capeandcowl2020 | Open Post 001

It's a good life.

She can be open about her proper shape, her magic. She lives in luxury. She finally has the partnership of a man whose ambitions match her own, in Xanatos. And all she has to do in return is hunt down people she'd never liked very much anyway. Yes, being on the winning side is nice, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

Unless it started losing, of course. But that's a scheme for another day, and until the imPorts learn to strike back better, Khisanth is solidly a government creature.

She can be found any number of places these days: comfortably lounging in the most expensive seating booth of some opera, or play, or something (not that she cares about them, but she likes the prestige and pampering), dining in the finest restaurants, on the way to some wonderful vacation spot... or 200 feet long and tearing apart some desolate countryside to get at her latest target. Or sometimes even visiting the jails Xanatos has built, to say hello to former acquaintances and people she'd caught. Gloating never loses its sweet taste.

"Well, well, well." The Major's grin broadened when he saw the cave of wonders the Penguin had beneath his establishment. This boded well indeed.

"I feel extremely welcome, I can assure you. It's obvious you have accomplished impressive things, Herr Cobblepot." He spread his arms. "You deserve congratulations for all this."

And then it started to sink in, and his expression slowly shifted into his calm poker face. Jon was one of them, he was working for them. The keepers. They frightened Julian in a way that the guards at NOHoPE rarely did, so filled with hate, not for what he had done but for who he was.

Frightened. And with that thought he rearranged his thoughts. It seemed obvious then, that Jon would be the one causing fear.

He had been quiet for a bit too long again. What was it that Jon wanted? Something. Something to bring back.

He tried to think of something, of anything, but the only thing he could think of was the date.

"Leap Day, Julian calendar. The day the Gregorian calendar was introduced. February 24th."

"It's okay. Just relax. Breathe." She shushed him, a sound meant to be more comforting than dismissive, towel at the ready to press to his wound. It was white, fresh, new, and it would be thrown away as soon as they were done with it. Such was the life of the towels and linens around this place.

Without prying at him too much, she tried to examine him, pale blue eyes flashing with concern. He was correct, he was losing a lot of blood, but Helena was sure she could at least get him stabilized and comfortable before she'd have to get additional help. First aid was never her favorite part of this lifestyle and more often than not it was Dick having to patch her up and not the other way around.

"What was it?" She finally asked, ignoring the way the crimson of his blood stained the stark white fabric. It was staining her hands too, but she would worry about that later. For now, she wanted to know how he'd been hurt, and with this mess before her she simply couldn't tell.

"Yeah. You hated my guts, I'm sure of it. Heh... what? Do you miss that Mitchell?" He couldn't help but tease Mitchell. The guy sounded like he could use some lightening of the mood. Everyone could use some happier news in their lives in these pressing times.

"Don't worry about us, we need you where you're at Mitchell. Someone's gotta make sense of things."

He stood rail straight, watching every motion. Pherson, predictably, kind of stank. Like a human who had forgotten what it was to be a human, and why should he be surprised? The guy was practically an animal, likely. Trying to speak to him with his voice, that was a strong indication that he'd forgotten things.

He uncrossed his arms, and then crossed them again. What did he even say? What did he do in this situation?

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'd say you're the one who's lost a bit too much. You look like a hobo," a beat, "and you smell like one too."

"You're--that writer." Not that he read seditious material, he barely read at all anymore. Why bother? His job was his life, most of the rest of the time he just tried to avoid thinking about it.

Discordant. Symphony--he was listening for that heartbeat, trying to figure out if this man was lying to him. Straining. Hoping against hope he could give the man a clean bill of innocence.

"No, it's--" No, it's terrible. "A lot of things are different, now. No citizen has the right to break the law."

He wondered if Adrian could tell he was mouthing the words. "And ImPorts caused a lot of damage to this world. They're right to be upset." That, he spoke with conviction.

"Hate's such a strong word--" he started, but stopped, shaking his head.

"I know. Believe me, I wouldn't do you guys much good out on the front lines," he paused, a faint and fond smile on his face. "Did you know I jetpacked into a chain link fence once? I'm not exactly made for battle, you know."

He even laughed, Jesus, he was an idiot.

[ Khisanth really likes to visit the jails. It warms her heart to see so many people there that she'd had a hand in locking away, and she especially loves it when they recognize her human shape. Some of them shrink away, remembering the dragon. Some of them shout and curse. Her favorite ones are the ones that glare, though. Like maybe if they hated her deeply enough, something would actually come of it. It makes her laugh.

And of course, she loves to drag Xanatos with her. What kid wants to visit a candy shop alone? It's always better with company, with someone to enjoy it with her. She has her arm threaded through Xanatos's, looking just as young and virile as she had when she'd first shown up in the City. The wide, pleased smile definitely helps. ]

David, do you remember the fat man? The one who thought he would raise an army. I've heard he's been transferred here.

Doomsday devices, actually. But I'll forgive the misconception, nobody's perfect.

[a long moment. this tea literally cannot get done slowly enough. his fake City accept is crisp as ever.]

Besides, I ain't exactly well-behaved enough to be arm candy material.

Quentin had to laugh, clasping a hand on Mitchell's shoulder. Wow, why haven't they gotten along previously? Oh. Right. Quentin was the biggest asshole in existence.

"Heh, well my first time on a jetpack I had a telepathic seizure. Kind of embarrassing to be the kid that has to be saved by the janitor and his tongue." He smiles again, shaking his head. "Jetpacks aside, you're strong for us where you're at now but... that doesn't mean you're not strong Mitch. Don't beat yourself up over it too hard," a beat.

"I can tell you're worried."

'Richard' showed up promptly like the easygoing professional he was, suspecting nothing. 'Gwen's' cover was solid, and he showed up with his tools in hand expecting just another bit of work that would help pay for his hiding for a bit longer.

He didn't look much like a cop anymore. He'd kept himself in great shape of course, but he was still closing in on sixty after a hard life and looked it. In his work jeans and short-sleeved shirt, he looked more like a blue-collar worker nearing retirement than a commando. Of course, that was the point.

"Hi, Gwen." He had an easy smile that was as fake as most everything else. "Richard Walsh, I'm here about the pipe."

"Jaime." Jack smiled, and it was genuine, the first genuine one he'd had in a while. "You grew a beard. You look good." And he could guess who that girl was.

"How's Abby?"

[Eridan is busy vaguely panicking, though by now he's perfected the Lalonde Pokerface - the only show of anxiety is running his hand through his hair, mussing it up. he undoes his apron, balling it up in his fist.]

One, we don't fuckin' serwe crumpets.

[he wings the apron at Karkat's head.]

Two, I got a shitload a really god damn incriminatin' shit in my house! You're gonna take the both a us down, do you fuckin' realize that?

Adrian leaned forward, lifting his eyebrows. He watched him like a hawk, brown eyes taking in the details, watching. He'd gotten so good at reading lips, he'd had to in his work. All the voices, millions of mechanical voices at all times, he could hear the goddamned light right now, he'd had to improvise, learn to understand people through a cacophony of voices. He'd almost thought Piper had said it, his lip twitching, but his mind caught up to himself, he kept himself from speaking until he was finished, indicating the world outside, the window, with a finger.

"Of course we are!" he said, a small jovial smile with him. Like a native citizen who supported import rights getting to meet one of them for the first time in a while. "Destruction doesn't do us any good, but we know that the government's holding a great deal of your kind prisoner. They're not letting any of your kind go, are they? Only if they work for you?" he lifted an eyebrow. "I don't know, that doesn't exactly sound like the land of the free, does it? If it was just registration, things may be different, but secret police? Discrimination? This sounds like the country that put the Japanese in internment camps, not the country that tried to make up for those actions afterward."

He looked straight at him. Former employee. Friend. The fucking Pied Piper. Flash villain turned supporting cast. It was eerie, he'd always tried to hide it, see all of these characters as people, but still, it was hard to distinguish it. Keep what he knew separate. He struggled even to this day, even to this minute. He couldn't be throwing this guy's history in his face.

You know, hatin' ewerybody, plottin' the death a the globe. Normal shit.

[and while Quentin is quieter, Eridan is not so careful. half because people joke about murder all the time in this city, and half because - well, he'd almost welcome someone to fight at this point. he throws his arm around Quentin's shoulder.]

I am now. You wanna grab a drink?

There was always a cycle of death and rebirth; that had been what brought Moon Knight into existence, and it lingered still. Marc Spector died, donned the vestments of Moon Knight, and birthed Steven Grant and Jake Lockley, who rewarded their creator by smothering his life. They came in turns, each one resenting the previous more and more, and Khonshu now found he had no use for any of them.

Oh, they were still present. In the daylight Marc Spector woke, or sometimes it was Jake, or Steven. It did not matter much anymore who it was, when they were all dwarfed, all too defeated to even want command of their shared vessel. Their sleep broke with sweat and cries, mostly about women; about Marlene or the Atlantean woman, or the one who had called herself Wasp. All three had once promised comforts, even if only briefly, and no such things existed now, which was all very well by him. Khonshu had no desire for such mortal connections.

Khonshu desired his own kinship. He desired Gods.

Khonshu only rose at night, where the Moon granted him strength even in his servant's wasted body. The vestments were ragged, scrapped in too many places. The cowl was ruined, and his face remained concealed by messily bound strips of fabric, like ancient mummification -- like home.

His path brought him to the Park, which was mostly empty this late into the night. Khonshu always had a sense of these things, and they did not fail him now, as he found precisely what he had been looking for.

"Hello, Ra."

[ she seeks him out whenever he's in town. even with the distance that comes from working the different ways that they do, she's still terribly fond of him. she always shows up in costume, the white sliver of the partial eclipse on her chest and her blonde hair shining bright in the darkness. ]

Grasshopper.

"Doing alright," he replied, nodding his head. His smile was a bit of a smirk. "For the most part. But she won't sit still for a second, even if she should."

A hand withdrew from his pocket, dragging through his hair and resting on the back of his neck. His expression softened, taking a second to readjust his glasses.

"She's due in three months, so...y'know, it's kind of a good idea to kick back, but." Heh. His eyebrows lift as he sighs, smiling fondly. "But that's not been going as planned."

He was quiet a moment, reflective. Then, looking up, he spoke again.

"Think you'll be around long enough to drop by?"

[eridan pls. well quentin laughs anyways. it's good to know some people don't change despite everything that'd been thrown at them, and he returns the shoulder embrace by linking his hand behind eridan. giving his shoulderblades a firm pat.]

Drinks? Why not? Got a place in mind?

He looked down at her hand on his hand, then back at her, and then lowered his head a little, like a wound-down toy.

"Oh."

It was unclear what he was saying oh to, although he took another moment or two seemingly to gather himself.

"Have you eaten? "

That was it, it had all been Quentin, and none of it had been Mitchell being, in general, a dick. He knew he was a dick, anyway. He'd always had a small streak of it.

"Hey now, let's not get into the speeches, huh? Don't worry about me. I just need to lie low, and keep my head down, and work on a new book. You don't worry about me, okay? I'm the propaganda guy," he paused, and frowned. "Just... don't tell anyone you saw me, alright? I figured you knew, but--" he shook his head, and waved a hand.

'Team Fear' wasn't the official name, but that was what Kate had taken to calling the secret special ops team she and Phobos had accumulated over the past several years. They were mostly teenagers when the registration movement became widespread. Someone them had been arrested, some had surrendered, others had managed to evade capture. Kate counted herself amongst the latter, though she held no grudge against those who had been forced to register. They had a common enemy, one she intended to take out with the help of her team.

Colder than before and hardened by a life spent running and fighting the government, she's still the best choice to serve as spokesperson for their group. A recruiter of sorts, she seeks out imPorts who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty and cause a little chaos, all in the name of liberty and justice for all.

"Mitchell, I know you can handle yourself. You're a grown ass man. And I also know better than to tell anyone, hell, I'll probably mind wipe myself so the information doesn't leak, okay?" He meant it too. For the safety of Mitchell it's something Quentin would do to protect the other's identity and location.

"Besides, if you couldn't survive, well, you'd have been dead since day one."

Well then. If he's here, let's go find him. I'm sure he'll love to see your smiling face.

[ And at the least, they can look over him and gloat. He smirked at Khisanth as they walked down the aisles of the jail. ]

Open Post 001

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/holds close

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IF THIS ISN'T OKAY SMACK ME OR SOMETHING

i'm doing this in brackets because i'm lazy

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open;

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