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| | | The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) |  |
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 |  Subject: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private)  Sat Jun 23, 2012 6:41 pm | |
| SETTING: Jump City Cemetery, Dawn
SUMMARY: Two brothers––not by blood,
but in bond––are reunited.
MOOD: "Rise" by Hans Zimmer
PLAYERS: Honest as Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichman,
Silent Night as Zack Wylder--------------The graves were such simpleton mini-monuments in comparison to the lives that they stored six feet under, almost a mockery of human existence that––no matter how grand or profound one was––always came to an end at some gloomy moment, always placed sentient beings on the same, level playing field with no contesting factors than, perhaps, the rate at which one’s body was decaying, or how well their wooden boxes were crafted, or who visited their resting place and how frequently and how emotionally and how dread-filled. But that aside, all these people were dead. Nothing more, nothing less. Hopefully, they would be remembered in some positive and healthy aspect and, ideally, longer than the grave markers would stand through the never-ending test of time. Most would not. Others would not be regarded for fear of despair and renewed loneliness. More would be looked upon by passersby during holidays such as Memorial Day simply because they would be in the neighborhood. Plastic flowers might decorate the slabs of concrete or other such durable material at times, real flora at others for the more privileged persons' pensions; nevertheless, the Jump City Cemetery was held in particular regard by many, many people. A good, sad number of their city’s late heroes held plots here, such as the great Ben 10 and Primarch Joshua. Unfortunately, there was little doubt that more legends would join the ranks of the dead, too. Even more unfortunately, that doubt had all-too-many reasons and past instances to provide good cause for the morbid predictions. H-ll, it may just be an imminent twist of nasty fate that literally took down another superhero, maybe even the guy with the golden eyes who used to be recognised as a Teen Titan.
But Honest didn’t know, and Honest didn’t care. Nor did Liev know, nor did Liev care. There may have been just one physical being standing precisely eighty-four inches from a two-inch thick gravestone with the name “Katy Isaacs-Ehrlichmann,” engraved upon it, but the polar forces of a serious, strong, solemn, enigmatic, distant, and grounded man––Liev's true self––that fought so desperately to overcome the more dominant characteristic of a whimsical, silly, rhyming man-child, but those two personalities sometimes acted as if they inhabited two completely separate bodies. The sincere sub-heading of his late wife's gravestone had been carved in fine, formal lettering with a sincere, simple message that read: “Mother, Wife, Perfectly Human.” Perfectly human... the mourner reminded himself and smiled, 'even though she was at least five times stronger than I was.'’...five.’ The number five brought a twisted, evil, reality check by standing as the age at which young Calvin Isaacs was murdered. Calvin's stepfather forced himself to not turn his mind and head toward the marker to the right of his newlywed’s; it was too painful. It was too ugly a truth to look into the eyes of a premature death. Another symbol the number five was the of the number of tragedies in which a life was stolen that had most influenced Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichmann. Five dark-red blood spots on an equally crimson record of horrible, horrible events. Five reminders of what so little so many could do to prevent, or at least prolong, the last thing you saw on a classic movie screen before those dreaded and bothersome credits: “The End.” “Fin.” “Sfarsit.” “El Fin.” “Slutten.” “Hasofe.” “Finé.” “Konec.” And in Liev’s native tongue, the meaning seemed even more final: “Die Ende.” Five names, all belonging to individuals who met death through murder: Brigitte Dreiher, Liev’s mother,killed by her own son, Kaiser Ehrlichmann; Anna Brown, Liev’s twin brother Kaiser’s only lover-turned-victim; Evan Hauge, Liev’s best friend and the only individual whom he had ever fully trusted, killed by the traitorous “Backlash”; finally, there were Liev’s aforementioned spouse and stepchild, even if their binding family covenants lasted only three months. But to Liev, the number five was most prominently a quintupled catalyst for the quest to prevent more additions to the cemetery in which the masked shape-shifter thought his holiest of thoughts, the place in which the young man remembered his fondest of memories, the sacred ground upon which a defiant metahuman defied defying uncomfortable suspensions of failure.•••The twenty-two year old German-imported-American-hero called “Honest” as well as by his given name, “Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichmann,” had been haunting the graveyard for about two hours now––the shortest time he had spent consecutively since death reared its ugly head again only three-fourths a month before the present. A lovely morning summer breeze rustled the blooming cherry trees as a cheery Sun warmed the numbing, cold, forever-present emptiness within the cavities of Liev’s heart. He signed, looking toward the baby blue sky as he almost chuckled at the fact that this weather was adamant rather than the depressing gloom often found in movies when death lingered as potently as rain. There was no-one in his immediate peripheral vision, but that was no surprise because it was an odd time to be visiting the deceased.“Another cliché proved to being just that, my dear...” Liev mulled audibly to no one in particular, “perhaps a reminder that all things repetitious in this life are not so present after all. If only...” he paused and screwed his eyes shut as if trying to wake from an all-too-real dream state, “if only you were here to see it.” This time, he had been talking to someone in particular; Kady, or as some few knew her, “Serendipity.” Serendipity, meaning good fortune or luck, as in the instance where the aspiring reporter had first met the then-Teen Titan at the city-sponsored celebration for the heroes’ accomplishments. Now the codename was as much a mockery as the mundane presence as the headstones.
Liev felt an odd sense of serenity wash over him as he simply stood there, a mass of insignificant compounds and atoms, just as the rest of all life was constructed. He simply stood, content with his existence. There wasn’t much else to do now that he didn’t fight crime or sustain his identity as a prominent figure of justice. The abrupt leave he took from the Teen Titans was untimely and unpredictable; in all actuality, when Honest had stepped away from the podium during the honorary celebration back in mid-January was the last anyone had seen of him, including the Teen Titans themselves. He hadn’t even returned to the Tower to pack up any belongings, not even the mystical wardrobe that expanded well beyond its physical width and played host to all sorts an array of masks, costumes, oddities, old scripts, new pages of dialogue, and the massive self-sewn spine of a book enigmatically titled “Make-Believe.” Of course, the wardrobe had been accessible to only he through extensive security precautions, both mechanical and magical. The mystery how Honest was even able to shapeshift simply by placing a mask over his face was unknown to everyone except himself. The question whether the man was truly human or... ‘otherwise’ was another dead-end road of answers to anyone who had bothered to inquire such information. Sometimes, even his closest of companions experienced feelings of betrayal because Honest obviously had no intention to not take those answers to his grave, if not beyond the grave and into the afterlife, whatever the afterlife may be.
Yes, there were always questions when the name “Honest” presented itself. Yes, there were always endless labyrinths of enigma and Gordian Knots when someone––anyone––tried to make their way through the perplexity of Honest’s mind. Yes, there were always doubts that he could even be trusted, if for nothing but the fact that he trusted no one... well, at least now that Evan had died. But no, “identity” was never a defined noun for Liev. It almost seemed a limitation to what one could become, what one could overcome. And overcome, Liev had done many times and many more, again and again and again.
Now, silence dominated Honest’s presence. Silence... silence... silence... A perfect atmosphere for an internal struggle that screamed, writhed, shouted, pleaded, squealed, roared, yawned, shrieked, bawled, sounded, yowled, declared, hollered, blared, war-cried, howled, bellowed, wailed, and yelled instantaneously within the golden-eyed, pale-faced, dark-haired, twenty-two year-old, six-foot two-inches tall, muscular but reasonably lean, haggard, struggling man who was anything but what his name implied.
Last edited by Honest on Thu Mar 27, 2014 12:16 am; edited 4 times in total |
|  | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Sat Jun 23, 2012 9:02 pm | |
| A man stood over a grave, Silent in all but mind. He stared blankly at the letters before him, thinking of all he had lost. Most came to the Jump City cemetery to morn, or to honor the dead. This man had come with more than just that on his mind, for he stood not over the grave of his friend, Evan, not that of Ben Tennyson. Neither did he stand over the graves of his parents, so very far away in both space and time. He did not stand over the unmarked pit where L.A.W. had disposed of the failures he had been forced to fight to the death, nor did he stand before the door, where so many he had known, where the first people he had ever cared about, the only ones in that dark hell who had cared about him: the only ones who knew what he was and liked him anyways, had died. He stood over a grave that wasn't like the rest. No flowers adorned this tombstone, and no mourners came to pay their respects to the man below it's earthen confines. Katsu, Takeshi. That's it. No inscriptions, no memorial, not even a date of birth and death. This man had been a monster. He was a murderer who had preyed upon the weak. He deserved no mourning, he deserved no respect. The man who stood over his grave had something in his haunted gaze that no one at any cemetery normally had: Envy. Envy and longing, for on the night that Takeshi, that Malferus had died screaming in agony until his throat gave out, he had gained peace. His agony ended, while that of the man who killed him only worsened.
They had gone searching... The two heroes, emboldened with righteous fury. They had gone searching... They had wanted to lash out against the forces that had taken their beloved companion. They had gone searching... Jak had wanted blood, and Zack gave him more than his fill. That night was the first night he had lost it - the first time he could ever remember blacking out and waking up to find himself in the middle of such grotesque carnage that it made even a monster like him sick. Malferus was a monster among men, but the night he died Zack realized with complete certainty that he was the nightmare of nightmares, a monster to the monsters. He wanted nothing more than peace: to fall like so many before him, to die and stay dead, to have the haunting nightmares and piercing screams stop once and for all.
There was such a great weight upon him: He had killed so many... All of those... children in the hellish pits of L.A.W.'s training grounds, dozens were forced to fight him every week, just as Zack had been forced through torture and the threat of execution to fight them. The three closest friends he had ever had... He had been forced to kill during his escape, after they had become the slaves of L.A.W.. So many people, agents of L.A.W., ordinary civilians, supervillians and heroes alike, that he had killed for FUN while he wandered on his own... When he joined the titans, he had tried to stop, he had tried to fight it. But a weapon can only do one thing, and he had been built by the best. The never ending madness had plagued him, growing stronger and stronger until killing consumed his every waking thought, whether it was re-imagining the kills of the past, or seeing new ones in his closest friends. He had thrown himself further into isolation, further into his training, hurled himself again and again into the villians that plagued the city, hurled himself at L.A.W. with every ounce of his strength, desperate to die, desperate to keep those he cared about safe from himself... And yet he survived time and time again.
But now, standing over the grave of his fallen foe, a man Zack had never known, he felt a strange calm flowing over him. The screams and visions that plagued him weren't gone, but they were distant, strangely muted. Here, among the dead, Zack could do no harm. He felt at home. After all, he had already died once, was this not his natural place in the world? He wanted to be with those he cared about, but he knew that couldn't happen. He was a monster. Monsters don't deserve friends.
Zack blinked as he realized he was tugging at his grin. If only it were really that easy to remove. Sudden anger overtook him, and wood shattered under metal as he slammed his fist into the tree next to him, leaving a small crater and several scraps of bloody flesh behind. The pain helped, it always did: it brought him back to reality. He looked down at his hand, at the metal glinting in the sunlight, at the drops of blood dripping one by one from his fingertips. He had to rid the word of L.A.W., to destroy such unspeakable evil utterly and completely so that it may never again be repeated. But that would mean him too... And he welcomed it wholeheartedly, as he would finally gain peace, but at the same time... He didn't want to be alone. But how could he ask for help when doing so would put his friends in danger not only from L.A.W., but from him as well? | |
| | | | Guest
Guest
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Tue Jun 26, 2012 8:52 pm | |
| There were many people with many ways of showing rage, but Honest found it hard to think of someone as “visual” as Zack Wylder, better know as Silent Night, did. At first, the sound of cherry trees having their fragile trunks be splintered into what might has well been shards of a broken beer bottle thrown in a drunken rage. However, the cherry trees didn’t seem to mind, especially in comparison to the shock that “lost” Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichmann was racked with when he saw none other than his brother in bond, yet not in blood; the “bond” between he and Silent Night had been an uncanny relationship formed when a misguided, childish shape-shifter had cleverly broken his way into the Titans Tower––if for nothing but some kicks and giggles––followed swiftly by getting a sucker punch to his gut by a strong, formidable, and haunted figure that later became the comrade that Honest considered to be both a source of comfort and of fury, of companionship and loneliness. After all, the organisation called “L.A.W.” left more than enough emptiness to allow no peace to inhabit its hollow, no matter how strong a bond, a love, a force, or a compelling drive to live could fill most every aching heart’s with some sort of tangible peace. But Zack Wylder had no heart, and Liev knew it. Maybe that was why it had been so easy for him to leave Silent Night along with the other Teen Titans, even with the knowledge that these “brothers” were each other’s only vessel through which to channel the nightmares of pasts destroyed, doctored, and let loose to humanity again whether by design or accident. To think that the place these two inhuman heroes met for what Liev secretly prayed to be the last meeting was a graveyard that held the bones of their fallen loved ones didn’t seem too strange an occurrence when their lives were already plagued so much by death. Honest could hardly bare the weight of having killed two men––his brother and the head of an international terrorist force––so the concept of baring the weight of what he understood to be many, many more times the corpses of what already occupied this graveyard––or, at the very most sugarcoated––what felt like a massive burial mound. Honest had taken a man’s life to save another’s moral, which created just, lawful reason to speak for his extreme yet necessary actions. But Silent Night... he didn’t appear to have much reason in his moral compass to guide his deeds. Now, the lock that held that truth at bay had been as easily undone as the broken wood under a monster’s fierce, clawed, paw. Honest followed the sound, using it as a tool that led him to the source of such cacophony.
There, just a few rows of gravestones and cherry trees in front and to the side of where Liev had been standing “alone,” was that ever-grinning monster whose oozing cuts reminded Honest of something he had learned when his real, biological brother died for the second time, and hopefully the last:
“I guess that the blood that all men bleed isn’t as different, after all,” the eternally-masked metahuman spoke softly as he laced through stone and earth as quietly as the moments of silence before Zack destroyed the tree. Deep, molten, melting gold-coloured eyes fleetingly skipped across the shell of what had once been a man.
“...long time no see, brother. You look like hell, as always.”
Last edited by Honest on Tue Jan 28, 2014 5:13 am; edited 2 times in total |
| | | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Tue Jun 26, 2012 9:34 pm | |
| "Not different, no. Some just bleed more than others." Zack looked up from his hand at someone whom he had thought was his friend. "If it isn't my old brother... You were smart to leave. Yet you've returned. I'm curious, Liev. What brings you back here? it isn't safe, that's for sure. Did you want your mask back? I still have it you know, just as it was when you first gave it to me. You'd be happy to know I failed again that day... And many times since. I still haven't beaten L.A.W.... And I'm not so sure I can anymore... But that's beside the point. You left. And now you're back in town. And things are worse than ever. This place... It's a ghost town now. Everyone's either dead or a stranger, and everyone else... I can't even look at much less talk to. I came here to be alone with the rest of the dead people, and so I suppose it is fitting that I am visited by a ghost of the past."
Zack flicked the last bit of blood from his hand and flexed it. The skin from his knuckles to the main joints of his fingers had been torn off, and the metal armor beneath glistened, the joints creaking slightly as the plates moved over each other.
"And I may look like hell, but that's because I grew up there. You should know Honest. At least you look less... Effeminate." Zack raised an eyebrow. "Actually, it's not so much your look, but your demeanor. Something has changed in you, hasn't it? Did something snap? Let's hope not. I'm enough of a time bomb, we don't need two. Though with a little luck..." Zack gazed almost longingly at the graves around him. | |
| | | | Guest
Guest
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Tue Jun 26, 2012 10:27 pm | |
| At first, Honest was caught off guard by the casual response Silent Night gave, then realised that it had been his typical response, as per usual back when they were teammates. He hung onto Zack’s words and analysed all of them, a nasty habit he had acquired since he didn’t have so much to keep his mind otherwise occupied... like crime fighting, for instance.
“At least blood isn’t as tasty as you thought it was when you licked off your own from your own blade... as for ghosts and the dead, obviously you have joined the ranks with them if your attentiveness had wandered so much as to think that I’ve ‘left,’” Liev replied, matching the nonchalant chatter-tone, however grim his comrade’s was, “on the contrary, I settled in my place as a resident of Jump City far more easily than when I was a Teen Titan; you see, I got married... maybe that explains why my ‘demeanour is less effeminate.’ I also had a stint at a that psychiatric hospital I briefly mentioned to you once upon a time, Zack. Met many weirdos and whack jobs, too, but of course they weren’t nearly as insane as you.” It was hard to mask the discomfort he felt when he mentioned the psych ward, not to mention getting married. He left out the part about his step-son, Calvin, as well as the part where they had both been murdered. On the other hand, thinking of murder... “Oh, yeah,” he chattered on excitedly, "about L.A.W.... I think they killed Kaiser. Calvin found him behind Kady’s parents’ house with his arms spread like an eagle... or Jesus on the Cross if you want to get poetic or religious, and with his heart literally carved completely from his chest. Maybe he was getting to be a burden to L.A.W., because we both know how compulsive and self-serving he was. I just have to wonder... was the ripped-out heart really necessary, and if so, were they trying to pull a joke that he had no heart, or that he did have one?" Honest leaned against the nearest cherry tree, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just ‘added in’ Kady and Calvin to his little tale about Fake’s death as he found that his eyes had been transfixed on that stupid, beat-up cherry tree.
Moments of static silence passed, then Honest got an idea. “Hey, Zack... do you wanna fight? Let off a little steam without over-boiling a good ol’ brew of revenge on a chillin’ villain? I’ve learned some new moves that I want to test out, but the folks at the nut house started to getting fed up when I practiced them on the staff. Oh, and don’t weigh in reason with your decision; otherwise, you’d assume that you could break me as easily as your tree friend,” Liev said confidently.
He smiled at Silent Night, a genuine smile that entailed genuine happiness. “Winner pays for drinks, seeing that I’ll have to buy them if we want to do it legally. Jeez, can you believe that I’m older than you, and yet I’m the one stuck with a pretty-boy face?”
Last edited by Honest on Tue Jan 28, 2014 5:14 am; edited 2 times in total |
| | | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Thu Jun 28, 2012 8:17 pm | |
| Zack was a soldier, not a detective. He wasn't created to think, he was built to fight. But he was also a stealth fighter. And the most important ability in both stealth combat and detective work was the ability to spot the small details: In one profession you piece together the clues, and in the other you stay alive. Couple that with the fact that Zack had gained some experience piecing things together in the years hunting L.A.W., and the result is a man who would have made an impressive detective had he only not been an insane and murderous weapon. Zack could see the discomfort in Liev as he spoke, and he rose an eyebrow as Liev unknowingly slipped on the names of his family. It wasn't hard to put the two together. Liev hadn't exactly been close to his parents or his brother, and Zack hadn't heard of any deaths in the family save for Kaiser anyways. The only person Zack knew of that Liev could be visiting in the cemetery was Mod, and his grave wasn't anywhere near this section. Plus the discomfort that Liev showed... Liev had been close to Mod, true, but this was different. This was... Closer? Zack's eyes narrowed a fraction as Liev continued talking. Calvin and Kady... His wife and child. That much Zack was certain of. Their names sent alarm bells off in his head, along with Liev's discomfort, but why? The realization hit Zack like a sledgehammer to the face. That must be why he was here, who he was visiting. He did say they were living together here in this city, so it would make sense for them to be buried here if he was right. For the first time in his life Zack silently thanked L.A.W., for the grin they gave him made it all but impossible to read his expression, and he would have certainly given his thoughts away without it. Because Zack had another attribute that was essential to both a good detective and a good stealth operative: He knew when to shut up.
"You'd HAVE to if we were to get drinks legally? Who says I don't have any money? Though I don't blame you, I never had any before, back when you were with us. And it's not like I really buy much. However you seem to have gained quite a bit of confidence. Then of course, you know how to beat me, and I'd be confident facing me if I knew how to beat me. Let me guess, you plan to burn, freeze, or fry me with some fancy new mask? I suppose I can always dodge, but for how long?" Zack's grin widened. Perhaps Liev could be that one... I do still need a backup plan should the worst come to pass...
"Why not? I haven't sparred in quite some time." | |
| | | | Guest
Guest
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Fri Jun 29, 2012 6:43 pm | |
| “Hah!” Honest chuckled lightheartedly, “I was speaking nothing of monetary status; I'm speaking of the years I have on you. Don't tell me you've forgotten that I'm three years older than you? He gave a mischievous wink, then continued. “And sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going to try and fry or freeze or burn you... besides, even if I had intended that, we've had enough casualties by way of cheery trees and the good souls that lie six feet beneath us, as we both know. Masks are not the only things I can tamper with to tamper with my own abilities. This will be hand-to-hand combat, at least on my part. Don't go easy on me, either. There's no reason to.” With those ominous words, Honest took in a deep breath of blossom-perfumed air, brought his palms together—almost like a ninja from one of those old black-and-white samurai movies, but not nearly as dramatic; this was simply a centering technique, a way of connecting to his core—exhaled silently, then lowered his arms, brought his fists to about mid-chest height, and took on a stance that was typical for a boxer; one fist a little farther in front of the other, the other a charged force in a temporary storing position. His feet were firmly planted on the ground. His golden eyes caught a glimmer of the rising sun and they appeared to light on fire, his irises a honey-coloured, shining, reflecting pool of enigmatic energy and endless intrigue.
”Alright,” the young man said firmly, ”In the words of Laertes to Hamlet: 'have at me, brother!'”
Last edited by Honest on Tue Jan 28, 2014 5:14 am; edited 3 times in total |
| | | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Fri Jun 29, 2012 9:57 pm | |
| "Ah, well then this should be quite fun!" Zack's grin widened as he adopted his defensive stance - one arm bent to cover his side and face, the other protecting his chest, stomach, and the side of his hip closest to Honest. He held up his bloody hand, pointing at his exposed metal. "Just remember you're punching metal now my friend. I'd hate to have a friendly spar end in you hurting yourself." He dropped back into his stance, but not before casting off his weapons, placing them beneath the tree. If Honest was not using his masks, Zack was not using his weapons. "You want me on offense, eh? Seeking to put me out of my element? We'll see how long that lasts." Zack suddenly leapt into a tackle, that if he missed, would become a combat roll that would bring him within striking distance of his opponent. | |
| | | | Guest
Guest
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Sat Jun 30, 2012 8:40 pm | |
| ooc:// My first truly physically-oriented narrative... I just hope it makes sense and paints a decent mental picture of what Honest is doing! PX bic:// Honest dove just as Zack leapt and by using his balled fists as points of redirection, the unmasked shapeshifter spread his knuckles flat against the ground like an ape bounding across the jungle floor. Using the momentum of gravity and inertia as his ally, Liev then swung his legs to the side, pivoted himself forward, and completed a full, one-eighty degree grounded turnabout. His stationed themselves lightly into the soft earth nearly seven feet from where he had stood at the exposition of this battle; being relatively tall at a sturdy six feet, two inches tall had its perks and its downsides, but the length he covered with his own body paired with the distance used when diving from beneath the clutches of steel-plated arms was definitely a pro to what he had planned to execute next.
• • •
Now, Liev had never been that guy that everyone envied after scoring an amazing, game-saving touchdown for his high school team and pride, nor had he been that gravity-defying pole vaulter that had made and held the record for highest bar jumped. Neither was he a wrestler, a basketball star, or anything of the like when it came to traditional sport; no, but he had always had a knack for fencing, swimming, and other low-key sporting activities during his brief stint at a Catholic school. During the time he had run away from that bloody “convent for kids,” he had always stayed in shape, even as he became aware of his uncanny powers to craft masks and use them as a vessel for shape-shifting. It wasn’t like he could master the genetic mechanics that made a cheetah accelerate to speeds that gave it the prestigious title of “fastest creature on Earth” right of the bat, nor could he automatically judge the timing and velocity that differed between his natural self versus a powerful Spartan warrior. He had to learn, just as any other being on this planet and beyond. Flying was especially tricky, and during that focused area of training, Honest developed a humble respect for avians of all types and how easy they made making the air their gateway appear to the untrained mind. But all of these factors drew attentiveness to his own physical stamina, limitations, strengths, and weaknesses. The masks, in more ways than originally assumed, became as much a part of Honest as the layer of finely crafted latex that hid away fiery secrets that literally scarred him for life. At Greyhound Hospital of Psychiatry and Specialised Practices for Metahumans––aka, the mental ward the troubled hero had been self-subjugated to for three months, collectively––he had been divvied his own fair share of physical activities under the watchful eye of the leading physician and the gym warden’s therapeutic training sessions. Combined with the ability to think quickly, act effectively, and analyse a situation to its most seemingly mundane details, Honest had become a formidable fighter in his own right with strengths lying most prominently with agility and dexterous, adaptive strategies. He had learned many things while at Greyhound, but learning how to channel the ever-so-vigilant psychological warfare raging within his mind into pure, physical force was something Honest could really benefit from in the wild, merciless, and unforgiving world that raged on beyond the cement walls of his temporary haven.
• • •
After registering that he had cleared––although barely––the short width from the bottom of Zack’s boots to the ground, Honest finished the maneuver by employing his firmly planted feet to push off and counter-leap directly behind Silent Night. With his heart accelerating to meet the demands for the vital blood necessary to deliver such energy-draining moves, Honest swiftly latched onto one of his comrade’s ankles by trapping it between two, strong, callused hands and powerfully clasped fingers. The inspiration for this defensive-turned-offensive attack had come to fruition as Liev had long-ago observed a pair of alligators jaws ensnaring their prey with his mother back when better days highlighted his childhood. Of course, his version didn’t employ nearly as much force as an alligator’s hungry jaws, and even if he could harness that kind of power, Honest knew that Zack’s warning of the folly in forcing flesh into metal was more than true. With this in mind, Liev incorporated extreme caution in his tactics to prevent jeapordising his own safety for the sake of another’s.
While the former Teen Titan waited for gravity, human muscle, and time to whip by, a bolt of excitement and memories of intense battles against malevolent forces flooded his conscious mind... and for the first time since leaving his old team and life, Honest sorely longed to be back in the fervor of justice by way of action.
Last edited by Honest on Tue Jan 28, 2014 5:13 am; edited 1 time in total |
| | | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Sun Jul 01, 2012 12:06 am | |
| ooc: Well, enough of it made sense for me to get the gist of what happened, and that's the important part, eh? Just as descriptive as ever, I'd like to fast forward to when you've had lots of experience rping scenes like this and see how they turn out. 0.o
ic: It seemed Liev had learned some new tricks. Zack had to say he was impressed, however now he was in his element. Most fighters, and just about every fighting instructor out there were all firm believers that it was important to keep the fight on your terms. Zack believed and adhered to this completely. What made Zack different from most fighters was the fact that just about everyone who believed it necessary to keep the fight on one's own terms believed that a constant offense was the way to do this, that keeping the fight on one's own terms meant forcing your opponent to react to your moves. Zack believed exactly the opposite: He was at his best reacting to his opponent and turning their attacks against them. It was why he won so often: to attack him was to give him a weapon to use against you. He had been trained his whole life by the best of the best in this style of combat, and had honed it to an edge sharper even than the keen edge of the knife he always carried in the brutal fights to the death in the combat pit deep within L.A.W.'s experiment training grounds. As a result, Zack thought as fast as Honest moved, and his reaction was almost automatic. He kept his face towards Liev throughout his maneuver, twisting his body in midair to make this possible. As Liev grabbed his boot, Zack was traveling backwards away from Liev instead of in a forwards dive. What happened next depended very much on Liev's grip on Zack's ankle. Because of his armor and jacket, Zack weighed close to a thousand pounds. Now, Zack had no idea what Liev was planning, considering that, as far as his knowledge went, Liev was unable to lift such a burden, much less change it's direction on movement or really even have too much of an effect on it's flight path other than maybe slowing it down a bit. However, Zack doubted Liev expected the midair turn or what he planned to do with it, and that was it's greatest strength. He felt Liev's hands clamp onto his ankle with surprising strength, and hoped for the best as he curled unto a ball, yanking his legs up as he swung his fist down. Even for Zack, this was a pretty crazy maneuver, and his punch was sloppy and un-aimed, but he only saw a few outcomes at the moment: A. Liev's grip would fail and Zack would land on his back and roll backwards using his momentum to bring himself to his feet, prepared for Liev's next move. Or B. Liev would get pulled violently forward and hopefully take a punch somewhere, though the punch really was a bonus that relied on Liev's surprise as well as a bit of luck. | |
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| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Tue Jan 28, 2014 4:55 am | |
| ooc:// Let the battle commence! C:< bic:// Unfortunately for Liev, Zack weighed beyond what he thought was capable for someone who moved as dexterously as he. To be fair, Honest had never really fought Silent Night––they had no reason to––but as his dive proved to be counterproductive and he went flying, memories of their first encounter resurfaced. Silent had grabbed his arm in a vice-grip and pushed down with the force of a freight train, lending credence to his sheer density. A swinging fist flashed within German’s peripheral vision with enough presence that led him to twist his body to avoid it, costing him his balance. He landed hard against a larger, older tombstone that protested his weight with a heavy thud and what sounded like a crack. Liev really hoped this wasn’t the case––breaking the departed’s monument would never sit well with him––but had no time to worry about due respectfulness; he knew that he had to keep moving, were he to gain any advantage despite the pain in his shoulder blades, which had taken the crux of the impact when colliding with stone.
Honest understood that sheer force and physical exertion would to very little when fighting the solemn Titan, forcing him to rely on strategy and quick thinking as an alternative. His old friends, Deception and Distraction, would weigh in heavily on the outcome of this battle; when fighting an opponent, Liev would often speak to them in riddles, or attack their insecurities through sharp insults as a form of emotional provocation. The resulting actions were typically either returned jeers, scoffs, or what he aimed for: enhanced rage, which often threw the offender’s game off by causing their minds and bodies to be clouded by anger rather than a steely mindset. However, emotions didn’t come easily to Silent Night, and banter would most likely just be ignored. Therefore, speed, timing, planned movements, and quick reaction times would have to do in this case, all of which Liev excelled at. Training at a young age as a gymnast gave him a advanged, for flexibility and experience with the human body’s ability to conform in shape and perform in extraordinary ways never failed to aid him. His knowledge of gymnastics also helped him to understand and analyse many of the moves Silent was using, like vaulting himself and barreling forward in complicated ways. He admired just how well Zack was able to pull off stunts like tucking himself into a ball and performing the aforementioned manouevres, an accomplishment Liev thought to be impossible for a walking, talking man of flesh and heavily concentrated metal. Honest filed that bit of information in his eidetic memory for either immediate use or if it came in handy in the future, for whatever reason that may be. The memory of participating in gymnastics produced a dawning realisation of the tactic Zack had been employing; just as Liev had used gravity to his advantage when flipping from one uneven bar to the other or flying from the vault in the private gymnastic and dance centre he trained at, Zack took advantage of what worked against him. ‘Brilliant,’ the shapeshifter silently observed. The technique that Silent Night used relied upon the power and effectiveness of his opponent’s attacks... ‘So the lighter and more complex a move is, the less it can be used offensively,’ Liev thought, and decided to play his cards that best followed that particular suit.
Despite the amount of knowledge he had absorbed, the process took few seconds, if even that. Honest had just returned to a standing position when the thoughts had been completed, and he had already come up with a plan that utilised the information. Honest looked skyward, a view obstructed by the ubiquitous cherry blossoms of the trees that peppered the otherwise gloomy graveyard––but this was fine, because it was not the sky he sought; the branches were. Cherry trees were not known for their sturdiness or large, thick branches, but the general spaced-out positioning and size of these ones served as fitting substitutes from the man-made bars he harkened back unto just moments ago. The lowest ones were well within Honest’s reach without being too close to the ground to properly serve their new purpose. Spotting a promising branch, Liev took a few quick steps, jumped toward it, and successfully grabbed it before using the momentum to swing himself forward at high speed, hurtling through the air and quickly closing the distance between the two of haunted heroes as he aimed a strong kick at Silent’s face, and area that which Liev figured would be a vulnerable area if there even was one on the heavy-metal meta. Keeping Zack’s tactics in mind, the masked shape-shifter grabbed hold another overhanging branch and prepared himself to swing up and onto it should he need to use it to avoid being thrown forward or backward again––an experience he didn’t plan on falling for a second time.
With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the excitement putting a grin on his face, and the exhilaration of a good fight not only enhancing his overall mood, Honest forget the reason why he had come to the graveyard in the first place; this was no time for mourning––it was a time to celebrate his personal capabilities and have a genuinely good time with one of his oldest, but closest, friends. |
| | | | Silent Night
Silent Legionnaire
Posts : 1163
Join date : 2010-04-18
Age : 31
RPG character
Name: Zack Wylder
Code Name: Silent Night
Villain or good guy?: Neutral
| | Subject: Re: The Blood That All Men Bleed (Private) Wed Mar 19, 2014 11:45 pm | |
| Zack landed on his shoulder blade and twisted his body into the blow at precisely the next moment, rolling onto all fours before allowing his momentum to work against the friction his boots provided and push him upright like a reverse face-plant video. He took a couple of steps back to maintain his upright posture and cancel out the energy that had seen him upright. His grin widened a little as Liev recovered from his collision with a tombstone. While the lithe teen had not been as graceful as he had in landing, he was certainly not the physically weak and fragile man Zack had taken him for. While he had known Liev to possess an inner strength no one save the two present could appreciate simply because the young man had survived for a period of time within L.A.W.'s training grounds, he had yet to see his comrade show it for himself. Thanks to his aloofness, Zack rarely saw his team outside of the training room, and Liev had rarely been in the there as far as he could tell.
As Liev swung himself into a cherry tree, Zack rose an eyebrow, mildly impressed. The branch should have broken, but it seemed his companion either had impeccable judgment or some physical aid to see his acrobatics through. With a boot now hurtling towards his face, he reacted automatically, using a maneuver that had served him well before: he tossed his head and shoulders back, letting gravity do the rest of the work as he fell backwards. About halfway through his descent, he swung one leg up in a swift kick given two purposes: To give him the momentum to roll backwards to his feet again, and to discourage his opponent either through a connected attack or a near miss.
Normally Zack played the manic madman, cackling and jeering at his opponent to infuriate them and draw them into attacking him. He had no reason to do so. It was a rare time where the silence wasn't uncomfortable, rather it was quite the opposite. For the first time in ages Zack felt content, and the grin on his face slowly became more and more genuine as the fight wore on. | |
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