Crooked Legs

by **Eightball** March 12th 2013, 5:06 am

Crooked Legs
By Eightball and Chellizard

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."
-Kahlil Gibran

“Scorn no longer, my fickle-minded friend.” The reminiscence was bittersweet, so painful yet such fond memories. He was right. He was always right. The memory was the most vivid and fond, yet Plague understood its meaning. This was the catalyst in his mind that sped up a violent reaction of torturous memories. Memories that would be better if left alone. From to all outside the ashen mask, Plague’s features were emotionless. A gloved hand painfully gripped the handle of his black cane. There was a sunset on the horizon, sending yellowed orange light across the city, hitting the masked figure and reflecting his features for what was the first time in a long time.

Most people believed that night was his crutch in order to have the advantages that come with it, but the notion was far from the truth. Plague simply hated light.

Plague steadied his breathing as he recovered from his recollection. He pulled off his glove to reveal a pale hand drenched in cold sweat, if it could be identified as such. Scarred flesh grew in a jagged diagonal line across the back of his hand, like a terrible spawn of his suffering. Something happened to him, so many years ago. Something so horrible and so terrible that he was no longer a human. He was something else entirely.

Where did he come from? How did this happen? Why does he do what he does?

Who is he?

These were questions that several enforcement individuals, civillians, and reporters have asked. The real man behind Plague really wasn't important. That man was a human, a normal average joe. He was probably a boring man likely with a boring job. Nobody cared until he put on the mask.

by **Chellizard** March 12th 2013, 4:00 pm

A new life, with new enjoyments. New fun. New excitement. All the technology around of the world was phenomenal. And Mirshann had only been here for a short time. Her life as a Princess was over. She was no longer sitting on a throne and dealing with war for her people. She was now the invading minority. She walked the streets, keeping herself hidden. She was wearing average clothes that Thom and Frank had bought her. She looked odd, but she couldn't help it. Her pointed ears, features, and bright blue eyes coupled with her blonde hair was a sight not forgotten. Swallowing lightly, she continued to walk until she heard the soft cries for help.

Ryzo perked up, his ears flattening to his head as he walked with her. The massive black wolf with gray and white markings padded along side of her as she dipped out of view of passersby. A lonely alley. As cliche as that was, Mirshann had never been in this situation. She drew her bow, not bothering to notch an arrow yet, and stepped cautiously. Her bow, Thir'ku Mal'rak, woke up in response to the terror filled cries from the alley. A man was hunched over a woman, her cries for help washed under the noisy cars and bustling people. Most people turned the other cheek when it came to things like this. But not Mirshann. Once her bow was awakened, the iridescent shimmering bow was light in her grasp.

She pulled an arrow back, it's bright white energy curling around of her fingers while she calmly waiting for an opportunity. Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled through her nose and let the arrow go. It flew, with perfect aim, and lodged itself into the man's neck. He coughed, blood gurgling up passed his lips. The girl cried out and ran from the mess, saying thank you just before she was out of the alley. Mirshann was about to speak, but couldn't. She walked to the man and knelt down, looking at him with blank eyes. "Scum.. always scum.." She sighed, the arrow vanishing as she touched it, leaving the man there to die. She could save him, but he was scum. Nothing more. There was no reason to help him now. None at all. She looked down at him, watching as he bled out. Ryzo whined, but sat down next to Mirshann's feet, patient.

by **Eightball** March 14th 2013, 7:02 am

Upon the rooftop, Plague's perception caught an abnormal appearance in the streets of Los Angeles. There was a certain demeanor and general attributes to the figure that set her away from the typical human. The distraction was revitalizing, like cool water in the scorching desert. Plague carefully replaced his pale fingers with his glove and observed the figure closely. Even more different was the large canine kept as what he assumed to be a familiar. You'd think you'd be the sight of the city walking around in the city like that, almost straight out of a movie, but he supposed that at this point the world had seen too much and could no longer be interested in something that paled in grandeur and devastating such as the destruction of New York. That is, except for Plague.

Then there it was, the typical burglary of the antagonized man and the victimized and innocent woman. The crime was executed to almost the most highest point of cliche that Plague nearly glanced over it without a second thought. But this person of interest's walk was stopped by it, and Plague's analysis immediately reached a higher level of understanding on what kind of person she was. A bow manifested out of thin air, to Plague's interest, and then the man was dead. The woman wrought death by her own hands for this purpose, and used her abilities for the same. Without a single flicker of emotion on her face.

Plague slowly slid his way down the wall, using window sills and ledges as handholds and footfolds, and tuned into the woman, or whatever she was. He heard her murmur, which continued to intrigue him. Plague may longer have been something human, but he was still sentient. Sentient beings, by design, require communication every once and a while. And then he was there, at the corner, with mechanical noises and sounds already emitting from his face. His voice was one he usually liked to utilize when lying low. It was higher-pitched but not ear-splitting nor very loud, instead when spoken at normal easily audible volume it almost seems like a whisper. It was a little raspy, but Plague enjoyed that it deterred technologically based bugs or microphones that could be listening.

"Nice shot."

by **Chellizard** March 19th 2013, 5:16 pm

"Ele zhah nindol tresk'ri naut natha myazhe..?" she asked in her native tongue. And she was right to ask that aloud. This world was meant to be a paradise; not a scum filled wasteland filled with war. War within the supposed 'safe' places of the world. War between the people that should be defending each other, not stealing innocence. Mirshann squatted down, her hand moving to brush through Ryzo's coat before the massive canine let a growl pass his lips. His senses were much sharper than Mirshann's, and he could hear the soft pads and pats of hands and feet scrambling down the wall. "What is it..?" she asked in her native tongue, her voice foreign to any nearby ears.

Furrowing her dainty brows together, she shifted her blonde hair from her eyes and looked behind of her just as a voice spoke. It was soft, but raspy and sent an uneasy chill down her spine. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she looked toward the man, or woman, or.. other being in front of her and blinked. His words weren't hard to understand, but she was trying to remember the word that meant she was thankful in English.

"... I.. " she started, her voice becoming lost. She was vexxed with heavy depression from this world, and not to mention, the lack of respect she wanted. This being, complimenting her, brought her mood up just a bit. "I, thank." she said, finally managing the word. Her accent was still very thick and foreign sounding. Frank and Thom usually tried to teach her things, and they did not know how to shop for a girl. She was wearing a size too large khaki pants and an overly large hoodie that swallowed her frame.

by **Eightball** March 29th 2013, 5:59 am

The masked man was reserved and patient, but it was obvious Plague was edging closer towards the woman--the tap of his well-polished cane tapping the dirtied concrete, dictating his every move. Behind the walking (and combat) supplement, Plague was adopting a long black tail coat and suit. Upon his head was another black top hat, with his face entirely masked by the ashen image of a bird's beak and dark lenses. His pace was very slow, Plague was in no rush. Instead, he studied the woman, or whatever she was, like a doctor studies his patient, or almost like a scientist studying a new specimen. Behavioral aspects, her reaction, her tone, and everything she did were all absorbed by Plague. He didn't do this on purpose, he couldn't help himself. It was almost by instinct that he was making his analysis.

The foreign tongue scrambled him, and almost set him aback. Plague was a connoisseur of tongues, a true linguist. It had been such a long time since his reception felt an outlandish mix of communication. The doctor tuned into her accent, finding that they correspond as confusion between the sounds of the language that escaped her lips earlier and the forced English that she had adopted.

Plague continued to make his way closer with his long relaxed stride and slow tap of the cane, almost resounding every two to three seconds.

Tap.

"And you are welcome." The polite speech almost didn't match the figure's demeanor nor appearance at all. Tap.

The seconds went by, one, two, three. But the rhythm was broken, and instead of a tap, the cane froze a couple inches above from the ground. Plague himself was entirely still, and any reply that this woman would give him would remain unanswered.

The cock of a gun was an unmistakeable sound, one that rang next in that very same alleyway.

"Freeze, police."

by **Chellizard** April 16th 2013, 9:42 pm

The tapping of the cane was almost hypnotizing. She froze her whole form, her large cerulean eyes staring at the bird masked man. The slender bit of moon light breaking passed heavy soon-to-be rain clouds illuminated her new friend. His inky attire, and ashen mask made her a bit skeptical. But, only a bit. She had no reason to dismiss his kindness because of appearance. She was not that shallow. Tucking the slightest bit of hair behind of her ear. Offering a soft smile, her shoulders shrugged and sent her overly big hoodie billowing up before falling around of her waist like a bulky cotton dress.

Her smile got wider when he smoke again. For once he wasn't trying to make her feel useless. He was speaking in English, not in Drow. He wasn't going to make her feel like she couldn't learn this language. She noticed the cane's skip in it's rhythmic pattern, and that sent her attention off of her new friend. Her eyes flicked from him, and to a younger boy behind of him. Maybe a boy, or a man. He was holding a gun, his hands shaking weakly. The rain clouds had made their way back over the moon's soft gaze. After the thunder clapped, and lightning streaked across the sky, the clouds started to cry. Soft droplets of warm rain fell, but little made it into the alley. Fire escapes, and the narrow buildings prevented the heavy rain to reach them.

On reaction to the police, she had her bow drawn and had an arrow notched. The bow transformed quickly, an iridescent arrow clutched in her fingers, her grip loose, but supportive of her weapon. The gun shifted from her beaked friend to her and the boy spoke again.

"Drop the weapon."

by **Eightball** April 17th 2013, 2:19 am

"Drop the weapon."

Plague was as a statue, a figure frozen with his cane hovering just above the ground. He was almost inanimate, his mask any slightest change in expression. Rain droplets dripped onto his clothing, and the slow turn of Plague's head towards the man. The man was shaking, not only from fear, but because of the cold drizzle that was beginning to dampen his bare arms and uniform. Inexperience glinted in his eyes, and arrogance reeked all over him.

"And just who are you?"

"Drop everything and put your hands where I can see them."

Plague was already slowing shifting to the side, turning so that one side of his torso was facing him.

"You're breaking rules, boy."

"Shut up, I'm taking you in."

"You know what happens to rule-breakers, don't you?"

"Shut up! Or I'll sh-"

A small sound of something cutting through the air emerged among the rain drops, so quiet but followed by a sickening thud. A very thin metallic dagger with an equally thin handle lay protruding from between the man's forehead. "A sorry excuse for law enforcement." After a quick glance at his kill, the mask turned again with the same relaxed manner. The death seemed to have no effect on him.

"What's your name?"

by **Chellizard** April 17th 2013, 4:35 am

She held onto her bow and let her eyes slide from her bird beaked friend to the man with the black firearm. She had no idea what it was in his hands, but he was shaking. She watched his lips twitch into a nervous frown, and his eyes dart between the two people. His gaze moved from them to the dead man in a pool of crimson. Ryzo let out a sharp growl and stepped forward to guard his master. Mirshann moved her right leg to bar Ryzo back, preventing him from getting into harms way. When the police man spoke again, she firmed up her grip and shifted her weight to relax. She had her shot. Right between his eyes. She would take it if he tried to harm her new friend. The only real friend she had managed to make in this God forsaken world.

"No."

The simple word passed her lips in response to the policeman's demands. She was grasping them due to his tone. It was harsh, commanding. She did not like it. Her bird beaked friend, however, had more words for the boy. Words that she struggled to process, but did her best. She was about to let her arrow go when her friend launched a slender knife between the boy's eyes. His body buckled and fell back with a harsh thud. His gun fell and slid down into a storm drain. Crimson pooled around of his head from the blow to the black of his skull. He was dead. His eyes were wide open, and that did not bother Mirshann. Not at all. She looked from the dead boy to her friend and offered a smile.

Her grip relaxed on the bow and her iridescent bow and arrow slowly vanished. The bow became a normal yew bow that she hooked around of her form, and the arrow vanished in a wisp of white smoke. His question was not lost in translation. She formed a fist with her right hand and pressed it to her chest. "Mirshann Rosin," she said, her accent almost Russian like. "And you?" she'd ask, her accent still foreign, thick, but adorable. Especially when her sleeves fell over her hands, engulfing them.

by **Eightball** April 17th 2013, 5:00 am

The masked man cocked his head to side, more animal-like than human and then reverted back to position.

Intriguing. Subject is no stranger to death, neither to the fact it was in cold blood.

"Names are powerful things. Careful who you give yours to."

The drizzle had now evolved into heavier rain, but it was not a downpour. Not yet. The dead policeman's blood was now mixing with the rain, giving his blood a clearer look against the filthy alleyway floor. Plague was oblivious to both, even leaning against the wall nonchalantly without care for his clothing. The knife wouldn't relinquish any information on Plague, even if there was a traceable fingerprint it would all be washed away by the rain. The ironic thing was that though Plague was wanted in numerous enforcement agencies in at least six different countries, everything they know about him was given to them by himself. Insane? Maybe, or not. You can never tell with Plague.

"You may call me Doctor."

He tipped his hat slightly and water that had lodged there dripped off. "Tell me, Mirshann," twirled his cane for a moment. "You wouldn't mind doing me a favor would you?"

If Plague wasn't wearing a mask, he would certainly be smiling.

by **Chellizard** April 20th 2013, 9:40 pm

Mirshann mirrored his cocked head as she cocked her own head. Her head returned to an upright position, still mirroring her friend before she let a cheerful smile cross her lips. The smile then fell and was replaced with a stern gaze. "... Mirshann is powerful." she would say, being completely honest. She was a very powerful woman. A very powerful elf. A power warrior. She was not something or someone to be messed with.

The rain, coming down heavier, started to soak her through. She shivered a bit, but held her composure. Her eyes drifted to the blood that became more and more opaque with each moment passing. The man was dead, but he had walked into an alley with a harsh, demanding tone. She would have killed him, too. No one is the boss of Princess Mirshann Rosin; soon to be Queen of the Darthirii. She narrowed her eyes for a moment at the soon to be rotting corpse, and then let her gaze soften when her friend spoke again.

"Doctor," she would say, and repeat. "Doctor. Nice to meet." She allowed a smile to curl over her lips with joy when he tipped his hat, spilling the water off. She almost wanted to reach and put the hat on. But, she did not. She kept her hands to herself.

"Yes?" she would ask, a bit curiously. "A favor..?" she was a bit confused on what he meant, but she was sure to catch on if he explained a bit further.

by **Eightball** April 22nd 2013, 7:01 am

"A favor." he reaffirmed.

"I intend to liberate the premise-"

He'd almost forgotten of her English impairment.

"I wish to make a decisive heist and, hopefully, an assassination." He tried to make his language more prose and simplified, but the truth was he had not made casual, friendly conversation in a very long time. He hoped she understood. "And I would greatly appreciate it if you assisted me."

The doctor was on a roll. It had been years since he'd made such an acquaintance, and his tone greatly suggested that they were already friends. The excitement was bubbling throughout his personage. A friend! Of course, he intended more or less for this to happen since he first laid eyes on the intriguing girl, but never did he realize how thrilling it actually was.

...but then of course, there was a specific reason why he didn't have any friends. They were all dead.

“Scorn no longer, my fickle-minded friend.” Was he really right, after all? He was once a friend. And he was dead.

Suddenly, burning pain seared all across Plague's body, and this time the cane had slipped his grasp as he tried to rest his weight on it. The once calm and eased man was now twitching all over, every inch sending needles of pain up him. Hot, moist sweat perspired beneath his clothes. His hat had fell. The rain felt like searing bolts of fire, despite the actual cold it was in reality. Sharp, high-pitched noises escalated out of the mask of agonizing pain.

A gloved hand reached out of the puddle he had fell in, still wet and shaking.

"H-help..me."

He was losing his grip on reality quickly.

"...f-f..friend."

by **Chellizard** April 23rd 2013, 2:53 am

When he started to talk, Mirshann's expression of glee fell to one of sheer confusion.

She cocked her head to the side, however, and tried her best to interpret what he was trying to say.

When he stopped, though, and went on to use words she somewhat grasped, she smiled and nodded. "I will help," she said, placing her palm against her chest. It was a sign of respect of her people. She then bowed into a very respectable dip. Another sign of respect. She stood back upright again, and her mind drifted off. But only for a split second.

She was back in her home city. The Princess Mirshann Rosin was arriving by carriage, lead by the finest steeds. Her people would cheer, triumphant over a recent war victory. Mirshann was only seventeen years of age. Stepping from the carriage, she wore a long skirt to accompany her battle corset. Her hair was braided and decorated with many flowers, all a shade of pink. She had war paint along her cheeks, and a stripe down the bridge of her nose. Her battle corset had not been washed, so the blood of her enemy was still staining the chest plate. Standing tall, she stepped up to the podium, and her people grew silent. Technology for her kind was very advanced, but they had a medieval twist to their era. "My people! I bring forth news of triumph and victory! The House Rosin does not bow so easily, as you have seen! Not to any foe, or anyone beneath us. We only bow to our friends, and our family!" The crowd would cheer, and she would speak on. The Princess stood tall, proud, and wore a bright smile on her face. One of victory, and hope. One of love, kindness, and friendship.

Her mind was back to reality, only a few seconds having passed. She looked back to her new friend, reality coming back to her. Her lips had held a small smile, but it turned to a deep frown of worry. She moved down to her new friend and grabbed him around of his middle and tugged, pulling him up. "Ryzo!" she demanded. The large wolf stepped forward and shook his massive head. Mirshann used her strength and lifted her bird beaked friend up onto Ryzo. The wolf arched and shifted the odd man onto his back, but with no struggle what so ever. The wolf let out a huff and looked to Mirshann with worried eyes. She needed to get them to a place without rain. Grabbing up his cane and top hat, she moved with Ryzo, running with her hand on Plague's back. She did not care if he protested. She would order Ryzo to keep running.

Despite her baggy clothes, she rain quickly, and moved through the pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas. She knew of a quiet, abandoned building just down the way. Keeping her pace in tune with Ryzo's, they reached the building in roughly a minute, or two. She had gotten soaked to the bone, but once inside, they were safe from the rain. Helping Plague off of Ryzo, she smiled to him and held up a finger as if to say "one minute." Stepping away, she turned her back to him and stripped out of the jacket she was wearing and rummaged through a pile she had and slipped on a new one. It wasn't new, per say, but it was dry, and warm. She slipped her feet from her shoes and started to pile up some old boxes and logs into a fire place that was just to the right of Plague. Using her bow, she shot an arrow directly at a piece of the wood, and the immense heat and light caught it on fire. But that was only because of how close she was, and how much tension she had on the string.

Finally taking a minute to get the fire bigger and warmer, she looked to Plague, Ryzo's massive form sitting back on his haunches. " Are you.. okay?" she would ask, blinking his way.

by **Eightball** April 24th 2013, 8:15 am

"Are you okay?"

"I've sustained some mild injuries, trauma to the clavicle-"

"You got to stop talking like that. We're surrounded from all sides."

"What do we do?"

"When you're backed up against the wall, what is it you do?"

No answer.

"You break the wall down."

He'd reached shelter. Plague groaned. The pain had subsided, and now instead he felt numb as the cold rain had taken it's toll. Rain. Not bullets. Or at least that's what he continued to tell himself. He wasn't going back, he couldn't go back. Plague's ebony mask reflected the firelight.

"I am...better."

Slowly, his bird-shaped head swiveled from side to side to see where he was. All he saw were darkened features of a boring building, but he had to be sure.

"Where are we?"

He smoothed out a crease on his black vest, which was underneath his suit jacket. Despite his deadliness and creepy demeanor, the two had started a friendship. What was it that allowed for it to happen? Was it the point that they had been both willing to kill the same man? Or was it that his friendliness indeed stood out past his appearance? The mask slowly turned back to Mirshann. She was a truly empathic person to pick up on this. This was affirmed by not only her acceptance of his request but also by helping him out of the rain in his time of weakness?

Time had eroded his empathic nerves, and he scrambled to try and connect with them again. So long had it been since he had a friend. At the very least, he needed to retain his manners. But this entire time, he had forgotten that his vocal expression was still very odd and perhaps bone-chilling. A hand reached up and touched a part of the mask. Mechanical noises emitted from the mask, noises like when you tune a radio. The new voice sounded very much human.

"...thank...you."

"...for attending to me."

by **Chellizard** May 13th 2013, 4:05 pm

She was not very good at speaking English, but the more she paid attention to her new friend, the better she got with it. He spoke rarely, but at least he was easy to understand. Not to mention, Frank and Thom, her old "care givers," had taught her a few things. Namely proper manners and the phrases to go with. Such as, 'please,' 'thank you,' and 'may I?'

She squatted down in front of Plague and cocked her head to examine him a bit more. Her damp, blonde hair fell around of her face. Her fringe fell and kissed her lashes, her cheeks pale in the firelight. Bright, cerulean blue hues reflected the flames that brought warmth to the dank, dark room. Water was speckled across her porcelain flesh, her lips hanging open while she breathed softly, through her nose. She let her right knee press down into the floor, and she crawled, slowly, forward. Her left knee followed the right, her hands bracing herself before she was sitting a mere five inches from Plague. Water trickled from her bangs to her lashes. She blinked it away, the drop hopping from her lashes to land at the corner of Plague's eye. Well, the eye of his mask. The water then rolled down the cheek of the mask, and it meant more than Mirshann bothered to pay attention to.

He spoke, telling her that he was 'better.' She let the word run through her mind, searching for the meaning. She then assumed it to be 'good.' "That is good." She said in reply a few moments later. She then sat back on her feet, her knees angled against the cold hard ground. She watched him look around, and then she offered a small smile. "Shelter," she would say, and think for a few more moments. "Temporary home," she'd follow up. Her feet shifted below her rump. She continued to fidget, her sleeves falling around of her hands. She watched him curiously, and listened to the fire eat away at the wood. Snapping, crackling, and popping of the wood burning away. It made this little shelter feel more homey, even if it was a dump. When he spoke again, she just nodded and turned. "My pleasure," she would say, grabbing a longer stick to poke at the fire.

She was still curious, however, of his little.. favor. She was running the words he had said over again in her mind. She knew them, but did not know them. She could understand them, and repeat them. The meaning of them, however, were lost to her. So, to maybe see if he were still interested, she asked a simple question. "When.. is heist?" Putting together grammatically correct sentences still baffled her. The poor girl would frown slightly, but wait for his answer eagerly.

by **Eightball** May 18th 2013, 2:14 am

A damp glove reached out to the ground and supported Plague as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He pulled off his gloves and set them next to them, revealing deathly pale fingers and a savage cicatrix. He had once endured a capacious amount of pain. His ivory face looked off in the distance, an orange flame reflecting off of his features from the fire.

"The heist."

He left at that and there was a long pause. He was still and almost lifeless. It was very hard to tell whether or not he was deep in thought, in pain, or spacing out again. Perhaps all three. The crackle of the fire was all that could be heard, and a faint siren of a police car could be heard. The officer had been found. Regardless of regulations pertaining to metahumans, the law for killing a police officer was life in prison at the very least. Add that to his numerous crimes, and Plague was an all-around dangerous man.

"Soon."

The doctor turned toward's Mirshann, the entire matter washed from his mind.

"What are you exactly, my dear?"

Plague was thinking like a specialist again, and the entire science of it still intrigued him.

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