go on, try and wake him up. ]
[identity profile] deadredbird.livejournal.com
So, now that that's all over.

How do you stop others from determining your location by tracing your communicator? Because really. How fucking rude is that?

Also, "bros before hos", but what about moral imperatives vs. friends? (Not as catchy, I know.) Which comes first?


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