Perspectives: ReciprocApril 2008

The famous series is all here, with everything you've ever wanted.

Re: Perspectives: ReciprocApril 2008

Postby Visavis » Thu Mar 28, 2013 5:01 am

(( Aww. Quite the contrary! It's nicely done and in-character.

I'll have mine up in a few hours!))
User avatar
Posts: 120
Joined: Fri Jan 25, 2013 8:00 am
Location: Elsewhere

Re: Perspectives: ReciprocApril 2008

Postby Visavis » Thu Mar 28, 2013 5:12 am

Inactive Account: Impulse Spending
((Perhaps our play times didn't coincide, but man was it hard to find anything to reference! I'm really struggling here, but...))

Of all the things he had to do. Sergei wasn't exactly what one would call a "people person," but this was going a bit far even for him. He slung his trench coat over his shoulders and shoved one arm at a time into place. Dark glasses would suffice to conceal his identity. And a hat. The hat was a standard for this.

Leaving home, the darkly-clad man stalked across the street. He didnot slow his pace as he walked through the automatic doors of the SuperMarket and reached out an arm to grab a hand basket from the top of the stack.

Cereal, bread, peanut butter, milk, beer. He kept the list on a repeat running through his head. He could remember the name of everyone with whom he has worked, but always managed to forget something in the time it took him to walk across the street to the store.

Sergei made his way to the cereal aisle and, still keeping his stride and without seeming to look, he reached out and pulled a box of Wheaties into his basket. Good. No one's bothered me so far. Bread, peanut butter, milk, beer.

As he rounded the end of the aisle, he felt his foot collide with something squishy, then suddenly noisy. The child he'd run into was lying on his back crying.

"Shit. Kid. Hey kid. Shut up. You aren't hurt. Get up, kid." The child only cried louder.

"Stephen? Honey? What's the matt--" The child's mother appeared from the next aisle and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Sergei, a comparative giant dressed in black and wearing dark sunglasses. She scooped up the child and turned the other way without a word. His cry could be heard throughout the store, making its way to the front,pausing for just a moment and exiting.

Shit. Sergei stood in the middle of the SuperMarket with his basket in one hand and his other hand pinching the bridge of his nose. So much for subtlety.

Bread. Two aisles down. The aisle was being guarded by an old lady in an apron giving away free samples of Wheat Thins. A mother with a cart full of diapers wheeled up to the table first and the old lady turned her attention to her. This was his chance. Sergei ducked his head and slipped past the table.

"Good afternoon, sir! Could I offer you a cracker?"

Damn. "No thanks."

"Are you suuuuure? I bet you would like it if you try one." Her blue eyes twinkled. The mother with the diapers, still chewing her free sample, smiled and nodded at Sergei. There was no dodging this one.

"Fine." He reached out and accepted a sample from the old lady. She beamed and, as he chewed hastily, Sergei discovered that he actually enjoyed the snack. "Mm. Omnom."

"You're welcome, dearie. Would you like a box?" Before he could respond, she slipped a yellow box in his basket. "And I bet you would like some recipes to go with that, too. Here's one of my favorites fora delightful spinach dip!"

Sergei swallowed and stood stark still. He couldn't care less about the old lady's spinach dip and didn't really want to buy the crackers, but how to say no to an old lady? He couldn't. "Uh... thanks,ma'am." She smiled as he slipped past.

Cereal, bread, crackers, peanut butter, spinach, milk, beer. No. No spinach and no crackers. Shit. Too late, already have crackers. Already have cereal. Bread. He blitzed down the aisle and grabbed the first loaf he came to and dropped it in his basket.

Peanut butter. Rounding the corner to the peanut butter aisle,Sergei stopped and sighed deeply. A prepubescent pimply boy in a red and blue SuperMarket employee shirt fumbled with boxes in the middle of the aisle. He was, of course, right in front of the peanut butter. Sergei took a few determined steps forward and stopped several feet from the boy.

"Oh, um... can I help you, sir?" the boy asked, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Peanut butter. I need peanut butter."

"Um, what kind, sir? We have lots of kinds of peanut butter."

"Just.... peanut butter."

"But do you want creamy or crunchy or extra crunchy or a small jar or a large jar or Jiff or Peter Pan or..."

"JUST PEANUT BUTTER!" Sergei said a bit too loudly. The boy trembled slightly.

"But... it's all peanut butter."

Sergei growled under his glasses. "Fine. One of each."

The boy scrambled and put one of each type of peanut butter in the basket, totaling an even dozen jars of peanut butter. Sergei nodded slightly and walked off, leaving the wobbly boy with 12 less jars to stock.

Cereal, crackers, bread, peanut butter. I just need milk and beer and I'm done. His last two items were relatively close to each other since they both needed coolers. This would be easy. Down one aisle to the back of the store, then across to the far left wall. He made it to the milk without incident. Two percent, half gallon. The date was only three days away, but it really didn't matter. Most of his milk spoiled in his refrigerator anyway.

Beer. The beer case was only a few yards to the left. As he looked up toward his goal, Sergei's heart sank and he stopped in his tracks again. Clear plastic sheets veiled the beer case. He looked at the date on his watch. Sunday. Fuck! What kind of backward-ass store doesn't sell beer on Sundays?

Sergei set his basket down in front of the dark beer cooler, an homage to that which he wanted most. His offering of Wheaties cereal, Wheat Thins crackers, a dozen jars of peanut butter, one spinach dip recipe, a half-loaf of rye bread and a half gallon of nearly spoiled milk would have to do. He stalked to the store exit, leaving his groceries.

Ten minutes later, Sergei sat comfortably on a bar stool just down the street from the SuperMarket. In front of him was a plate containing a greasy sandwich and in his hand was a pint of beer. He pulled the money out of his pocket. The twenty dollar bill would be better spent here than any SuperMarket. After all, he knew the owner and could always get free peanuts to go if he was that desperate for peanut butter.
User avatar
Posts: 120
Joined: Fri Jan 25, 2013 8:00 am
Location: Elsewhere

Scary Monsters

Postby MrMundane » Thu Mar 28, 2013 5:15 am

42nd stood in the shadows of the alley, watching the few people active at this time of night moving up and down the street, minding their own business. Stalking their turf. High Park was well outside of 42nd's turf. His old turf, he reminded himself. It was hard, adjusting to being a cat but also not a cat. The corner he used to consider the watch-tower of his kingdom, the red-brick building with its high stairs, its potted shrubs and its flickering, never-quite-fixed streetlight, was tiny to him now. He was simply too big to see things the way he used to - to notice expanding cracks in the pavement, sheered-off branches as pedestrians stumbled into his protective, leafy shelters, bricks missing from the well-worn low walls.

"Too big in da head, too," he thought, scratching his ear. It was hard to look on that one street corner, that one city block, as significant, important when he'd seen the whole city, all its streets and walled-off zones and towering buildings and enormous parks and multitudes of people. That's how people saw it, he knew.

"But I ain't people," he muttered. He wasn't a cat, but he wasn't a person. He was somewhere in between. He had the perspective of a person, could see the city for what it was. But as a cat he still felt like he needed turf, a territory to patrol, to rule, to be a part of.

A city pound van drove past, and 42nd cringed instinctively, then grinned when he realised that the cat catchers would have a hell of a time trying to jam him into a tiny steel cage in the back of their truck. And an even harder time explaining it to the authorities when he flashed his hero license at them. He was about to yowl out a warning to the neighbourhood cats to stay out of sight, but caught himself. He wasn't a cat anymore. Cats had to fend for themselves - they couldn't rely on people to look after them. People weren't like that. Then he saw the van pull up on the side of the street, two men get out, nets in hand, and several inexperienced cats stick their heads up in curiosity.

"Aw, damn it. I'm still a cat, after all," he said to himself, then tilted his head back and let out a yowl. It was loud - far too loud, by the way people ducked behind the nearest large objects and looked around fearfully - and the cats were confused to hear a call so deep and powerful. But they understood, and fled back to safety. The cat catchers - uneasy themselves at the scary noise - didn't hang about long, ducking into their van and speeding away.

42nd chuckled to himself - a deep, purring noise - and turned to head down into the alley, away from the people. At the other end of the alley, where it met the little-used Regent Street, he saw a woman dressed in white, cowering away from thugs - Skulls, by the look of them, decked out in black leather jackets and bone white clothes. She was pleading with them to leave her alone, but they were pretty insistent that they wanted ... whatever it was she had that they wanted - 42nd had missed the start of the conversation. Her bag, probably - thugs seemed to have a thing about ladies handbags. 42nd dropped into a tense crouch, watched their movements for a few moments, then launched himself into the air, coming down hard on the back of one of the men, his significant weight driving the man into the ground, where he lay, quietly whimpering. The other thug turned and waved a knife in the cat's direction.

"My turf," growled the cat, baring his teeth at the thug who, once he'd had a good view of the feline interloper, began shaking rather than waving, and slowly backed away, looking only once at his fallen comrade before turning and bolting. 42nd could have caught him easily - he was much faster than the weedy little man - but the woman was screaming in terror so he let the punk run and turned to see what she was afraid of.

Turned out it was him. The woman was yelling at the top of her lungs, screaming things like "Monster!" and "Help!", and waving a small canister of something at him. 42nd put his hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner and moved closer to tell her that it was okay, that he was a hero, a Reciprocator, and that it would be all right, but she just screamed louder. He reached into his pocket to pull out his hero license to show her, at which point she sprayed him with her canister. 42nd stopped in surprise, then sneezed, then started yowling and rubbing his eyes in pain. He squinted at her through his watering eyes, but whatever expression was on his face terrified the woman even more, if that were possible. 42nd could hear people running, and the sound of sirens in the distance, so he called it quits, bounded up the fire stairs of the building beside him and leapt from roof to roof into the night.


John chuckled as he sipped his tea in the Break Area, flicking through the Paragon City Times. 42nd was in the Atrium, watching Melog's bunnies hopping around in the foliage and occasionally rubbing his eyes. John put his teacup down and wandered over to his fellow hero.

"Hey, 42nd: I've got some bad news for you."

42nd looked up from the rabbits, concerned. "What's up?"

John handed him the newspaper. "You only made page six."

42nd examined the newspaper. He couldn't read the article, but he saw the picture and roared out laughing. The rabbits hid under the plants, concerned by the noise.

Posts: 3
Joined: Sun Mar 31, 2013 9:58 am

Re: Perspectives: ReciprocApril 2008

Postby Visavis » Thu Mar 28, 2013 5:18 am

Pariah Flux: Jump start me heart!
The night was still enough, silent, the dew had begun to nestle itself along the blades of grass and on the rooftops. Off in the distance brilliant whitish-blue flashes could be seen. They only lasted a few moments and then quickly died down, but the brief illumination of the dew beadlets on the rooftops really made this evening feel magical. The peace and tranquility is then disturbed, a rippling force of electricity leaps along one of the rooftops, the bolts of lightning dance seductively along the shingles. There's a sudden rush of air and then a black a blue blur speeds along the roof at breakneck speeds heading directly for a long drop deep into the bowels of Skyway City.

"Oh shi---"

Static Bolter

The blur falls straight down onto a mattress conveniently lying beside a dumpster and electricity flies up in all directions from her hands and feet, the power generated grounds itself on nearby metallic objects and the metal flares a bright red hot for a short time. The woman is tall and beautiful, her red hair a little disheveled at the time but it does not take from her overall appearance, it just tends to look appropriate. Her suit was tight and full bodied, black with blue lightning bolts painted on it and with a tiny mask covering her eyes and forehead. She relaxes a little, letting her long legs droop and her feet tap the concrete. The mattress is old and ratty and for a brief second Bolter wonders what could have been done to it to leave it in this condition.

She scrunches her face like she had just sucked on a lemon. Static Bolter, Beth Wells, quickly leaps from the mattress of mysterious origins and brushes herself off.

"Perhaps I lost her?" she jittered uncomfortably and scans the roof while brushing off her tights.

"To play fast and loose, my lovely," a cackle emerged from the shadows and out steps a brightly coloured woman, her hair long and loose around her shoulders, two ornamental poles stick up from the back of her corset and rings hang above her head. A pale porcelain doll mask sits on her face, looking quite menacing. The Carnie pauses under a street light several feet away from Static Bolter and pulls a whip off of her hip, she quickly gives the air a crack with it and then lets the whip fall at her side.

Bolter wastes no time, she knows the individual before her is dangerous and fires off several lighting bolts, hoping to disable her before this gets really messy.

The carnival lifts her right arm, presses a button attached to her hand and a smallish triangular device pops out of a gauntlet, similar to a shield it takes the brunt of the attack, the electric blasts fizzle out and the carnie laughs excitedly. Pressing the same button again the Shield disappears and she cracks her whip.

"Go go gadget whip!" The carnie shouted as she began to snap her whip wildly at Static Bolter, each time it missed it sent sparks flying from the ground. With each swing it seemed to shorten and lengthen, almost anticipating Bolter's quick movements. The agent of the Carnival laughs maniacal, a haunting laugh that echoes throughout the streets and rings off of the walls of the buildings.

"Gotta keep on moving, don't let that thing hit me," Bolter darts back and forth and does a quick half twist sending a few bolts of lighting hurtling at the Carnie. Predictably the villain presses the button and blocks it with her Shield and then continues her giddy assault. With each hit she lands Bolter slows a little more, until one with so much force behind it sends Bolter to the ground and skidding into a ditch.

"Ahahaha... you're grounded!" the carnie screeches and skips merrily to where the Static Bolter fell, "... Now you shall have no pie!"

"Enough is enough," she grumbles and twitches, staring up over the ditch expecting the enemy to come up over the ridge at any moment. Sure enough, the whip cracks down a foot or so away.

Bolter balls her fist, flecks of electricity dance along her knuckles.

With a yell Bolter leaps to her feet and speeds over the bank, lower her fist and prepares to slam into the Carnie. As predicted the button is pressed and porcelain masked individual remembers her shield and attempts to lower it to stop Bolter's blow. It works, for a few seconds, Bolter connects with the metal and then it shatters. Her punch carries through breaking the Carnies arm and then connecting to her ribcage, and the supercharged blow sends her flying into a nearby wall. The agent of the Carnival of Shadows falls to the ground and doesn't say another word or laugh, there is just the quiet hum of electricity.

Bolter twitched irritatedly, she was sore and a little pissed off. After several suspicious glances she deemed this tricky little individual safe enough to tag with a zig porter.

<> Hi guys, I had a bad day... <> A voice came over the comm, it was sharp and very whiny, <> My friends, what they are doing, is making me want to scream. <>

The Static Bolter stood and adjusted her suit a little, several rips showed crimson scratches going down the sides and she could feel several of them stinging her back. She presses the button of her comm and speaks in with a jittery voice.

"What's going on? Are you ok?"
User avatar
Posts: 120
Joined: Fri Jan 25, 2013 8:00 am
Location: Elsewhere


Return to Perspectives

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests