Post by Evan McCulloch on Dec 9, 2021 7:14:22 GMT -5
Participants: Wally West | Rogues Gallery
Open/Closed: Open to Flash Rogues
Location(s): Rogues Bar
Time of Day: 6:00pm
Weather: Clear Skies warm and cozy
Summary: After a grueling day and a miserable week, it’s good to have a place where everyone knows your name.
Papers and news feeds were abuzz about Abra Kadabra’s latest caper. Academia dubbed it the “Silicon Soul of Kronos”, a magnanimous glistening diamond bright as starlight and beautiful as the heavens. A priceless artifact from the Greek isles, something almost supernatural beyond the scope of the malicious magician’s usual antics. It was bold, unusually bold, a splash like that hadn’t been made since before the Blackest Night. Things were a lot simpler back then, and this was indicative of greater machinations. Changing times. To what extent? To what end? Only time will tell. Ironic, how the time traveler becomes emblematic of changing times.
It was a seedy little bar on 4th Avenue where drunkards and the damned would go for a brief respite from the 9-5 of crime. Where the toughest men in town would settle in for a drink and take a break from the worries of speedsters and... Well, mainly speedsters. McCulloch sulked quietly in the gang’s usual booth, garish orange fabric blending in with a cacophony of bizarre and otherworldly costumes. He kind of avoided the place for awhile, after... Things happened. Too many good memories that often struck hard like a freight train, but now things were different... Him slinking back into that booth was like a statement. A vacant throne with a new king, an unworthy king in his own eyes, but one aspiring to be great.
By all accounts he was a nobody, a loser villain, d-list at best. Nobody knew who the Mirror Master was, and those who did scoffed and laughed about it. He lightly placed the tabloids aside and took a whiff of cigarette smog. At least somebody’s doing well, he thought, though he was envious of the fact it wasn’t him. It was that string of failures that led him here, snug and squat as false king of Central City. Amongst the roaches of villainy, he was now head bug, and he looked to his fiefdom in disgust. Bone Dry - one of the newer specimens, he was a leering haunched creep with chapped lips, wrapped in bandages and a red hoodie. He was throwing darts at a mugshot of Gorilla Grodd with fellow newcomer Sandblaster. A few thugs gathered around the pool tables in the back, a man in a gas mask vacantly stared at them from the farthest corner of the building. The creep in question was Mister Element who was Doctor Alchemy’s weird alchemical döppleganger homunculus thing... It was bizarre - and neither twin were well accepted by the Rogues. He didn’t drink, didn’t talk, he just stared. Dude needs to be committed. At the bar was another newbie, a teenager too young to even be a patron (but... It’s a den of supervillains, they don’t card here). He was a pasty faced geek with blazing white dreadlocks, green sunglasses, and a trench coat. Went by the name of Papercut. Also seated at the bar was the Clown. Another nut, he was usually committed in the same ward Murmur and Alchemy stayed in. Never spoke, but always seething with rage, he glared into his glass as though he was about to use the bottle as weapon on himself. What a freak. The third Joker knock off in the biggest den of loser villains in the entire U.S. of A. There were others, but McCulloch had his fill, anymore and he’d O.D. from disgust.
”Oi, been sittin’ here f’er five minutes, ye‘ gonna take ma’ bloody order or keep jibber jabberin’ with the paperboy!?” The taste of cancer stick on his tongue just wasn’t cutting it. The larger grizzled woman behind the bar glared at Mirror Master, as well as the smelly miasma from his Dunhill. ”Papercut!” The teen protested pitifully, which only annoyed Mirror Master further. ”Piss off ye’ dweeb. Go crawl back ta’ y’er mum’s basement with y’er Star Trek collection an’ y’er virginity. This pub’s f’er the big leagues, twerp.” All eyes looked to the pale runt who shrunk a little in embarrassment. In a rather inept act of retaliation, Papercut shut his eyes and held an arm outstretched. The tabloids shuttered, and the front page image of Citzen Abra was roused for an attack which was swiftly ended by a knife slammed into it. Mcculloch gave a sharp glare towards the bar, Papercut shriveled and with a bitter frown glared into his drink like a defeated puppy. ”You gonna pay your tab, Mcculloch?” Evan clenched his chipped teeth. How was he supposed to make any cash in times like this!? Speedsters were up his ass like an enema, these dumb rules were like a noose around his neck, and whatever little money he did make wasn’t enough for... Well, he’d rather not talk about that. He rubbed an itch in his nose and glared into his booth like a seething toddler. ”I told ye’, I got a nice cushy job lined up! I’m gonna hit it big, an’ I’ll ‘ave lots a dough to settle with, aye?” She wasn’t buying it. ”You said that last week, Mirror Master.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but McCulloch was p!ssed. ”I hadn’t started yet, been transitionin’ out of the interview process, I’ll ‘ave the money next week now will ye’ give me ma’ #%)$en drink!?” The roguish reflection hissed like a viper, every word soaking in venom. He got what he wanted. She sloppily slid a decaf soy latte with whiskey shots down his lonely booth, purposely causing half of it to spill. “Here’s your usual, asshat.”
Open/Closed: Open to Flash Rogues
Location(s): Rogues Bar
Time of Day: 6:00pm
Weather: Clear Skies warm and cozy
Summary: After a grueling day and a miserable week, it’s good to have a place where everyone knows your name.
“Alakazam: Abra Kadabra At Large!”
Papers and news feeds were abuzz about Abra Kadabra’s latest caper. Academia dubbed it the “Silicon Soul of Kronos”, a magnanimous glistening diamond bright as starlight and beautiful as the heavens. A priceless artifact from the Greek isles, something almost supernatural beyond the scope of the malicious magician’s usual antics. It was bold, unusually bold, a splash like that hadn’t been made since before the Blackest Night. Things were a lot simpler back then, and this was indicative of greater machinations. Changing times. To what extent? To what end? Only time will tell. Ironic, how the time traveler becomes emblematic of changing times.
It was a seedy little bar on 4th Avenue where drunkards and the damned would go for a brief respite from the 9-5 of crime. Where the toughest men in town would settle in for a drink and take a break from the worries of speedsters and... Well, mainly speedsters. McCulloch sulked quietly in the gang’s usual booth, garish orange fabric blending in with a cacophony of bizarre and otherworldly costumes. He kind of avoided the place for awhile, after... Things happened. Too many good memories that often struck hard like a freight train, but now things were different... Him slinking back into that booth was like a statement. A vacant throne with a new king, an unworthy king in his own eyes, but one aspiring to be great.
By all accounts he was a nobody, a loser villain, d-list at best. Nobody knew who the Mirror Master was, and those who did scoffed and laughed about it. He lightly placed the tabloids aside and took a whiff of cigarette smog. At least somebody’s doing well, he thought, though he was envious of the fact it wasn’t him. It was that string of failures that led him here, snug and squat as false king of Central City. Amongst the roaches of villainy, he was now head bug, and he looked to his fiefdom in disgust. Bone Dry - one of the newer specimens, he was a leering haunched creep with chapped lips, wrapped in bandages and a red hoodie. He was throwing darts at a mugshot of Gorilla Grodd with fellow newcomer Sandblaster. A few thugs gathered around the pool tables in the back, a man in a gas mask vacantly stared at them from the farthest corner of the building. The creep in question was Mister Element who was Doctor Alchemy’s weird alchemical döppleganger homunculus thing... It was bizarre - and neither twin were well accepted by the Rogues. He didn’t drink, didn’t talk, he just stared. Dude needs to be committed. At the bar was another newbie, a teenager too young to even be a patron (but... It’s a den of supervillains, they don’t card here). He was a pasty faced geek with blazing white dreadlocks, green sunglasses, and a trench coat. Went by the name of Papercut. Also seated at the bar was the Clown. Another nut, he was usually committed in the same ward Murmur and Alchemy stayed in. Never spoke, but always seething with rage, he glared into his glass as though he was about to use the bottle as weapon on himself. What a freak. The third Joker knock off in the biggest den of loser villains in the entire U.S. of A. There were others, but McCulloch had his fill, anymore and he’d O.D. from disgust.
”Oi, been sittin’ here f’er five minutes, ye‘ gonna take ma’ bloody order or keep jibber jabberin’ with the paperboy!?” The taste of cancer stick on his tongue just wasn’t cutting it. The larger grizzled woman behind the bar glared at Mirror Master, as well as the smelly miasma from his Dunhill. ”Papercut!” The teen protested pitifully, which only annoyed Mirror Master further. ”Piss off ye’ dweeb. Go crawl back ta’ y’er mum’s basement with y’er Star Trek collection an’ y’er virginity. This pub’s f’er the big leagues, twerp.” All eyes looked to the pale runt who shrunk a little in embarrassment. In a rather inept act of retaliation, Papercut shut his eyes and held an arm outstretched. The tabloids shuttered, and the front page image of Citzen Abra was roused for an attack which was swiftly ended by a knife slammed into it. Mcculloch gave a sharp glare towards the bar, Papercut shriveled and with a bitter frown glared into his drink like a defeated puppy. ”You gonna pay your tab, Mcculloch?” Evan clenched his chipped teeth. How was he supposed to make any cash in times like this!? Speedsters were up his ass like an enema, these dumb rules were like a noose around his neck, and whatever little money he did make wasn’t enough for... Well, he’d rather not talk about that. He rubbed an itch in his nose and glared into his booth like a seething toddler. ”I told ye’, I got a nice cushy job lined up! I’m gonna hit it big, an’ I’ll ‘ave lots a dough to settle with, aye?” She wasn’t buying it. ”You said that last week, Mirror Master.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but McCulloch was p!ssed. ”I hadn’t started yet, been transitionin’ out of the interview process, I’ll ‘ave the money next week now will ye’ give me ma’ #%)$en drink!?” The roguish reflection hissed like a viper, every word soaking in venom. He got what he wanted. She sloppily slid a decaf soy latte with whiskey shots down his lonely booth, purposely causing half of it to spill. “Here’s your usual, asshat.”
”Thank you, nob.”
Open to Rogues | Wally West
Open to Rogues | Wally West
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