Anything is fair game... just don't complain when someone with more Whateley-verse savvy shoots your theory out of the sky.
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Dorms of our lives Season 5!
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Also, dang do I hate fat-fingering posts. Still, C&C:
But a lot of it had been from her as well, stories from her old life in Italy, that she never told anyone else.
How much did they teach you about the glories of vendetta?
The donkey is leaving the stable. Sensible words in a nonsensical context. Much like everything else these days. She dialed back the number immediately.
Not bad, buuuut... Nah, I'll stick to Jack-In-A-Cage.
His roommate Tobias mumbled a "Good luck" as he left. Vic could only hope the words were heard by some higher power.
Author is on your side dude. They are usually vicious pricks, but they will give justice in the end. Usually *cough*Wildbow*cough*
Next to her was his partner in this current fiasco, Calliope. While they were technically on the same team, the so-called Mutant Mayhem Machine, the fact that the M3 hadn't actually done any sort of training together meant he was completely in the dark about what she could do in a fight.
And that needs to be fixed. Team Kimba 2.0 needs to get the 0.76 version of Don Assholo's group, the Attack Bitches.
A sharp clearing of the throat brought them both to attention. The woman called Patience directed them both to sit. On the wall, a flatscreen blinked, and then displayed a map of the local underground. "If we're all ready..." said the metallic voice from the phone conversation earlier. "Jack-Asshole is taking his own sweet time getting out the door. Estimated time of arrival at the convenience store is ten minutes. Security cameras in the corridors nearby will go out in fifteen."
Welp, I guess Mrs. Crocodile Tears remembered the Syndicate updated its policy for recruitment with a 'Unprofessional Losers Welcome (
Not that he hadn't considered inventing some sort of tele-pad, as much for escape as for ducking out to get a pie, but the initial tests had convinced him to can that one. He didn't want to go out for pizza, only to look like the pizza afterwards.
And i just bet that loser goes for Hawaian pizzas anyways. Serve him right.
It was a long list, but a quick search. Lashandra Washington. Muliebris. Exemplar 4, Empath 1, blanket projection. Amazon.
Hands off, Attack Bitches! This degenerate is reserved already.
There was a clap of hands behind him. He didn't dare turn to look. "Bravo, Dick-in-a-Box."
Totally impartial opinion? That one is pure shit. Way under Mrs. Crocodile Tears' level.
Oh-double-shit, that was StahlFaust. He didn't need his brain to pull up the details, though it did anyway: Brita Baumann, Exemplar 1, Telekinetic 4 brick, and built like a brick house.
But that is a given for someone doing only Stale Farces, eh?
Nefertiti Copeland, his brain provided. Copacetic, Exemplar 2, Regeneration 2, Paragon 1, dance and gymnastic focus. Skin like mahogany, lithe and supple, the face of an angel and the body of... well, he'd had high hopes of getting to know all of her better last weekend, before the Amazons had busted in. From the expression on her face, she was remembering that time as well, and not so fondly.
Can't even turn it off in mortal danger. Darin, explain this shit to me, please.
"Good going," said StahlFaust. "Now, ruin that face of his. We've had enough of that smirk to last us forever."
I wish the same could happen to your degenerate ass too, Stale Farce.
It was a shame about the groceries, though. He never had the chance to enjoy his Cryo-Cola.
Evil vs Evil, and it is still a loss for everyone who matters. Happy to know you still all know how to disappoint, Copacetic excluded.
"That's not all you got," Ground Chuck replied, in that voice that wasn't nearly as deep and menacing as the frosh would have liked. "Lotsa people aren't happy with you."
"What else is new?" he quipped. "Come on! Masterminds help each other out when the heat's on!"
*Shout across stories* Ditch that carpet, Glyph. Not only he is Mastermind, but he is letting that shit crawl in! Gideon was at least useful as a meatshield.
"We also work for the highest bidder, and she doesn't like you at all."
All is hopefully not lost though.
In the spray of the sprinklers, the new kid's face was hardly visible, but Jack's brain just wouldn't stop feeding him the details, as much as he'd like to tell it to shut the fuck up: Victor Rivera, Tidestriker, Telekinetic 4, hydrokinesis with a tactile limitation... His brain halted so fast that his ears hurt from the phantom record scratch.
I think Brainy also needs to tell you you just got baited. Hard. (See voctor? That's how you game tactile hydrokinesis).
He could see the kid's eyes now, because they were flashing blue with rage in the darkness. Then the light faded, and he heard Vapo-Rub say, "No. You're not worth killing."
Also, no killsteal.
Who... was walking in from the other corridor, skipping over the puddles as she made a beeline for him. For the last time that night, his brain spent precious seconds processing instead of doing anything useful: Fiorella Persico, né Fabrizio, Calliope, Exemplar 2, Empath 4, sonic component. The trap. How'd she...
Oh, it is doing something useful. It is telling you how fucked you are, and irritates you. Win at all the important levels.
"You hurt Neff." Three little words bore more emotion, stronger emotion, than all the rest combined. He could not move, could hardly begin to think, as the trap stepped in close, took his head in her hands, and screamed.
Feel the pain, motherfucker.
"Why the lies. Why the tricks. Why the... why the everything!" An inhabitual frown had installed itself upon the girl's face.
"I would assume," said Brita, choosing her words carefully, "that it was to avoid the very series of events she has been living for the past four days."
"Wish I'd know before... well, before anything," said the girl. "Could've avoided some of the weirdness. Prolly some of the trauma, too."
Yees, and I just bet that when she is between the Screeching Bitch's claws, the hurt just seems to fade and is replaced only with happinness?
No brainwashing, my soy-sauce roasted chicken ass.
She would still need to keep an eye on Calliope, though.
Afraid she'll smell the Screeching Bitch's work? You should.
She... she... her hands trembled as she stared at them. What had she done? Why... why had she liked it, rejoiced in it, even as the worst of all emotions poured from her? What...
Because he is a subhuman reject who deserved it all.
"I... I..." Tears were streaming, and her throat was closed by sobs. "I did something... something terrible..."
Terribly awesome. But I guess that pain is why you are a good person.
It was almost midnight. A low, plaintive cry broke the silence of the lower halls, where few busy drones still worked at this hour. The owner of those lungs did not care who heard, so long as they were heard, and they continued until a response was received.
A warm response, a safe response, smelling faintly of sweat and soap. Strong arms cradled, rocked, and a full breast was presented. Gina Winifred Greenwood, two months old and already a little commanderette, accepted it gladly with loud slurps and gurgles as milk went in and around her greedy mouth.
There was no noise at all for many minutes, not until a satisfied belch punched the air and a happy infant was laid down in her crib to sleep once more.
"Mission accomplished?" her father asked with a grin as her mother left the nursery.
*sigh* One more kid to deprogramm after your little wacky nazi scam is ruined, I guess. How the shit did she ever find her way with... That? It's not like she had an immediate family to glorify that shit.
Blue eyes, more sapphire than ice, showed her smile more than her mouth did. "Yes... How I would have killed for a break like this in L.A. So." Danielle inhaled deeply. "Shall we go knock them dead?"
Urge of discovering the Wolfenstein series rising.
"I hate this fucking school sometimes," he muttered into his coffee.
Only sometimes? Darwinian shit got to be more lethal than that in frequency.
"Anonymous tip-off at half-past one," Canterbury began, her eyes closed as she recited from memory. "A specific set of coordinates in the underground. Officer Pipps was first on the scene." Now she grimaced.
Lafayette chose not to recall the exact reasons why Pipps was on graveyard shift. Not pertinent at the moment. "Go on."
"The Thawne kid was found unconscious at the intersection. Beaten up, but no obvious reason for a K.O., according to Tennant. Lots of kids walk out of Tolson's AMA class with more damage. She's thinking some sort of power's in play."
Why complain? it's Jack-In-A-Cage.
"One last thing," said Canterbury. "Aster over in Cyber Security sent us an update about half an hour ago. Someone's produced a full log from the domestic system of that little love nest where the Copeland girl was being coerced last Saturday..."
"Do we know who that someone is?"
"Aster's not saying, so it has to be one of her protégés. My money's on Ping. But guess who's in all the footage?"
Now he leaned forward, feeling a thrill of vindication and thus more human than before. "Not the Grimsby kid, then."
And he is about to deserve his name. I'd say all is perfectly well.
"Okay..." A sigh flowed from his lips. "Don't, ah, mention this to Tanya just yet, please? It's, ah..."
"Gotcha." Grabbing his hand, Erica gave it a good, strong shake. "My lips are sealed."
Why? You delivered true justice, or at least as close as it would get, to a degenerate. Figured she'd be proud.
Though there was indeed much one could tell at a glance. The awkward, nervous girl of their first session was back in force after the more relaxed experience of the previous day's meeting. If anything, Calliope was even more withdrawn in her rocking chair, with her knees brought up against her chest and her face planted squarely down upon them. She'd been that way for twenty minutes now. His entire shelf of anime figurines was taken down, sorted, and re-shelved before she said her first word of the day: "Belin."
Sweetie, compassion, or at least grief and regret after chosing violence, is a nice thing to have, but don't waste that much of it on Jack-In-A-Cage. I can just bet you you weren't the first one.
That was not necessarily intended as a request, but the girl took it as such anyway. "L-last night, or perhaps rather this morning, I... I... I was given an offer, a chance to hit back at one of those boys who had made my life so terrible last weekend, and I, I..."
"Took the opportunity?"
"Si..." When she lifted her head again, he could see the tear streaks. "I... I am..."
"A fairly normal teenager who has been mistreated and harmed, then given a chance to strike back," he said. "I would find it stranger if you had done nothing with such an opportunity."
What the Wise Guy just said.
"Meloetta is special," he explained. "Just like that, she switches from lyrical and psychic to a flamenco-kicking fighter. We adapt to our situation, and sometimes that means temporarily becoming something else in order to deal with it all. The trick," he concluded as he flipped the figurine back over, "is to learn how to change back to our earlier state, if we can, or strike a balance if we cannot."
Calliope? Here is a role model.
"Did you get an email from Gazebo?" Chessa inquired. "We might have a chance to game next week."
"Um, haven't checked my inbox recently," she admitted. "It's been a crazy day."
"It started early."
May Gygax and Arneson be with you. I already read the whole piece.
"I am sorry to be late," announced the science teacher, Mrs. Hastings, from the door. Eyeing Marcus as she passed, the teacher added, "I am guessing some of you watched the latest big detective program last night? A show of hands."
About half the class acknowledged, though no one seemed happy to admit it at the moment. Mrs. Hastings was usually a fun teacher to have, but this morning, her grin was like two sawblades, and her eyes were sharper still. Under one arm, she carried a box with far too many warning labels plastered upon it.
"Let it be known," said the teacher in heavy tones, "that anyone caught making a drick joke or other reference tò̸͝ t͝͠h̷̛͘at͝ s̛͡h̷͟͝ow ͟will be treated to a close and personal demonstration of what a real Diedrick's Syndrome episode is like, ending in extirpation."
Welp, Mutants also get insulting shows about their conditions... Huzzah for equality?
"Um, what the heck does that even mean?" asked one of the boys in the back.
That sawblade smile turned his way. "Would you like to find out?"
"No, I'm fine," came the hurried response. Nervous giggles across the room were quickly choked back.
Inch by inch, the stupid is scared away.
"Good." Inhaling deeply, Mrs. Hastings appeared to count silently, and her overall mien softened by a few points on the Mohs scale. "All things considered, I am changing up the lesson plan for today. I've not been in the best of moods since last night, so..." The teacher struck a pose, spearing the air with a finger as her lab coat flared out behind her in a dramatic fashion that must have been engineered into it. "Grab your lab gear, ladies and gents! There'll be no namby-pamby sugar solutions today, oh no! We're heading out to the quad to blow some shit up!"
Actual huzzah for the show I guess.
"Hey, Shake'n'Bake," the younger of the two said, moving in to block the way.
"Hey yourself, Mac'n'Cheese," he replied.
"It's Macarthur," the boy snapped. "Or better, Backlash. Show some respect."
No, it's The Idiot, period... What? I'm not using Attack Bitches things, were did you get the idea my standards would drop to the point I'd draw from Jack-In-A-Cage's garbage?
Muscles tensed -- to run, not to fight. He didn't doubt the outcome. "Respect comes to those who give it," Shawn said. "So call me Shawn, or Tremblor, or something else besides that stupid nickname. Jack gave 'em to both of us, and neither of us like it, so screw him."
"Someone already did. He won't be nick-naming anyone any time soon." That was from Gouyasse.
PLease, as if anybody had standards low enough for that.
The trick, he was learning, was to push the shakes in a direction they couldn't be seen, in that spot perpendicular to reality. When the Belgian attempted to grab him by the arm, he shook himself farther that way and slipped through Gouyasse's fingers, quite literally. From the look on the other boy's face, it hadn't felt that nice.
Pretty sure I want to understand exactly what that mindfuckery is... Do it again to him or another of the Pit's Losers.
"We saw MacMoron and Monsieur Drunky try to pin you," Saumer translated. "What's got their dander up?"
Nice spirit, people, and nice finds. PLease keep them and cherish them.
Arsi's eyes tracked back and forth as he attempted to figure out what to do. Then, with a shrug he lifted his cup and proudly stated, "To infinity, and beyond! Um, I am the doing it right?"
His roommate's grin could light a room. "Don't ever change, dude."
"Okey and the dokey!"
This is precious and must be protected at all costs. Preferably the trespassers and threateners' life though.
Nick was one whom she'd worried about, not knowing much of how the lumbering horse-boy thought of anything, but he'd only given her a very large thumb's-up in encouragement.
I'd say being a horse-boy open up horizons.
"Every morning," the devisor confirmed with a nod. A careful nod, what with the likely weight upon her neck. "It's an MATD thing, they think. You know, Manifestation-Augmented Tissue Deformity? Instead of keratin, my hair up there's made up of these weird polymer strands that are each essentially a single long chain. I just let it grow out to the necessary length, chop it off, and send it through the machines I invented to process it." She beamed happily, though the intensity dimmed as she noticed the mixed expression on Calliope's face. "Um, I didn't weird you out, did I? Oh no, I did..."
Shame Kaiju couldn't do something similar with her carapace.
Assistance could come in many forms, so when Ngaire suggested she make the walk to the Music Class mini-auditorium in the performance suit prototype, Calliope was in no position to refuse. The material was sheer but layered, shimmering darkly as she moved, and if it showed more on top than she would prefer in public, that was as much the fault of the push-up brassiere she had chosen for the day. Weaponized femininity, as Erica's aunt had called it when they'd gone bra shopping at the nice stores in New York City.
Eh, it works on more than 50% of the planet, so it is a go. Yes more than 50%, huzzzah to lesbians.
"Lo no sapero lusinghe d'amore... Canzione d'amore... veleni d'amore..." The words were true -- perhaps too true -- She'd known not the delightful temptations of love, the songs and the poisonous nature of love, until it was too late to avoid them. At home and at Whateley, she'd thought it come, only for heartache.
Nothing that breaking the Attack Bitches and their brainwashing bitch can't fix.
It should have been a quiet period. She should have spent it in Herr Auer's office, discussing her latest homework and compositions. That was the current plan, to ensure she did not become the receiving end of Kirsten's ire yet again. Much good that it had done.
Wasamon, please tell me we get to see that Wahnsinnig bitch gets to learn about Erica's grandmother. I want to see the moment her soul just burns.
"Gutentag," replied Brita Baumann, code-named StahlFaust. "Though to call it good," the upperclasswoman continued in German, "is something I am unsure of."
Yeah, I know. Nice day and all, and bam, Attack Bitch Alpha is polluting my scenery.
"Mostly Disney in German," Brita admitted, making an exaggerated grimace of shame. "And mostly at friends' houses. My grandmother, she did not approve of such things."
You're not excusing being Attack Bitch Alpha with shitty grandparents, Stale Farce.
Erica grimaced. "My own mother, she... when she learned about some parts of the family history..." The Nazi science experiment parts, not to mention being a designer baby herself. "...she did not take it well, and left. Went to seek her fortune in Hollywood or somewhere. She only came home once, to sign over custody of me to Oma and Opa, and in the decade since then we've only heard from her a few times."
if only it was only that... YOu are the fucking daughters of the ultimate Nazi Hunters! Just. Why?
"I believe I know what you are thinking," said Brita.
"What?" Erica wanted to know as well.
"How did someone with a grandmother like that end up here, at Whateley, and with the Amazons?"
Pretty sure the answer is precisely 'a grandmother like that'.
"Yes. Perhaps under similar circumstances to your own. We might even be teammates, in the future."
Argh, my soul, my brains, they burn! Please, Brain Bleach! I need to purge that vision at all cost!
"It might," Brita agreed. "Of course, our offer for you to join the Amazons is still open, even though we understand why you might not wish to."
Hopefully you never get the whole story, Stale Farce... This is totally happening next chapter uh, Mr. Ironic Overpower?
"So did I, at one point. Or so I thought. I've learned better." A predatory look had settled into the older girl's eyes.
Euh, can borrow a Creep/Rape-O-Meter? Mine exploded for no reason.
"There's not," Erica affirmed. "Not unless Valentina really does have the power to turn girls lesbian -- and even then, I doubt it."
Another laugh and slap rattled the table. "I shall have to tell her that one," chuckled Brita. "She will be amused at how the legend grows. But no, Val is perceptive, and a strong empath, but her ability to suggest directly with her power is limited. But you would be amazed at what people can be convinced into doing when they believe they can blame it on outside control... But alas, no. She can sense interest and encourage you to act on it, but she cannot create that interest in the first place."
Not with the power, you mean.And that's assuming you (or Screeching Bitch) are telling the truth.
Every instinct in Erica's hindbrain was screaming that it would be a bad idea, a terrible idea, a magnificently disastrous idea to punch the junior in the face. She almost did anyway, only redirecting the vector of her fist towards the table surface at the last blink. The crater it left on the fake wood went on to crack the unfortunate piece of cheap furniture all the way across.
What did this poor table do when a perfectly smug and repugnant Attack Bitch is there to punch? I cy would give you a medal.
"Of transgender folk. No, I do not. The majority are a medical oddity at best, a psychological issue at worst. Calliope's sort is rarer, and far more female than most, but it is still..." Brita balled a fist. "It is... it still feels wrong to me. I may think it over a hundred, a thousand times, and it still feels so. It is not within me to accept your roommate for what she wishes to be, but that does not mean I cannot like her as a person or respect her for her actions."
That was a large load of scheisse, but Erica let it slide down into the toilet of memory to be flushed away.
Danke schön, Erica.
Brita got up to leave, shaking her head. "I told you; Val can suggest all she wants, but she has to work with what's already there. That much vehemence does not just happen in a few hours. No... it is a sad truth of this world that we cannot know how people, how our friends or family, will react to our inner selves, should we reveal them. That is what makes such revelations so difficult. That is why there are things about me which my own Oma shall never know. No matter how well I might predict the response, I still fear what it may be. Ask your roommate; she will understand."
Erica understood all too well herself, for reasons she would never say to the junior. There was no doubt in her mind how that revelation would be received. So instead of speaking up, she let the Amazon leave, taking the few extra minutes to inspect the damage to the table before going in search of someone to report it to.
Conneries. That shit was there to influence thanks to Jack-In-A-Cage, tiny seeds that bitch could water all too easily, precisely because of that sea of little hurts always percolating inside the mind. Like I said, Pavlovian conditionning and emotional manipulation for vanilla brainwashing, with Screeching Bitch as a catalyzer. Disappointed you're not seeing it, Erica.Your world is more familiar with brainwashing than mine.
Tutoring sessions with cute German girls went a long way towards explaining the rest.
Some motviations are universal.
Erica wasn't there, of course -- she operated on a different schedule for some reason -- but neither was Brita.
That was too bad; the Amazon was actually quite a good tutor.
Still got to teach him a few fundamentals though. His ability to detect subhuman bitches is still lacking.
Though he was more of an audio man, there was no way his eyes could miss how Kirsten's smile morphed into a tight frown. The tones of her voice supported the shift. "I see. Well, I would be careful with that one. The apple does not fall far from the trunk, and the tree of her family has terrible roots. She is nothing but trouble."
Progress are ongoing though.
"I'll take your word for it," he said politely. In his opinion, anyone who liked role-playing games couldn't be that bad, and Erica certainly seemed nice enough when he'd seen her around campus. "Oh, have you heard of a game called Das Schwarz Auge? A friend recommended I look into it, since I'm studying German."
"No, I can't say that I have," Kirsten admitted. "It is a video game?"
"Tabletop," he said. "With dice?"
"Oh. One of those games. No, definitely not." She opened the book to the first story, 'Der Froschkönig,' and gave it a quick skim with her eyes. "So, where shall we begin?"
I like Saumer even more. Wahnsinnig? I'm not even surprised you find new ways to sink even lower.
Judging a person by their interests was about as useful as judging a book by its cover. In either case, it gave you a pretty quick idea of what their life was all about. Saumer was pretty sure in his judgments. Kirsten was a great tutor, skilled at explaining why sentences were arranged as they were, and good at answering any questions he might have.
He still liked Erica more, though.
Progress are ongoing, like I said.
"I thought as much. I take it you told him?"
"And he is not taking this to Security?"
"And you're considering to do so anyway?"
A hard slump back into the chair, her teacup abandoned on the table.
Come on, the dirty little degenrate totally had it coming!
"Calliope..." The brief flash of concern came and left the woman's face faster than the eye could perceive, but she heard the accompanying jingle of emotion clearly. "If it is punishment, expiation that you require, then I can arrange that. I would be utilizing the same avenues which Mr. Thawne so abused, in fact. Provided it is accepted, you would receive detention for a known offense -- beating Alvina Baxter senseless, for example -- in exchange for an anonymous admission of guilt for Mr. Thawne's state."
"Would... would that work?" she asked.
"In most likelihood it would," said the woman, now speaking as Patience. "Especially as you did not kill the young man. I would strongly advise against testing the limits of this particular set of rules, however. As it stands, Security would be assured that the culprit was caught and punished. They can certainly figure out who did it, of course, but they shall let it lie. The doctors at the hospice would likely wish to know what sort of power did the damage as well, to adjust their therapeutic regimens. And I will most likely be having more than one uncomfortable conversation with the headmaster or assistant headmaster on my role in this whole sordid mess. I would much prefer not having to repeat the experience too often, if you understand my meaning?"
You gave him the out, Crocodile Years. You can pony up.
"Because you are hurt. Because you are angry. Those are not good things for a good person to be, because you have little experience working through it, and it will do more harm to you than anyone else. What the Masterminds offer you, Calliope, is a means of releasing those negative moods, to be the bad girl in a controlled, constructive manner, so you can continue to be the good girl in public. An opportunity to learn, to flex your mind and body in new ways, to gain new skills which shall serve you later in life. I have checked; fewer than one-third of the Masterminds alumni have turned to active villainy, and several of those were under duress. More have become actual heroes, applying what they learned here and being all the more effective for it. Like the assistant Headmaster's wife, to provide one example."
Tabby Cat felt more like an outlier for that crew, and she is slightly forgetting Jack-In-A-Cage was here too. On the plus side, you can tell Glyph about Carpet if you accept.
Patience saluted her with a teacup in hand, a rare smile gracing her lips.
She fixed your mess, Crocodile Tears, forget the smug.
"Woo-hoo! How do you do!" Hannah added. "Here for TV night? The show's about to start!"
She glanced at the TV. "What show... oh." The word DRICK had appeared on the screen, in neo-futuristic chrome letters reminiscent of 1950s science fiction. "My science teacher had some interesting things to say about this one."
Well, technically, it is all good. You got to blow up stuff thanks to it.
"Uh-oh, Tommy's having a temper tantrum..." came the line, spoken by one of the secondary cast members as the hero suddenly snarled and spat at... pretty much everyone, once the enemies had all been one-shotted by suspiciously accurate marksmanship. Apparently that was another symptom of Diedrick's, as far as the show was concerned. So was the ability to create a devise capable of breaching a vault door, using only sundry office supplies.
So MacGyver had Diedrick's? Explain many things.
The eisenkreuz, the Iron Cross, was one of the most recognizable emblems of Germany, right after the historically problematic hakenkreuz. Like four sharp arrowheads oriented to a shared center point, its design was stark and distinct. In this instance, it was also an emerald green.
Eh, get the show back! Hastings still hasn't reached the point where she'll allow the use of nitro for next lesson!
"People of the United States! Of Canada and England, of France and Germany!" The words were spoken with a German accent. Standing full center-screen, the woman wore a military-styled jacket with gold fringe on blocky shoulders and strange insignia on the chest. A gilded valkyrie mask gazed out at the world. "I speak to you today of a subject which affects us all, of a threat which for too long has been neglected, left to its own devices to fester and rot our beloved nations from within. This illness this blight, this worm in the apple of the tree of life itself weakens us as nations, as people, and as a species.
Je t'emmerde, connasse. Also, didn't need you to know about the Nazi Blight.
"I speak of course of the mutant scourge..."
Funny how your Führer had brown hair and everything. Must mean he was a nazi mutant, henceforth you are mutants too to be purged by your own logic... And I now need brain bleach for forget I was thinking like that bitch for a few seconds.
"That's not the Green Cross," she said. "I, I've met the real deal, last summer. We're like third or fourth cousins, something like that."
Oh, the petty bitches go for 'One Identity For All'. Budget couldn't get you more?
On the screen, the Green Cross was only getting warmed up. "And who is complicit?" she charged. "Who allows this genetic filth to spread beneath the surface, hidden in plain sight? None other than our heroes, they who rely on an unnatural culture of secrecy to maintain their masquerade. Capes, cowls, masks... what use are they to hide our identities in this day and age of smartphones and biometrics? No, the very mechanisms of law and culture which lead us to look the other way, to ignore the familiar faces behind the gaudy adornments, to overlook the obvious, to turn blind eyes to even the most blatant of secrets. In truth, we have it in us to expose every hero, every villain to ever hide their face, and to do it by the end of the following day!
Like your mask, bitch? Yup, Blatant Hypocrisy, alright. Nazis. I hate these people.
"How much harder, then, should it be to expose the unnatural posing as natural, to root out the changelings hidden within our midst?"
I so wish Erica don't get to have a face to face with you any time soon.
"And so, to all who would call themselves heroes, I lay down this challenge. Serve your species rightly and quit enabling this threat to our existence. Quit the pretense, the cheap charade of mask and cowl, so that the law may be properly applied. We work for a better tomorrow! A safer tomorrow, when no accidents of nature may destroy a house with a simple sneeze, or kill their friends with a touch. They hide in secret, and so to defeat them, secrets we must abandon."
Like you and the other bitches using that mask and identity?
"My apologies for not introducing myself immediately, but when I first appeared to you this evening, it was as the Green Cross. Now do I declare that my name is Danielle von Groenwald, for I would live in a world without lies, a world without threats, a world without the pollution which lies beneath the surface of society.
The acid vat is that way. You and the other goons can jump in, if you're last, you'll get your wish for the last seconds of your life.
"Cosa!" Cally was at her side in an instant, pulling her up and holding her tight. "Erica? Erica! What is it? What happened?"
Family hurt, and that is pretty much the worst that can happen. That shit should never be allowed to become a possibility.
Cally let her in, and the RA snagged a chair to sit down and stare at them both. "I swear, you two," she groused. "Why is it that you attract so much drama?"
You can lower it a lot by disposing of one Attack Bitch or two.
"She... I..." The lump in her throat was impossible to swallow, so she coughed it out instead. "Ech. You... you can tell Hammer that I officially qualify for membership in your little anti-social club now."
You totally need to cumulate that one with membership in the Capes, Erica.
"It will be all right," Cally promised in a soft whisper. "We will survive these troubles, you and I."
"Y-you think so?" she hiccuped.
"Certo che si, amica mia. Certo che si."
I suggest punching Nazis. It always feels right. And friends able to shore up for family members lacking in anything looking like decency.
Ha! Done before next entry! Man, these girls get the shit life. How much to write more optimistic parts for the next ones?
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But Castle Groenwald deliberately had Danielle announce her name was von Groenwald. The same investigations that Kirsten has done on Erica will only bring up those same links. I very much doubt they're even considering Erica, more to legitimize the links Green Cross has with the Nazi Theme Agent. The fallout just looks very bad for Erica. She was claiming they're distant cousins. Now it is super obvious she's her daughter, and it makes it look like she was lying about that too.
mhalpern wrote: One thought, after the broadcast, people are going to look Danielle Greenwood up, Erica's past is very well protected from direct research, but can the same be said of her mother?
A very bad pairing given the accusations against Cally. Now they're both liars, and it will take even longer for the furor over Cally to go away too.
The real Green Cross is using Miene to be her stand-in, while she continues to run for the government as, "Lillian Richards-Greenwood."
I guess the next question is why? Certainly to remove any chance that Lillian could be associated with actually being the super villain, but to what other end? Does she intend to use "Danielle von Groenwald" as someone to campaign against? A more extreme example so that she can easily slide into the congressional seat?
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