Gothic City Summer Bash [Open RPG]

As of now, the annual summer bashes previously held by the deceased Joseph and Bianca Bradley continue once more, now hosted by their son, Mason Bradley, whom had recently returned to Gothic a mere seven months ago. The bash located within the magnificent interior of Bradley Manor, it will certainly make for quite a remarkable occasion. With the sociable event's funding coming straight from Mason's rather substantial company, various additional ornaments, structures, and models have been erected within the manor itself, as to give it an added allure to its already impressive interiors. Indeed, even its exterior should prove for a rather captivating sight.

Shimmering, ivory statue in the middle of substantially prodigious, verdant colored lawns are but a mere fraction of what is to come. On the inside, attendees will be met with the sight of flaxen hangings, additional furniture and seats to accompany guest, and an area absolutely brimming with unique and rather flavorful cuisines from an unprecedented number of cultures, most of which have been presented upon silver platters, quite literally. Invigorating, lively music reverberates throughout its halls, virtually symbolizing the intended atmosphere of the bash.

OOC Information and Rules

What, you were expecting more? Huh? WELL TOO BAD!!!

• This is an open RPG.
• CVnU Rules apply, obviously.
• Don't blow the place up, please! If you do you'll be paying the damages...

• Oh yeah, one more thing. No assassins, mutants, gods, vigilantes, magic users, tyrants, terrorist, extremist, demons, fantasy creatures, S.T.R.I.K.E Agents, aliens, or ninjas allowed. JK!

• Most of all, have fun!

Rousimoff walked down the driveway, his huge figure visible from quite a distance. He took time to feast his eyes on the beautiful scenery, with the greenest grass, trees that swayed in the wind, and statues that were like 3d photographs, like real-life people solidified in stone.

The Eighth Wonder of the World, standing at 7'4'' and weighing in at 520 pounds, with a mess of curly, dark brown hair the colour of an oak tree, steely blue eyes below a prominent brow, a large mouth that kept hidden what could become a massive toothy grin, and mutton chops any short hairy Canadian would die for. That was at the top of a titanic frame, all contained in a specially tailored suit with a neckline that allowed a glimpse of Andre's smooth chest. He walked with a confident swagger that gave his lumbering gait an elegant quality.

He'd been dead for twenty-two years. With no memories between falling asleep in Paris and waking up in nude in what used to be his ranch, Andre had no answers to any of his numerous questions. He'd stipulated that he be cremated, meaning that any Frankenstein style recreations were out of the question. Who had resurrected him? Why? How? And since they clearly had the power to reconstitute his form from practically nothing, why couldn't they have given him clothes, as opposed to letting him wander around in a stupor and in the buff. Pertinent questions, that needed answers.

He wasn't here to seek answers. He was here for the party. Parties had beer. And Andre was coming to drink the house dry.

Solar and Luna Hawk had attended a few of these parties before. Luna Hawk seemed to genuinely enjoy the social aspect but Solar Hawk was no one's diplomat. Instead she was there because Luna Hawk wanted her there and because people told her she should "get out and interact with normal people" more often. So here she was, walking through the front entrance side by side with Luna Hawk. The media was all over the both of them, Luna Hawk because of her fame and popularity (with 15 year old boys) and Solar Hawk because people still hated her for Super City.

Both wore their formal black armor with gold trim and both carried their maces but their other weaponry had been left at home. Luna Hawk gave a brief smile to the media cameras when several teenagers pushed their way forward with various articles of clothing or posters they wanted signed. Luna Hawk paused and spent some time talking to them and signing whatever they brought to her.

Solar Hawk rolled her eyes behind her helmet and paused as well, stepping aside deftly so others could continue through the main gate.

Luna Hawk eventually finished the various autographs and they made their way through the gates and into the party itself.

"Do you really need to do that?" Solar Hawk asked.

"Image is important Shayera, you have to cultivate it or people will define your image for you and you find yourself with enemies you never expected to deal with. In the modern world there are different kinds of dangers, look at how people respond to you because of Super City. Eventually you need to stop letting them define your image."

Solar Hawk fell quiet for a bit, considering her compatriot's words as they entered the main building.

Andre had reached the doorway, after a long walk and a long wait in line. Ignoring the frequent stares, and the hushed murmuring referring to his presence, he'd made it to the front of the line where one of the bouncers recognized him, allowing him to get in without having been on the list.

As he walked through the corridors filled with the rich and famous, he gazed at the at the structure, the art, the sophistication of the Mansion. It was the very definition of opulence.

Then he set sights on the open bar, and all other things were ignored. He sat down on a stool, pulling himself up to the bar. To his left sat a pretty blonde, who was in awe of his size and physique. He turned to her, flashing a smile, to which she smiled back, blushing in a way that made her look as though she'd just come in from the cold. He turned to the bartender and ordered drinks for both himself and the young lady.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

Down the road a long black limo rolled up to the front of the building. The window rolled down slowly, all that was inside was black. A hat flew from the darkness and landed on the ground, it began to grow in size as a figure rose up defying all laws of physics and science. The figure had his back to the entrance as he reached down and picked up the hat, spinning it as he placed it on his head. The figure turned around spinning on the pointed toe of his shoe.

"THE LIFE OF THE PARTY HAS ARRIVED EVERYBODY"

The figure strolled up to the door talking to no one he said

"Names Jorgen, Hugh Jorgen, I'm on the list."

He took off his hat aiming it behind him and snapped his fingers. The limo spun around and drove inside the fedora. Hugh placed the hat back onto his head and strolled inside ready to start this party.

The occasion was of fundamental importance. Gothic was the United States' most forsaken city, a frequent target for the globe's most vicious terrorists, and the setting for recent memory's most disturbing mass homicide courtesy of the League of Shadows. It was a city in need of hope and betterment, and it was here in the 'Gothic City Summer Bash', a social gathering held by the Bradleys, a family of blue-bloods, where the interest of a viper would be secured. Rippling through the cold, night air, was refinement. And alongside it? The roar, primal in its power, of a 6 liter, V12 engine. The car? An Aston Martin DB9, midnight blue in shade, and a legendary connoisseur among cars of Western luxury.

And from its interior of walnut wood and leather adorned with hand-stitched accents and joins, the Spaniard emerged. A suit, onyx in color, three-piece, form-fitting and two-button in style, and Ermenegildo Zegna by brand, hugged a frame sculpted to the proportions of Michelangelo's 'David' without flaw. He walked, setting foot inside a setting that in its atmosphere, held the alcoholic spice of scotch and bourbon, and the rich scent of premier cigar smoke. European swagger, disarming and socially magnetic, dripped from every footstep without effort. From his pores, oozed an air of cool that lingered with a charm that was in itself a force of nature. And in the air trailing behind him, hung the silky smooth notes of Men's Dior.

On his features of exotic appeal was a smirk. A smirk that was wicked in its power over the heart, in its mystique, and its ability to send surges of ecstasy through the bodies of his admirers. He weaved through the crowd of socialites and people of importance who mingled, until his eyes of sapphire blue held the bartender's gaze with a charisma that was affable and genuine. "Whiskey, por favor. Blue Label", he requested, "Enough for me to speak in tipsy topsy slurs", his romantic, Spanish inflection perfect alongside the smooth, cool timbre of his voice, and the engaging wit of his jest. All the while he waited and wondered.

'Who will be the interesting characters to make or break this event?'.

The gathering was still underway. Men and women of all kinds bustled about and mingled, sharing only two interchangeable qualities; they were either rich, famous, or both. The young lady that Andre had met knew of them all, and had been pointing them out.

"That's Orpheus Knightfall, he's a quintillionaire. That's the former CEO of Avalon, he's also very rich."

She stopped talking when a man straight out of a cartoon passed by, and she and Andre were confused by this.

"I have no idea who that is."

Andre stopped looking out at the crowd, and focused on the blonde.

"I'd rather get to know you, Madame."

The statement was followed by a smile from Andre, reciprocated by the blonde, with an added blush. She laughed a little, uncomfortable, nervous. Andre picked up on this, and moved of his giant hands to cover her right hand, both of them merging in a warm fusion on the bar.

This brought a little comfort to her, and while the smile was less nervous, the blush remained. She stared into his steely blue eyes, and he into her green eyes, green like the trees of Grenoble.

@below0gaming:

Luna Hawk left Solar Hawk to her own devices and made her way over to a man who had caught her interest previously. She had no way of knowing the cartoonist was really of the same age as most of her fans (both of the posters and the videos). Kendra Saunders Hol motioned to his hat when she arrived at his position. Her helmet lenses scanned his face and began running a background check on her vast database. The computer was immediately confused as it found the man had similar facial features to a cartoon character. She acknowledged the information as it scrolled through vision with an eye blink and it was promptly saved and filed away for later viewing.

"Interesting trick with the hat, life of the party." Luna Hawk said with a brief smile. "Do you do that every time you go somewhere or only at parties?"

@lunahawk: "Oh that, that was just a party trick. Names Hugh, Hugh Jorgen nice to meet you"

"I don't know, I suppose I'm just nervous."The blonde shakes her head and looks away from Andre, seemingly feeling ashamed.

"And why's that, boss?"His hand had not moved from hers throughout the entire conversation, and he lightly squeezed her hand in a gesture that was meant to bring calm.

"Something bad is going to happen here, I can feel it. This event is too important, with too many big people here. And in Gothic, bad things always happen."

She looked all around, starting from behind her, to her leaning out on her stool to look behind the massive frame that belonged to Andre The Giant. Roussimoff found himself looking as well, hoping to spot whatever she might have been looking for. He sighted no one of any true importance, merely a sea of of the wealthy and the well-reknowned, with a sampling of meta-humans and that walking cartoon.

As she looked back to him, he looked back to her, and a single tear fell from the beautiful green eye, green like the forests of Grenoble, and ran down her cheek. She crawled up to Andre, seeking comfort. He pulled her closer, holding her against his massive chest, and resumed scanning the crowd.

"Tell me again why I need to be present for this?"

Leta sighed woefully as she strode over to the sinfully large closet in Isis' room. The fact that there were no personal artifacts present in the room and that the closet was almost barren weren't lost on her. Isis still hadn't settled in or reacclimated to being among civilized folk. Two years in gladiatoral fights would do that to a girl, Leta supposed. The fact that she was managing full sentences and not dragging her knuckles around like a cavewoman was a pleasant sight.

"You need to be present because it's the Gothic Ball. It's a significant event in a city full of people who need the bright and shiny to distract them from the destitute wrecks that their lives have become."

Leta's eyes narrowed as she caught Isis' eyeroll from where Isis sat at the vanity, painstakingly securing her hair on the crown of her head with a series of intricate braids, resulting in an elegant coiffure.

Yeah, it sounded ridiculous to her, as well.

"You need to be present because you're trying to establish your own sect of Cardinals, and to do what you want to do with them, you need contacts. This is an ideal place to make some high level contacts and lay the groundwork for anything you would want to do in Gothic."

"Ugh."

"You'll make your family proud." Leta whipped out the big gun, knowing that for the entirety of her best friend's life, Isis' main goal had always been to do well of her family.

"That's fcking dirty pool, and you know it."

"But it worked, didn't it?" Leta asked, grinning smugly.

"I hate you."

"No, you love me, but that's okay, we can both pretend otherwise for a little bit if you think it'll help you."

---

It had either been one of the best decisions or worst mistakes of her life to allow Maya and Selene to select her outfit. Between the two of them, they were walking encyclopedias on fashion, what to wear, and what not. But Isis would take leathers and a motorcycle over couture any day of the week. At least she looked presentable.

Isis thanked her lucky stars that they had picked something with a range of motion. The Tarek Sinno white gown clung to her muscled physique, but the skirt swirled just enough to allow her the ability to fight, should she need to. That was a thought that was always uppermost in her mind; the natural and instinctive assessments of situations and how long it would take her to kill those present should she need to. It was a danger sense that she hadn't been able to shake quite yet. The white fabric higlighted the bronze tones of her Greek and Spanish ancestry, as did the bronzed bodice of the dress. The dipping back would have displayed the scars she had received in battle had Selene and Maya not worked their magic on them, knowing that Isis wasn't ready to answer the questions that they would undoubtedly elicit. There was nothing the upper crust loved more than finding flaws within those of their ranks and relentlessly pointing them out.

The lace garter underneath her dress secured a small dagger, one from her own personal collection. It was a security item more than anything, but the feel of the cold steel warming against the flesh of her thigh was a calming sensation. If she needed it, it was there.

And as soon as she stepped from the chaffeurred car and the lights of the paparazzi began going off in her face, her palm itched with the need to grab the dagger and do some damage. Isis blinked rapidly and battled down the reaction to lash out, to draw the dagger and begin working magic on those who had killed her night vision and put her on the defensive immediately. She was pretty sure that would not have been setting the best foot forward, though. So instead, she plastered a smile on her face, mimicing the poses and moves that she had seen Selene and Maya go through like it was nothing, time and time again.

Had she made a mistake in coming here?

The moment that she got inside she breathed a sigh of relief, only to find herself trapped in a ballroom with the most upper crust that the social world had to offer. She felt sorely out of place. She was a Liafador and social graces should have been natural to her, they should have been second instinct. At one point they had been, but social graces had been trained out of her and killer instincts had taken their place. She still couldn't shake them entirely.

A smile was plastered on her face as she forced herself to look welcoming and presentable. The first instinct, as always, was to size up the room and determine escape routes as well as how long it would take her to cut down every person here. It wasn't natural instinct at this point, without so much as a single cognizant thought entering the process.

There were a lot of stuffed shirts. A lot of society wives. A lot of charity founders. A lot of businesspeople. Very few people of merit, of substance, of interest. Unfortunately, there were many people she would need to cultivate relationships with if she wanted to succeed with a covert sect of information gathering Cardinals.

Sighing, she glanced over to the sleek mahogany bar along the side of the room and decided that she would take advantage of loose lips sinking ships.

Resting a bare arm across the surface, she shot a dazzling smile at the bartender and requested a jack and coke. Nothing serious, nothing heavy, but enough to put people at ease with her.

This was going to be a long night.

@below0gaming:

"That's a pretty interesting trick." Luna Hawk said. "Magic or something else?"

@nemesis_liafador:

A familiar scent, rich and full of alcoholic spice in its aroma, seduced his sense of smell. His request was met, and his beverage, a glass of Johnnie Walker's Blue Label, was slid towards him with a smile, one he matched with a wink and a nod as fingers coiled around the glass before bringing it to his lips so that he may, as he'd desired since the night's beginning, indulge in the first of many sips. It warmed his throat, the whiskey. Slid down and found itself running silky smooth into his system as he turned away from the bar and footsteps guided him forward as his mind and heart grew intent on mingling with the hims and hers of Gothic, of immersing himself in a setting worthy of a frequenter of the Hellfire Club.

Whiskey glass in hand, swagger and charm in full force, he strode forward a few before one particular sight caught at the corner of a glance brought him to a halt. And a glance was truly all he needed. She was a stunner. A petite beauty whose adornments were blessed with an elegance and flair that was tastefully sensuous. Her skin was a mesmeric hue of copper, and her frame which was petite but wide at the hips held the muscular subtleties of a warrior baptized in the fires of Mars. Her hair was a shade of honey brown and seemed as fine as newly spun silk. And her eyes, large and with the visage of hazel, held an intangible allurement that perhaps even she was unaware of. And her flair, and overall body language, it was.. peculiar.

This exotic beauty oozed a confidence that was fiery. There was an edge to her, one that from a single moment told a tale of a woman who was completely and unapologetically herself; strong. His mouth curled at the edges, and the smirk that formed spoke of his intentions, he simply had to meet her. And so he did. Santiago turned round and once several feet from the bar as his approach grew closer, his voice began and the notes of his Spanish inflection, romantic and cultured, echoed into earshot. "There is this woman, this bella who seems to be drawing the eyes of admirers. She is beautiful with a complexion of bronze. Her hair mistaken for a waterfall of liquid ebony", the Spaniard continued, growing poetic in his opening flirtation while his approach grew ever closer.

"Eyes of hazel that causes the heart to skip a beat, the confidence of an Amazon, and a dress of clever, sensuous grace. And she has done what connoisseurs feel is the sexiest a woman can do, handle her scotch", he paused, his approach complete, eyes of sapphire blue holding hers with a gaze of seductive appeal. "So", he resumed, head tilted to the side in subtle courting, "Am I to have the pleasure of knowing this Aphrodite who carries herself like an Artemis?", he paused, offering to, as a gentleman would, take her hand.

@nemesis_liafador: @la_espada:

Creed sipped on a Bulldog (Margarita, vodka and a beer bottle shoved into the ice) while staring at the drama ensuing around of him. One scene though, caught his orange gaze. Two people, standing in front of each other. "...Wow they are just staring at each other for a crazy ass amount of time. I feel like that dude who played God in Bruce Almighty should be narrating their awkward silence." The merc takes another sip.

The bash wasn't so bad, good way to get his name around. "Gotta get those business cards out there!....Okay, maybe napkins with sharpie on them but they'll get the jist."

@lunahawk: "I'm bad at explanations, but lets just say it's not magic, I don't apply to the laws of your reality I apply to the laws of the toon reality. If I can imagine it it could happen. For example say you dropped a boulder on me. I wouldn't die but rather there would be a crater in the exact shape and size of my body left there."

@below0gaming:

"Interesting." Luna Hawk said. "Well it sounds to me like you might live up to your self description as the life of the party. Oh, forgive me, I'm forgetting my diplomatic skill, my name is Luna Hawk and it is also nice to meet you."

@_dark_knight: @orpheus_knightfall: @solarhawk: @andre_the_giant: @nemesis_liafador: @la_espada: @_creed_: @lunahawk:Hugh walked off to tend to himself. After about 30 minutes he found himself utterly bored.

"Thats it, we are gonna liven this party up a bit."

Hugh reached into his hat and pulled out a boombox. He then pulled out a CD labeled Fire Mixtape and pressed play. Music began to flow out of the box as the whole room turned into something that resembled an 70's dance club. There were disco balls and music playing from every direction.

"Now THATS WHAT I AM TALKIN ABOUT EVERYBODY MOVE"

An opportunity, the Gothic City Summer Bash as it was called, had presented itself. An opportunity the Speedster King sought to seize without shame. Gothic was the United States' most victimized city, and plagued by a trend that saw tragedy after tragedy claim it at every turn. It was by bringing this city, from the brink of defeat, to its feet and assisting it in its rebirth as the metropolis it once was during its golden years that Rafael sought to establish his social influence. The first of many steps that comprise a plan only he was aware of. A former superstar of the MVP's, a former monarch of the Hellfire Club, and the current finance minister of Venezuela, the man's personality as a suave introvert was one of overpowering, social magnetism, a silent 'it' factor that was impossible to cultivate, one was either born with it, or not.

And from the luxury interior of a Bentley Mulsanne, he emerged. A suit, onyx in color, two-button and three-piece in flair, premier in quality and Dolce & Gabbana in name adorned a frame that was cut from diamond and designed to mirror the proportions of a Greek god, the Greek god of male beauty no less, Adonis. And yet, his disposition of measured calm, his unconscious mannerisms and the intangible cool that dripped from his footsteps with such ease and swagger, they spoke of something more. Something beyond the man's features of perfection that had captivated men and women alike, and did so to this day as he set foot inside and drifted into the depths of the social gathering. There was a mystique about him. A swagger that was enigmatic and appealing, an aura of quiet confidence, the subtleties of a warrior's mute intensity.

An Adonis in visage, but an Achilles in character. Eyes of chocolate brown surveyed his encompassment, their hypnotic air tangible as he moved with the mesmeric flair of an apex predator, in search or in wait of someone of particular interest to come across. And yet, his mind, his thoughts lingered on the memories of one woman, and one woman only, the most golden of sirens. The most remarkable woman he'd ever known. Valerie.

@orpheus_knightfall: The whole room reverted to its original sate as the boombox sputtered and died. Oil and battery acid pured onto the table.

"Boxy No, breathe buddy it'll be okay." But it was too late the boombox had played it's last tune. Hugh stood up and marched over to Orpheus his eyes tearing up.

"Hey you just shot my friend and that wasn't very nice. I would like a heart felt apology and a new boombox."

@orpheus_knightfall: "It was alive, He had a wife and kids. How are you gonna replace a lost father. Now that little MP3 players gonna grow up without a male influence and probably start huffing dead batteries. I hope your happy with yourself you monster."

@orpheus_knightfall: "I'm from toon world pal, I don't take any meds. Look I'll show you."

Hugh looked at Orpheus and then out of nowhere his eyes and tongue popped out of his face.

The doors to the illustrious Bradley Manor soon opened rather forcefully as Paddleball walked through the door, maskless but otherwise fully in costume. With a low whistle that was usually reserved for members of the opposite sex he eyed the decor of the place, a sideways grin crossing his face. A paddle in his hand, he idly knocked a small ping-pong ball up into the air and started to juggle it, all the while walking around and admiring the view.

"Hey, can somebody get a drink around here?" He called out, somewhat rudely- the bar area was obvious to him, however he decided to pretend to not know where it was. All the more ways to draw attention to himself. He was looking forward to meeting someone new tonight, someone that didn't only appreciate his mad paddlin' skills. Gently rubbing a patch of stainless steel plating on the back of his head, he went and ordered a shot of whiskey- downing it quickly before ordering another. Leo desperately hoped that the party wouldn't blow, like all the others he went to.

Heh. That made him chuckle. He hadn't been to a party in years. Luckily, this one wasn't an "invite only" sort of thing...

@la_espada:

Finely attuned senses let her know who was coming, and allowed her to decipher approximate height, weight, and age without setting sight on him. She was dreading it. Dreading having to make conversation, dreading having to put on a polite face and a charming benign smile as she hid the instincts of a fighter, of a predator. She was expecting one of the snotty uppercrust citizens who had no more experience with the real world than a chauffeured drive through Gothic and an occasional interaction with the 'help.'

It was the lilting tones of his accent that caught her attention as she turned around. And as she laid eyes upon him, her previous instincts were rendered null and avoid. At the first look, and she was sure to anybody else, he looked every inch the aristocrat, and that immediately put her back up against the wall.

But on a second look, there was something else lingering underneath the surface. He was muscled, yes. But not the kind of muscles that you got from a personal trainer. It was the kind that came only from intense fighting and conditioning. To her surprise, a smile naturally graced her features as she bemusedly gave him a once over.

He had a magnetic flair - an almost aggressive sense of charm. Normally it would have been a put off for her, there was little that Isis cared for less than unnatural social graces. But there was something lurking beneath his blue gaze, the light of a predator in his eyes. Like recognized like, and he was of her kind.

It seemed she wasn't the only wolf in sheep's clothing who was present tonight.

She turned her back to the bar, leaning against the wooden counter, with her elbow resting casually along the surface as she held her drink in her hand. To any observer it would appear to be casual nonchalance, but her thought first and foremost was how could she position herself to give her easy access to the dagger strapped to her thigh should she need it.

Her eyes were bright as she watched him, carefully tracking his movements out of instinct, but still with that bemused curl to the corner of her mouth. "Isis Liafador," she said, gently placing her hand in his and awaiting his reaction. The moment her last name was dropped, people would either gravitate closer or shy away. Many wanted nothing more than to be associated with the name. Others wanted an in to meet either Selene or Maya. And still yet, others wanted an audience of some sort with either Ziccarra or Zeon.

"And am I to have the name of the charmer who dares to compare one to the gods?" She couldn't help the grin as it spread across her face. "I hear that they don't take kindly to such."

@nemesis_liafador:

Their eyes met, sapphire blue to hazel, and the gaze that held them was electric. And in the smooth air alongside the rich scent, the haze of premier smoke, and the aromatic spice of every glass of bourbon and whiskey, sparks surged. "A Liafador?", he remarked, head tilted to the side with subtlety, the corners of his lips twitching in mild flirtation as his intrigue grew clear, "Then perhaps, bella, the gods have no ground for discontent with my comparison", the Spaniard flattered, resting his glass of Blue Label whiskey atop the counter before bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss born of cultured charm, gallantry, and the traditions of the prototypical European gentleman.

Santiago was chivalrous, passionate, and as his refined wit expressed, with perfect clarity no less, fiendishly clever. "Santiago Porthos", he reciprocated, relinquishing his hold over Isis' hand before as she leaned her back against the bar's wooden counter, sliding into this exotic siren's personal space with a suavity that was impassioned in its disarming aggression. He found himself stepping closer, "Liafador women. Said by many to be beautiful", he began, leaving inches between their lips, the seductive appeal of his features growing more devilish by the second. Guiding his hand, boldly and with unapologetic allurement, towards her leg, his touch was scalding as his palm brushed against the flesh of her thigh.

Bringing her leg up to his waist, his fingers inched towards her dagger, purposely teasing his awareness of it, "And dangerous", he smirked, his voice hushed yet steady, held a timbre that was adventurous, and an inflection that was exotic, the kind that undressed a woman's mind and stripped her to her most carnal instincts. "After all, what tis life without a little danger?". He wound his arm around her waist, lithe and enticing and teased a moment before as boldly as he'd commenced it, slowly broke away from the embrace of vipers and Cardinal icons, his arm extended towards her, right hand offered as he coolly stepped back, that smile that was charismatic in its mystique, overpowering in its social magnetism, curling across his visage.

"We know this woman can hold down her scotch. But can she dance with a viper?", gone was the smile, and returning was the 'Don Juan' smirk.

@orpheus_knightfall: @below0gaming:The Eighth Wonder and the blonde girl watched the spectacle. The entire room had suddenly shifted into something that was a vestige of the 70's, seemingly because of the cartoon's doing. It didn't last long, as Orpheus Knighfall pulled a handgun from within the hidden depths of his suit and blasted the giant speaker, ending the music.

With the destruction of the boombox came the end of the illusion, and then came the confrontation between the billionaire and the living cartoon.

The cartoon made some kind of speech about the boombox having had a family, confusing those who were paying attention.

In his heavy accent, a sometimes near-unintelligible mixture of a French and Polish accent, all Andre could muster was a quiet "Quoi?"

The billionaire and the animated man kept talking, until the cartoon's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

Andre continued watching the spectacle.

"Madame, je pense que se soit une....... I think it's time for us to leave, boss. Trouble's coming."

As the night rested in the black abyss of the sky, which lied over Gothic City, a double decker bus traveled through the grey city. Big and animated, the bus nearly bounced under the force of fun. With funky EDM music pulsing from the steel, strobe lights caused multi-color lights to blare from the dark tented windows. The automobile was filled packed with partiers. Heading to the manor of Mason, the moving club arrived quickly. Pulling into the driveway, the vehicle stopped. As it opened up, neon purple mist poured from the bus. With the words 'the Wolfpack' on the side, the long black double decker was obviously one of Wolf's party buses.

Paparazzi snapped pics, as the vehicle parked at the end of the driveway. With the flash of white camera lights, they gave the strobe lights a match. With their emergence, Wolf appeared out of the entrance to the vehicle. With a huge smile, he was in a navy blue blazer, which blurred the distance between high-scale and casual. With black jeans and navy blue converse, he dressed like a high-classed dude.

As he embraced the energy of the manor’s front yard, he wore bright pink sunshades and a glistening cowboy hat, for no reason. He walked to the classy front door, as a bus-load of clubbers danced their way off the bus. From dancing white rabbits, to go-go dancers, to playmate conga lines, to beach dudes, using the crowd as a sea, the group were as lively as the hypest club could be. Neon mist flowed around them, as it shifted from blue to purple, to orange, to red. As the music flushed the front yard, Wolf walked up to the door, knocking a few times, “Knock knock knock…the Wolfpack is here…”.

d^_^b

@la_espada:

He moved in on her with an almost predatory grace. Before Isis knew what was happening, Santiago had slipped in under her defenses. It was then she realized that he used his charming mannerisms in the same way that she used her blades - with ruthless precision and no mercy. It appeared that his tactics were as effective as hers always had been.

Before she could even think to resist, to remove herself from the situation, to turn the tables in her favor, she found herself stepping backwards, only to find that there was no room with the bar at her back. Her eyes widened as Santi stepped into her personal space. She could scent his cologne, could feel his breath against her skin.

Her mouth opened into a small 'o' as the lightly calloused palm of his hand brushed against the silky smooth flesh of her thigh. He could have disarmed her without a second thought had he chosen to, and she was drowning under her lack of instincts. What had been finely honed and sharpened over the past two years was dulling, just as the sharpness of a rock eroded from the deluge of the sea.

She stiffened momentarily as he brought her leg up, his fingers trailing against her skin as he did so. "Danger is lively when it's controlled," she whispered. He was uncontrollable, she could tell. He could be a very real danger to her, she already knew. She liked danger, she lived for it. For the adrenaline rush. For the surge of endorphins that a fight brought on. For speeding down the highway on her motorcycle. But for the most part, that was all danger within her control. She had learned well over the past two years that danger out of her control was not to her taste. There was a fine line between taking risks and suicidal behavior.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her lips parted slightly and her breath quickened as he slipped away from the embrace that he had pulled her into.

Hazel eyes dusted with bronze narrowed slightly as he offered his hand. There was something about the curl of his lips, the particular curve of that smile, that made her want to delve beneath. He treated his charm as if it were a weaponized armor, but strip that away, and what was left? It was a question that she shouldn't care about, but one that she found herself pondering nonetheless.

"That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Porthos. Or at the very least a questioning of skill." She returned his smirk with a wolfish grin of her own. "I'd hate to let such a thing go unchallenged."

It had been years since she had been this light of spirit, and nothing felt more appropriate in the moment than stepping into his arms.

The world fell away. Killer instinct, dangerous inclinations, the need to assess everything. Instead, she was simply in his arms, gracefully moving to the tempo of the music drifting throughout the elegant ballroom. Her movements were fluid and graceful, not in the way of a trained dancer, but in that of a trained fighter.

She braced one hand on his shoulder, and found her other hand engulfed in his as they swayed and moved across the dance floor with entrancing grace.

Shifting from the classical positioning into a more casual one, their bodies brushed against one another, and she bit her lip. The small bite of pain brought her mind back home. She'd found herself drifting into waters that were better left uncharted. The thought of his hands on her, of the danger that could be found with him...they were thoughts that she dared not explore, at least not in such close proximity to the subject of them.

Isis tilted her head up and caught his gaze in a moment of unguarded tension between the two of them. She stiffened slightly in his arms, nerves wracking her body, before she forced the tension to drain out yet again. "Santi," she whispered hesitantly, unsure of where her own thoughts were taking her.

Arceus adjusted the top of his rented tuxedo. He felt ridiculous, and the fact that the suit was half a size too small didn't help any. The walk from his taxi to the front gate was made all the more awkward by the stride he was forced to employ, his gait dictated by the tightness of the small pants.

He had no idea why he was here. One second he was saving some well meaning, and apparently very important, girl who'd gotten herself caught in the bad part of Gothic (which was essentially any part of Gothic, really). As thanks Arceus had been invited to the "party of the year" by the young woman, apparently one of the staff who'd helped plan the entire event. Just moments before the arranged meeting time, however, she contacted him to inform him she had fallen ill, and to go ahead without her. Apparently she had even sent over a cab and paid for it. He was already dressed, so he decided that he really had nothing to lose.

He was wrong. As he walked through the gate and toward the manner he could hear the paparazzi's camera' s halt their incessant snapping as the opportunistic photographers lowered their equipment in confusion. Here was some nobody walking along the same path that celebrities, prominent politicians, and even royalty, walked down without even proper fitting attire. They scoffed at whatever farce this was, cracking jokes to pass the time. The merciful reporters turned away and looked down the road, looking for more prominent guests to arrive, commenting on the decor or previous arrivals, anything, it seemed, to avoid acknowledging this joke that had somehow wandered through the front gates of the illustrious Bradley estate.

With his dignity steadily being eaten away, Arceus grew more and more miserable every second of his approach. He'd forgotten how snooty and exclusive these parties were, even if they were "open to all" as the wreath he had just passed suggested.

"Wait a minute, open to ALL?" He thought to himself, dumbfounded by the sheer ridiculousness of the idea. Of course there was security about, and the doormen kept the shabbier, underdressed individuals away, but in Gothic an open invitation was an invitation for trouble. Just as he'd finished the thought and checked his coat, shots rang out from deeper inside the manor. Arceus charged into the room as the blaring music died, and the panicked cries turned into worried murmurs as one of the guests holstered a handgun he'd apparently snuck into the party. This was exactly what Arceus was worried about: trigger happy maniacs rubbing shoulders with the world's elite and powerful, and god forbid one of the snobs rubbed the lunatics the wrong way. Just as he was worrying about all the loose cannons with looser screws that could be running around a man began harping on about a deceased boombox to the gunman from earlier who had apparently assassinated it. He was just wrapping his head around the whole situation when the angry guy's eyes popped out of his head and then promptly retreated back into his skull. Confused and frankly somewhat disturbed by what he'd just seen Arceus cursed under his breath.

"What the fu*k have I gotten myself into this time..."

@nemesis_liafador:

In that night, for that one memorable event, the 'Gothic City Summer Bash', an illusion was cast. Where men and women drank away their sorrows, danced to the demands of their hearts, smoked their cigars of Cuban quality, and mingled with society's greatest superstars, it seemed that Gothic's golden age had, for that one night, returned. The bar ran like a speakeasy. The jazz struck a lonesome chord deep within the hearts of loose men and women. And the silky smooth, perfumed air tainted by the notes of cigar smoke and the scent of liquor, disarmed and entranced with the charm of a Hollywood night. It was in that night of charm that Santiago danced with Isis, an exotic beauty.

They danced, his arm wound around her waist that was lithe and enticing, his other hand holding hers with grace and chivalry as their spirits of adventure seemed as synchronized as their dancing, classical and refined. Their eyes met, and his eyes of sapphire blue seemed to grow dark and dancing, his features smirking with that singular mystique of his, that enigmatic ease and air of Spanish cool. With that voice that was sultry and accented, she spoke his name, and on a whispering wind her words reached his ears. "Bella (Beautiful)", he reciprocated, voice hushed and steady, echoing with that timbre of seductive intimacy that disarmed a woman into believing every word he spoke. His lips edged closer to hers, and as he'd done before at the bar, he teased a kiss.

A kiss that never came. Instead, a jazz song, fast and pacey, rippled through the air, caressing the ear of the dancing couple. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and her hand was laid delicately on his shoulder. Their hands clasped in a wordless romance, and the two moved in time with the ghostly musical strains. They dipped, tucked, and twirled, covering much of the dance floor as a sensual fever consumed them. And as the song came to an end and another arrived, Santiago's hands were moved to rest upon this beauty's wide hips, hips he guided in a sashay that was in accordance to the song. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, and they danced and danced until they danced no more, the Spaniard's hand took hers in his, but said nothing. He only smirked.

Smirked and in spontaneity, led her from the dance floor, but not to a return to the bar. It was to a silent spot in one of the neighboring balconies. There the city's lights stared back at them, and from that one balcony, Gothic seemed beautiful, far from the city of infamy it has become. A detail the Spaniard pointed out. "From here, the city's lights meet our gaze and look like the stars in the night sky. From here, from this balcony, the city does not seem so forsaken. Tis beautiful", he paused, gently resting her back against the balcony's stone railing. He met her gaze, and could smell the flowers around her. Peonies, lilacs and roses that permeated the night air. "But not as beautiful as the Aphrodite who carries herself like an Artemis", he smiled, striding into her personal space as bold as before.

He felt his heart grow reckless, and caution was thrown to the wind as he felt his hands part her thighs, and he kissed her, one hand caressing the back of her neck, and his other arm secured around her waist, pulling her closer as he felt her lips, soft, pliant and pillowy, grazing his. He kissed her deeply, and it grew more passionate. He felt her nibbling his lips, and he found himself lost in the taste of those lips softer than clouds. Gently, he broke away from the kiss, and his lips moved to her neck, pecking and nibbling, his breath hot and moist against as her flesh as he whispered, "Your life treats you well. But my life will treat you better".

@arceus_aurelius-rex:

Luna Hawk approached him quickly, she had seen him enter with perhaps the least fortunate entry of the night and now he looked a little jumpy. It was hard to blame him, some of the denizens of Gothic were downright crazy. She had hoped to engage the cartoon in an enjoyable conversation but he had opted for something closer to lunacy. She smiled a bit and offered him her hand in greeting. "Welcome to the party, don't worry about the gun and try not to stare at the paparazzi, it's a bit like staring at a shark while your arm bleeds. I'm going to guess that you're here by someone else's request."

@lunahawk:

As he was just about to slink off to the bar for a bit of private sulking Arceus was approached by a face that was familiar to him, an incredibly famous, and sometimes infamous, hero by the name of Luna Hawk. He couldn't remember her real name, if she'd ever given it out in the first place, but he didn't feel right just calling her Luna Hawk. It felt odd and somewhat gaudy calling her by her moniker, but honestly what else could he do?
"Hi, Luna Hawk, right? Hard to believe that I'm actually meeting you in person. Oh, but yeah, I only came to Gothic recently when I was invited here by one of the party planners. She told me that it'd be a fun evening, she'd show me around, you know, kind of like a tour guide, guess. Long story short she fell ill, sent a cab to pick me up anyway and here I am, no idea who anybody is or what I'm doing here." He scoffed at his own foolish decision to show up tonight, and looked over her shoulder toward the bar where the smell of high quality spirits hung thick in the air. He could use a drink after the greeting he received, but he didn't want to appear rude...
"Well, after that entrance I could really use a drink, and this place probably carries the best whiskey I'm ever going to have." Arceus motioned over to the barkeeper and asked for a shot of whiskey, the same drink he normally kept in the now empty flask at his inner pocket. Normally he would have taken the opportunity to save a bit of the good stuff for later, but in such illustrious company he couldn't really afford to do something so... cheap. "So, you know the unfortunate circumstances that led me here, what you brings you around? Besides the overabundance of high quality booze, obviously."

@arceus_aurelius-rex:

Luna Hawk listened to him describe his reason for being here and when he motioned for a drink she held up two fingers to the bartender, indicating she'd take one as well. "Free alcohol can attract a lot of people, it's true." Luna Hawk said with a nod. "I'm here though because I told Solar Hawk she needs to get out more and the only way I was going to get her here was by showing up myself. She's stubborn and not terribly great with the public, she really needs the experience"

Luna Hawk accepted her drink as the two drinks were brought over. "I'm not a huge fan of these things myself, but here I am. The media sure likes it when I show up somewhere too. If you need a cover story just say you're here at my request, no one will question anything then. Now that you're here you might as well enjoy yourself. Fun fact, the people here will generally pretend to know who you are because it's bad form to not recognize someone at these events."

@lunahawk:
"Well that little tidbit might come in handy. If I just carry myself like a gentleman then maybe I'll get away tonight with some of my dignity still intact." Arceus set the glass on the bar after downing the whiskey, the familiar burn bringing some degree of comfort to the already weary mercenary. "As for Solar Hawk needing to go out more, I can't really blame her for wanting to stay home. The media isn't exactly the friendliest bunch, and if I had to guess I'd say that she's a bit more like me, she'd rather be out there beating some sense into a couple of low-life thugs than rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. Not that this isn't nice, it's just... not my scene." Normally he'd take another drink or two, but in this case he wanted to keep his wits about him. He knew at least one party guest had a gun and another was a metahuman or mutant, something along those lines. This meant that if things went bad they'd go bad fast, and he'd need his reflexes at their best. In lieu of the drink he'd have to find more to talk about, however, and small talk was not something he excelled at. "So I've been a little out of touch lately, didn't really watch much TV where I was. You weren't faring too well back then, but it looks like you're the talk of the town now. What have you and Solar been up to, anyway?"

@arceus_aurelius-rex:

Luna Hawk smiled a bit. "Well you're right about Solar Hawk, she much prefers hitting people to talking to them. She used to have to deal with the rich and powerful of ancient Egypt back in the day but those people were different, they feared and respected her. I think most people in the modern world just fear her or are so blinded by money they aren't smart enough to."

Luna Hawk considered her drink for a moment after his last comment, remembering back to the court case and the media circus that followed it. "Those weren't good times, no. I was able to dig up the conspiracy against me though, prove it to the media and destroy it. Part of that required releasing a uh, particular type of video involving myself and the lawyer that was part of the conspiracy, forced disbarment." She shrugged and took another light drink. "Since then I've been a lot more popular, mostly with a certain gender and age group. I've used the image a bit and expanded on it, it may not earn me many points with parents but it's virtually erased the image of me as a murderer."

@la_espada:

"For small chunks of time the world is allowed to forget what Gothic is. What was once a bastion of hope has now become a mar upon the world. The constant reminder that we allow our citizens to live in such desolation. And then, moments like this," she whispered looking out at the illuminated cityscape. It truly did look magical. The clocktower shone like a beacon up on its hilly perch. The domed roof of the City Hall was lined with twinkling lights. The market district was filled with the bustle of people, the view only slightly obstructed from their perch on the balcony.

She turned her back on the city, sweeping thoughts of its destitute citizens from her mind and instead focusing on something altogether more pleasant. "The gods are going to smite you one day, Santi," she remarked with the slightest traces of bemused sarcasm.

He was far too charming for anybody's good. How did women do this, she wondered. How did they play the game of coquettish coyness? It seemed that that was a skill outside of her arsenal. Give her a weapon, any weapon, and she was in her element. But leave her at the mercy of social gatherings and she was like a lamb being left out for the wolf.

She had the unerring feeling that that was exactly what Santiago Porthos was. A wolf in sheep's clothing. He was aggressively charming, devestatingly flirtatious and breathtakingly handsome. And worst of all was the fact that he knew it, knew it and utilized it to his advantage with no mercy, just as he was doing now.

Isis inhaled quickly as one hand brushed against her thighs, then against her neck, and his other arm secured her waist, bringing her closer to him. She should pull away. If it was anybody else, she would have. But there was something about Santi, something magnetic, something that drew her in like the moth to the flame. She couldn't resist. But perhaps most disconcerting to her was the fact that there wasn't so much as a single inkling of wanting to resist.

She was more than happy to throw all caution to the wind and to abandon any notion of carefulness. She had lived that way for too long. She had restricted herself from living her fullest life.

She was damaged still, she knew that. There were scars on her skin that hadn't cut half so deep as the scars entrenched in her soul. But she was reclaiming something for herself - happiness and joy. It was time to stop living life as dark as she had imposed on herself these past few months. It was time for some happiness and joy of her own. It seemed that throwing all caution to the wind was the best remedy.

Toned graceful arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her as she arched into the kiss, gently pressing her body against his. She tried to catch her breath when his lips left hers, tried to find an anchor to moor herself to in this swirling sea of passion, and came up still adrift.

The moment that his lips met the curve of her neck, she was gone, her body melting into his as her head tipped back on her shoulders. How was it possible for one person to do so much to her? How was it even within the logical constraints of the world that he could remove all reason from her mind, and erase all hesitancy? It was terrifying.

But oh so exhilarating.

She rested one palm against the back of his head as her fingers played with the slight length of his hair. She clutched at his shoulder, almost in desperation, with her other hand. Her short nails, manicured at the insistence of both Selene and Maya, dug slightly into his shoulder, in turn both pushing against him and pulling him in, the physical manifestation of how at odds with itself her mind was.

"You make such grand promises and statements Mr. Porthos. Are you so sure that it would?" she murmured.

@lunahawk:
For several long seconds there was silence. Arceus was at a loss, he didn't know what to say about Luna's last remark. Was it wrong that he assumed that the video she released was... well... a sex tape, and the demographic she was popular with was young, teenage boys? What do you say when your first thought is "Oh, so you made a sex tape. What was that like?" Ugh. Conversation was a veritable minefield of volatile topics, not that she really seemed too touchy about the subject. Just what was that video, anyway? Well, he certainly couldn't ask. Arceus tapped the bar and another whiskey slid into his waiting fingers.

"So, you're not being labeled as a murderer anymore, huh? That's positive."
Arceus took another sip of whiskey, still trying to think of what to say next. She had just dropped a bomb on him, and he had no idea how to respond, which was made obvious by his awkward mannerisms. He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided making eye contact, though he was at the very least not rude enough to turn away from her. At least not yet.

@arceus_aurelius-rex:

"It is." Luna Hawk agreed and gently steered the conversation in a different direction. "It's hard to get used to how things work for heroes these days. I'm used to the Golden Age when heroes were trusted and did well by the people. Now we have to maintain an image, eve an unusual one, to keep from being labeled in a negative light."

Luna Hawk smiled a little. "Times change though. So what do you spend your days doing? I don't honestly remember if you are a hero, there's so many now it's hard to keep track."

@lunahawk:
"Hero? Well, I guess I might have been something close a lifetime ago. I used to live in the DRC, protecting people from marauding droves of rebel insurgents and the country's own army, if you can believe it..."

The question sent Arceus' mind traveling back to a time when he had purpose, drive, and ambition. Back in the Democratic Republic of Congo he had tried to bring peace of mind back to a place that knew only chaos and strife, where life could be lost on the whims of madmen. It was a fool's errand. He didn't have the strength to make a difference, and in the end that chaos he had struggled so valiantly against took everything from him. He'd been left for dead, his comrades were butchered, and the love of his life had also perished, if she was lucky. He had hope that she might be alive, but in what state and where, he could not know. Yet here he was, living it up at some party, answering questions for one of the world's most famous, and infamous, superheroes.

The revival of such bitter memories made Arceus cringe, his eyes grew distant and a scowl crossed his face, albeit temporary. As he returned to reality and retreated from his memories, he found his thirst renewed once again. He sipped on another whiskey, growing increasingly tipsy as the night wore on.

"It was a long time ago, and it certainly didn't end well. In fact the whole thing ended quite tragically, to be entirely honest." He finished his drink and sighed. "It's actually how I met my wife, and how I lost her."

Well crap. Here she was, trying to make a bit of polite conversation, and I've gone ahead and given her the most depressing response possible. I just can't seem to think of anything proper to say, and honestly, I'd probably be having an easier time of it if I'd paced myself a little better...

Arceus lowered his eyes to his empty drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he swirled it about awkwardly before finally bringing it to his lips and pretending to drink. As he brought his eyes back up from the bottom of his glass he could not help but pass them over her tight, form fitting armor. Her legs, strengthened and toned through years of training showed clearly through the form fitting armor, the same armor that dissapeared as his eyes rose to her waist. A waist which was appealingly muscular, and almost impossibly slim. With the same tight, revealing material over her torso little was left to his imagination as Arceus' eyes swept over her upper body and to her face. A face that was still clad in the traditional helmet of her people. A helmet meant for battle, forged to completely fill her enemies with fear. It did its job well, as Arceus found his eyes instinctively darting anywhere but her.

@arceus_aurelius-rex:

Luna Hawk was not blind to where his eyes had wandered, nor did it bother her any. She smiled a little and put her drink down. "I'm sorry." She said genuinely. "I know how that goes, I've been there before back when I was still willing to have a family. If you don't want to do the hero thing anymore I think it's perfectly understandable. Let's not focus on the past while you're here though, parties are for enjoyment and pleasure, not for painful memories."

Luna Hawk turned from him for a moment and motioned to Solar Hawk for her to join them. The other woman came over and stood beside Luna Hawk, who returned her attention to Arceus. With the two of them standing side by side they looked like perfect twins of one another, though he could see neither woman's face their other features were virtually the same, right down to the exotic skin tone. Luna Hawk removed a small slip of gold from a belt pocket and tossed it to the bartender.

"How would you feel about taking a look around the rest of the facility?" Luna Hawk asked Arceus. "Hope you don't mind if Solar Hawk joins us."

(sorry for the tag as Phantom, forgot to switch accounts)

@lunahawk: "That sounds like a great idea, any longer around here and I'd probably drink myself into a coma." Arceus nodded over to the bartender and thanked him for his services as he rose to accompany the two women for their tour around the estate. Their host was conspicuously absent, but the party carried on nonetheless. "Of course I wouldn't mind if Solar Hawk joins, in fact, it would be an honor." As Solar Hawk approached Arceus turned to her and gave a short, unironic bow, one hand tucked behind his back and the other foldered in front of him. He was unsure whether or not it was a proper bow, or even what culture (or film) he'd drawn the gesture from, but he performed it with all the grace and sincerity he could muster. Arceus had genuine respect for the two heroes, and while he might not have had full control over his wandering eyes it did not diminish his admiration for the heroines.

Maybe he's off fighting crime somewhere. Knowing this town, what with all its vigilantes and villains, I wouldn't put it past him.

"So, where exactly should we explore? I'm not exactly familiar with the layout of the manor. Do these things still have courtyards or did those die out with castles?"

@arceus_aurelius-rex: (no worries)

"I believe they do still have courtyards." Luna Hawk said with a nod. "I don't really know this manor either, I figured we'd just walk until we found something interesting to look at." The three of them set off, moving through the party and beginning to explore the various rooms that were actually open after Solar Hawk returned his bow with a more formal one of her own.

"Solar Hawk and I have sort of adopted this city as our new home. I was raised in the United States of course but she wasn't. We've both decided to stay out of our home country for the time being, that'll no doubt change in the future, but for now here we are. The difference in the sides of this city always amazes me. I don't hold it against anyone that they can afford houses like this, it's just sort of depressing going from this to the other side of the city. Solar Hawk and I have an apartment there and we do what we can."