Trinity Universe: Masked Men

[Prince of Boredom]

As Eckhardt listens with apparant interest to the various reactions to his comments, Glisten quietly approaches the seated White Dragon &, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, whispers,

"If you like, I could take a look at those wounds of yours - perhaps change the dressings?"

Alex looks up at Glisten, and manages a small, strained smile, "Yes, please. You are very kind."

[ProfPotts]

"Yes, please. You are very kind."

Nodding gently the beautiful young lady retrieves a small box from the next room - a box that proves to contain some basic medical supplies. With a practiced, if not professional, touch Glisten proceeds to clean & redress White Dragon's wounds. A slight furrow across her brow betrays her shock at the severity of the injuries - followed by a look she fails to hide as she casts it towards her patient - a glance that reveals a frank amazement at the man's resilience & willpower.

"Combat and defeat organized crime... Yeah, so you said, and on that we're all with you. But then what? What if we win? In a perfect world, I'd retire. What is your plan?"

Personally, I expect to die seeing a world where crime still exists, but hopefully is a little less brutal for my passing - even if I saved or improved the quality of only half a dozen innocent people, I would be happy. But perhaps together we can do so much more than that.

Eckhardt nods at Whistler's sage comments,

"Unfortunately I'd have to agree - the chances of us eliminating crime completely are pretty slender. But it's not always the goal, but the journey towards that goal - the very effort itself - which is the ideal." The man in the smoking jacket shrugs, "Having said that, if our mission ever did seem complete then I'm sure I'd be given another assignment..." Glancing around the room Eckhardt flashes one of his micro-smiles & holds up a forestalling hand, "... from whom, of course, I don't feel at liberty to divulge at this moment in time. I'm sure you all understand." ::sly

"The host wants us to show him ours before he shows us his, that's poor form. We're all here for justice, perhaps for vengeance, to equal the playing field or to show the underworld that the city won't simply bend over and allow itself to be violated... Don't expect us to take any of your wooden nickels, Eck. Just level with us and tell us what you have in mind."

A slight frown creases Eckhardt's brow,

"I'm not sure I understand your tone, dear lady. 'Wooden nickels'? In what way have I failed to 'level' with you all?" ::confused Shrugging, as if to dispell his confusion at the Banshee's words, he then continues, "If you're asking as to the form of co-operation I'm proposing, then I suppose we should move straight on to a show of hands - after any who choose to not take part have exited, then we can discuss our strategies. Who amongst us is willing to take a chance on the venture I'm suggesting?" Eckhardt raises his own hand & looks around the room at the others present...

[ezekiel]

The Banshee raises her hand then holds up a single finger

"I'm willing...with one caveat. I don't trust you. You still haven't told us your reasons for being at Nightingale's, nor your relation to the bosses. They obviously knew you, why? For all we know, you're simply trying to get information on the opposition, us, before moving in. I am glad we're all here, combining our efforts can only improve our effectiveness. But if that means our efforts will simply clear the playing field for whoever it is you're working for then I'll have no part of it."

[archer]

Moving to the decanter of peach-flavored alcohol nearby, Ulf' takes a moment to fill his glass. Silently considering the amber liquid and the light reflecting on its surface, he looks up at Eckhardt as Banshee finishes.

After a long, unreadable gaze at their host, the Viking turns his attention to the rest of the group, studying each in turn. Something flickers in the blue depths of his stare as he matches eyes with each individual.

Banshee gets an impression of rueful amusement; and a distinct appreciation of the skin-tight qualities of her costume.

Whistler receives a more serious glance, one filled with consideration for a previously underestimated stranger.

Echo, standing close to Whistler, catches a glimpse of something barely restrained. Those blue eyes manage to smolder quite well, indeed.

The Watchman is next. A strong glint in the Norseman's gaze indicates he may yet think the vigilante an opponent worth attention.

Lotus, standing quietly, is given a closer second look; the Viking stares quite intently into her eyes, questioning.

Tilting his head slightly, Ulf' turns his head to watch as Glisten tends the injured Bai Long. Only for a moment does his gaze meet that of the White Dragon, but sympathy, mixed with respect, travels clearly.

Finally allowing his attention to rest on Eckhardt, the Viking very deliberately raises his glass to his lips and drinks. Lowering the glass, his mouth quirks in a near mirror of Eckhardt's almost-smile.

"I stay."

[Heritage]

"I'm not sure I understand your tone, dear lady. 'Wooden nickels'? In what way have I failed to 'level' with you all?" Shrugging, as if to dispell his confusion at the Banshee's words, he then continues, "If you're asking as to the form of co-operation I'm proposing, then I suppose we should move straight on to a show of hands - after any who choose to not take part have exited, then we can discuss our strategies. Who amongst us is willing to take a chance on the venture I'm suggesting?" Eckhardt raises his own hand & looks around the room at the others present...

The Whistler seems to be staring intently at Eckhardt, but without being able to see his eyes behind the mask's dark lenses, it's hard to be sure. Finally he slowly raises his hand.

I shall stay.

[Prince of Boredom]

Nodding gently the beautiful young lady retrieves a small box from the next room - a box that proves to contain some basic medical supplies. With a practiced, if not professional, touch Glisten proceeds to clean & redress White Dragon's wounds. A slight furrow across her brow betrays her shock at the severity of the injuries - followed by a look she fails to hide as she casts it towards her patient - a glance that reveals a frank amazement at the man's resilience & willpower.

Alex gives a slight wince as the beautiful lady first touches his wounds, then resigns himself to the pain and relaxes back into the chair. As the look of amazement crosses her face, he gives a genuine smile to her as if to say 'thank you'.

A slight frown creases Eckhardt's brow,

"I'm not sure I understand your tone, dear lady. 'Wooden nickels'? In what way have I failed to 'level' with you all?"  Shrugging, as if to dispell his confusion at the Banshee's words, he then continues, "If you're asking as to the form of co-operation I'm proposing, then I suppose we should move straight on to a show of hands - after any who choose to not take part have exited, then we can discuss our strategies. Who amongst us is willing to take a chance on the venture I'm suggesting?" Eckhardt raises his own hand & looks around the room at the others present...

His arms currently being tended to, the White Dragon nods his head, and very softly in a thick Chinese accent replies, "If your offer is sincere, and your purpose is honorable, then it would be a tragedy for us to not listen... I will stay."

[tooho]

Black Lotus raises her arm quietly. "I believe I've made my intention to stay clear." ::lookaround

[ProfPotts]

... You still haven't told us your reasons for being at Nightingale's, nor your relation to the bosses. They obviously knew you, why?..

Eckhardt shrugs,

"We all present differing methods of combating crime - I doubt that any two of us here would approach a situation in exactly the same way. That diversity is potentially one of the greatest assets to be had in combining our resources. I simple chose to use the criminals own 'culture' (to use the term loosely) to lure them to me - rather than chasing after them. I've sent my message, & gotten their attention. I'm sure there are other methods of engaging the enemy, but that one appeared most effective to me."

Nodding to each of the assembled group as they agree to his proposal - including Echo, who raises her own hand right after the Whistler agrees to join - the group's host's gaze comes to rest upon The Watchman,

"And our senior 'Masked Man'? Will he be joining us?"

A subtle hush befalls the room as all wait to hear the response of the city's pioneer vigilante...

[Asbjørn]

Nodding to each of the assembled group as they agree to his proposal - including Echo, who raises her own hand right after the Whistler agrees to join - the group's host's gaze comes to rest upon The Watchman,

"And our senior 'Masked Man'? Will he be joining us?"

A subtle hush befalls the room as all wait to hear the response of the city's pioneer vigilante...

"I've always worked alone. My trust is not easily given, and I apologize to all of you for that. No offense meant, I'm just a suspicious bastard, that's all..."

The Watchman smiles and shrugs as he looks around at the crowd.

"But you make a good case, Eckhardt. I see your point. Regardless of our differences in tactics and hopes for the future, we have a common enemy and we stand a better chance together. So as long as you can shake my hand, look me straight in the eye and tell me your intentions are honourable, I'm in."

[ProfPotts]

"But you make a good case, Eckhardt. I see your point. Regardless of our differences in tactics and hopes for the future, we have a common enemy and we stand a better chance together. So as long as you can shake my hand, look me straight in the eye and tell me your intentions are honourable, I'm in."

Eckhardt nods, walks over to The Watchman, & firmly shakes the man's hand - the icy chill of his touch seeps through the vigilante's glove as he does so. Looking into the man in white's eyes, The Watchman sees a look that speaks of hard determination...

Releasing The Watchman's hand, Eckhardt signals to Glisten. The attractive blonde nods, steps away from her patient, & retrieves another box from the next room - this one appears to be a made of polished wood. Opening the box towards the gathered group, Glisten reveals the contents - lying within the red velvet lined box are several lapel pins, each a silver circle with a tiny faceted blue crystal at the centre - there are enough for everyone. As Glisten walks around the group, offering a pin to each of them, Eckhardt explains,

"These pins will allow access to this penthouse - the doors will open to anyone who approaches with one of these in their possession."

Turning back the lapel of his smoking jacket Eckhardt reveals that he wears an identical pin on the underside of the garment's lapel. Continuing he says,

"I suggest that we agree to gather here once per month - to discuss what we have learned of the underworld, & how we have been dealing with it. To, in other words, plan & co-ordinate our strategies. Furthermore, if any of us wish to call an emergency meeting - for example, if information arises that all should hear of immediately, or if any of us come across an obstacle that they alone cannot deal with - then a simple coded advertisement in the classified pages of the New York Times should suffice as a call to arms. Again, I propose this penthouse as the most convienient, & most secure, rally point."

The groups' host pauses for a moment to see if his suggestions meet with general acceptance or not, then adds further,

"I understand that some here may well wish to keep their identities secret from some or all of the rest of us. That much is, I believe, reasonable, considering the unique circumstances & goals of the group. Therefore I will arrange for several suites in the hotel below to be made available on a permanent basis, & the keys to be provided to each of you. In this manner you will be able to enter the hotel in what could be, for want of a better term, refered to as 'civilian' guise, proceed to your suites, & change into your 'masked' guises without the need for anyone knowing who you are. I'll inform the bell-boy that you are all to be granted access to the penthouse - he's well paid & can be, as far as these things go, be trusted."

After allowing some further time for discussion to hash-out the details of the arrangements, Eckhardt calls for another round of drinks. Once eveyone who wishes to partake has charged their glass, he proposes a toast,

"Ladies, gentlemen - to the victory of good over evil, of law over chaos, of justice over corruption. To the quest, the adventure. To us, we gallant few - we Masked Men!"

*****

Issue 1: Epilogue

The raptor cried as it soared through the chill snowfall to alight upon the outstretched leather gauntlet of its master. The bird shivered & ruffled its feathers, only settling down as the man's finger began to stroke it's head & chest, his voice speaking in soft, soothing tones,

"I know Locksley, I know - the cold doesn't suit me either, but it's done... the game has begun..."

The hawk called out again, seemingly in agreement with its master. Under the hood & scarf that obscured his features, the man smiled, then turned his attention once more to the building across from his rooftop perch. There the glass walls of the penthouse held in warmth against the winter beyond, whilst moonlight played tricks of reflection & shadow as it danced across the building, the gardens, the ice-sculptures... and within... Within they were gathered...

Still stroking the hunting bird, the hooded man whispered as his eyes passed over the group gathered inside the penthouse - such a marvelous example of the architecture of the modern age - sizing each up in turn,

"At last, we shall have some worthy prey for the hunt..."

... One gauntleted hand strayed to feel the familiar textures of the longbow strapped across his back, to brush over the fletchings of the long-shafted broadhead arrows...

"... Soon, Locksley... soon..."

There was a flourish of long dark cloak as the man... the Bowman... turned, vanishing back into the shadows that were his domain...

[Prince of Boredom]

The meeting apparently complete, Bai Long gently takes Glisten's arm as she passes by and quietly speaks, "Miss, perhaps you or your employer would know a suitable location for me to have my wounds tended to?"

(OOC: I'm guessing basically all of Bai Long's downtime will be involved in rest and recuperation)

[tooho]

Fingering the pin lightly, Lotus files out of the apartment with the rest, opting to take the stairs on the floor below. Feeling more relaxed than she has been for two years, the heat of the brandy in her stomach brings a flush to her face.

Stopping, she looks to Ulf, whispering. "You won't.. tell?" Blushing she looks slightly discomfitted. Nervously fingering the pin again, she keeps her eyes down as she bows to the others and backs away. "An honor. May you all walk the dark nights safely until our next meeting."

Smiling slightly the words of the toast resound through her mind as she avoids eye contact with the others as she exits the elevator. Tugging her hat down more firmly, she swirls around and quickly moves away from the elevator.

"...to the victory of good over evil, of law over chaos, of justice over corruption..."

Nodding to herself, she walks swiftly for the stairs, heading for her room as quietly as she can. "I think my life has just become much more interesting."

Changing quickly back into the red sheathe she was wearing before, Ayame returns to the lobby below. "A little time to live.. one evening." Eyes lighting with pleasure, she heads off into the gaily dressed patrons for a brief respite before Lotus must once again head off into the dark alleys of the city's underbelly.

[Archer21]

Stopping, she looks to Ulf, whispering. "You won't.. tell?"

The primitive warrior simply grins at her and shakes his head in the negative.

Stuffing the ornate pin into a leather pouch at his belt, he barks a short laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He came tonight planning to kill Eckhardt, and left with the ice-wizard's blessing and key to his home.

Still chuckling, he strides to the exit and turning, makes a flourishing bow with his cloak, then leaves.

..............

Relaxing later with Kettles, Ulfmund relates the tale of his evening adventures, leaving nothing out except Black Lotus' civilian guise. Clapping his friend on the shoulder warmly, he encourages the academic to ask what questions he will; to be fair in their exchange of cultural learning.

If he can, the Viking will also seek out Whistler and Echo in the following days, asking their assistance in practicing the strange language and customs of their world. To Whistler's certain discomfort, he has some very frank, and sometimes surprising questions for Echo, regarding the intricacies of more...intimate relations. Among other things, he seems to be looking for ways to avoid being slapped; he must be doing something wrong, but surely women still appreciate having their bottoms pinched as a sign of interest? ::nervous

[Heritage]

The Whistler leaves Echhardt's penthouse deep in thought; once he and Echo make it back to their suite, he changes back into his civilian guise, and sits in a chair, thoughtfully stroking his chin. After several minutes, he turns to Polly, unaware if she's changed or not.

So, what do you think of all this, Pol?

If he can, the Viking will also seek out Whistler and Echo in the following days, asking their assistance in practicing the strange language and customs of their world. To Whistler's certain discomfort, he has some very frank, and sometimes surprising questions for Echo, regarding the intricacies of more...intimate relations. Among other things, he seems to be looking for ways to avoid being slapped; he must be doing something wrong, but surely women still appreciate having their bottoms pinched as a sign of interest? ::nervous

(If the Viking patrols regularly, they might indeed cross paths - Whistler would step out of the shadows to greet the great warrior, unless, of course, he saw Whistler first! The masked vigilante would be more than happy to aid him, and much embarassment would indeed follow, though it would in no way dampen their new friendship ::blush ::laugh)

[ezekiel]

The Banshee nods slowly and takes a glass from the table, raising it to the toast.

"Ladies, gentlemen - to the victory of good over evil, of law over chaos, of justice over corruption. To the quest, the adventure. To us, we gallant few - we Masked Men!"

"And women..."

She takes a sip and sets the glass back on the table.

"Well, its been a pleasure...See you around boys!"

She nods at the masked woman before and eyes the men of the crowd before heading out through the glass door she came in through. A gust of cold wind blows threw the opening as she heads through the garden and quickly eyes the statues, trying to determine if they depict all the heroes present with being obvious about it. With a last look through the glass wall, she waves at the group and...jumps off the building! ::ohmy

Thoughts course through Cynthia's mind as the Banshee glides over the city...even when she arrived home, much later, she couldn't quite get herself to sleep and spent the night talking everything over with Al.

[ProfPotts]

Issue 2: Lightning Strikes!

Prologue:

Gothham Globe, February 13th, 1924

Doctor Dynamo!

‘Electrical man’ robs first Manhattan bank

It seems that modern science has been harnessed for criminal ends, if reports of the remarkable daylight robbery of the first Manhattan bank yesterday are accurate.

Eyewitnesses report that the thief was a bizarre man wearing a white coat ‘like a doctor’ & carrying some sort of electrical generator on his back. This ‘doctor’, along with several more mundanely dressed (but heavily armed) associates, marched into the bank & proceeded straight to the vault. When the bank’s on-duty guard tried to stop the strange group, customers & staff report that the ‘doctor’ somehow created a ‘lightning bolt’ from the metal gauntlets he wore connected to his generator: the guard, 31-year-old Harold Wilkes, was hurled back several yards to strike a wall & appears to have been killed instantly - in the words of one witness, ‘the poor mook was char-broiled on the spot’. Mr Wilkes leaves a wife, Irene, & two children.

After the murder of the bank guard, it appears that the ‘Doctor Dynamo’ character physically pulled the vault door off its hinges! Again eye-witness accounts are somewhat confused, but all seem to agree that there was a shower of electrical sparks from the ‘doctor’ as he grasped the heavy door, he strained for some few seconds, then the concrete anchoring the door gave-way.

Once the vault was breached, the ‘doctor’s’ henchmen gathered as much money as they could carry, & the group exited the bank. Outside a police patrol car, responding to the incident, was destroyed – again, it is claimed, by some sort of ‘lightning’. Thankfully the two officers assigned to the vehicle were not inside at the time, & managed to take cover before any more ‘lightning’ (or the bullets of Doctor Dynamo’s friends) could find them. The robbers sped away from the scene in a non-descript truck, & are still at large.

Police sources refuse to either confirm or deny the more unusual aspects of the story, although even the New York Police Department can’t deny the fact that the bank was indeed robbed.

Black Lotus:

Sergei finished cleaning & oiling the last of the impressive firearms collection. Placing the guns back in their correct places on the wall-mounted rack he closed the door of the concealed closet with the distinct ‘click’ of the hidden catch slipping into place. Folding the gun-cleaning tools back into their cloth he replaced them back with the rest of the cleaning supplies in the lavish apartment’s small kitchen. Removing & folding his white gloves, the large butler checked his pocket watch. Noting the time Sergei prepared his mistress’s usual coffee. Just as he was pouring out the steaming fragrant liquid he heard the sound of a key being turned in the apartment’s front door. Taking just a moment to add a freshly baked teacake & the morning edition of the Gotham Globe to the tray with the coffee, the butler went to greet the lady of the house as she returned home.

Taking the young Japanese lady’s overcoat at the door Sergei politely inquired how her evening with Mister O’Reilly had gone. Privately he didn’t really approve of the mistress being out at all hours with the charming Irishman, no matter what the lawyer may have done for the family, but innate politeness always prevented his more protective feelings breaking the surface. Once he’d made sure that Miss Okayama was quite alright & settled comfortably, he brought her coffee & paper…

White Dragon:

Glisten sat quietly as she watched her ‘patient’ complete his morning exercises. She was still somewhat in awe of the man’s incredible physique. Only a few weeks ago he’d been a bloody mass of bullet holes, yet still on his feet despite the grievous injuries. Today… well, today he demonstrated ancient dance-like moves which she’d have never imagined the human body was capable of. The power of the man’s body was, she considered, matched only by the power of his will. The body she’d gotten to know quite well over the past few weeks – tending to his wounds – although she had still been denied a glimpse behind the hooded mask he wore whenever she visited. The bullet wounds had stitched a distinct pattern of scars across his chest, but for all the young woman knew she could have passed White Dragon in the street a dozen times & still not recognised his face. The warehouse where they met was an equal mystery – she’d tried to find out who the owner was, only the be met with records that seemed to loop-back upon each other. Less ‘official’ channels had confirmed that the place used to be operated by opium smugglers – but that was before the White Dragon had come to Chinatown & shut down the trade. Glisten shook her head, it was frustrating, yet somehow the mystery also added something to this already impressive man… Noticing that White Dragon had completed his exercises, the young lady tried to focus on why she was there. In a way she hated to give the man a clean bill of health – she’d no longer have any reason to visit – but it would serve Viktor’s purposes to have him healthy – the new group was to have their first monthly meeting that night…

Watchman:

“I still say you’re a damned fool, Jack!” the doctor’s words were punctuated with his less-than-gentle application of ointment to the latest in his friend’s long series of bruises & scrapes. He knew that the Watchman did good work, essential work really – but didn’t relish the thought that, inevitably, one night he’d sustain an injury that no mere mortal physician could repair – even a physician who still held a license to practice. The last thought was a bitter one, but an old one. Despite the good work he knew he did in the community, for those who couldn’t afford a ‘real’ doctor, Quentin Picket still chaffed at the fact that he should be practicing medicine in the country’s leading hospitals, not some dingy run-down subway station which a ‘dead man’ had decided to call ‘home’. Fate was a cruel mistress it seemed to the good (ex-)doctor – no good deed goes unpunished - & only a first-class idiot would fail to see that insisting the autopsy of a shooting incident proved the victim had been killed by the police, not the working-class men they’d arrested for the crime, would end-up annoying the wrong people in high places. Ah well – ‘Quentin Picket first-class idiot’ was almost as good as ‘Quentin Picket, MD’…

… It was later that day when Terry Fisk nervously entered a darkened alleyway. As usual he nearly jumped out of his skin when the masked figure appeared before him – he tried to cover by adjusting his hat, & desperately tried to avoid the Watchman’s eyes… that look always gave him nightmares for days… Still, as a contact, the vigilante could, on occasion, be a goldmine of information – it was worth a few sleepless nights if he could get a scoop or two out of the shadowy urban legend. This time it was Terry’s turn to pass on ‘the dirt’ – he told the vigilante what he’d heard about the story in the Globe: that it was true – there had been a man with weird ‘electrical powers’ who ripped-off the bank & destroyed a police car. What the paper hadn’t reported was that several of the men with ‘Doc Dynamo’ had been recognised as known associates of one Ezekiel Goldstein – wealthy jeweller & (more to the point) well-known money launderer & fence for the Dutchman, as well as numerous small-time operators. Not to mention the brutal loan-sharking racket he ran on the side. Of course, a wealthy guy like Goldstein paid his ‘police taxes’ – that was one area of investigation that would never be followed up…

Whistler:

“You should have been there: it was amazing! Gershwin is a genius! How the boss got tickets to the premiere of Rhapsody in Blue, I’ll never know, but I’m glad he did! I guess he knows someone in the business over at the Æolian Hall…”

The magician recognised the distinctive voice of his assistant, even over the chaotic bustle back-stage at his own little theatre – the Berastro Theatre of Magic. Polly still hadn’t calmed down over last night’s performance, & was taking the opportunity to tell everyone about it. Karl wasn’t entirely sure if the snake-dancer from the Hatnofer Brothers’ 'Circus of the Orient' even spoke English, but the bewildered look on the young Egyptian lady’s face did nothing to deter Polly’s verbal fusillade. Taking her to the concert had done a great deal to wipe away the stain of the ‘cross-dressing’ incident from the previous month. Now, if only it had helped her forget about that big Viking chap as well. The fact that Whistler & Echo were due to attend the first meeting of the ‘Masked Men’ that night – along with the aforementioned Nordic gent – probably wouldn’t help his quiet campaign, but some things were more important even than unrequited love: if what detective Spitz had told him about the state of the guard’s body from the bank robbery – electrical burns intense enough to blacken & char the flesh from his bones – was true, then there was a new, & dangerous, player in the drama that was life in the metropolis…

Viking:

The archaeologist leaned back in his office chair, touching a match to his pipe as he did so & puffing rapidly to get the infernal thing smoking. Continuing the topic of conversation he took a moment to think, then replied to his Norse friend’s last few comments,

“So, your people claim to be descended from Leif Eriksson then? That’s intriguing – the descriptions we have of Vinland from the Sagas wouldn’t suggest a subterranean community, more of a…”

The scholar cut short the sentence at the sound of a gentle, almost nervous, knock on the office door. It was an unusual occurrence – very few ventured into the depths of the archaeology department, & fewer still bothered to navigate the confused jumble of artefacts to reach the small office. Hopefully whoever this adventurous explorer was, he wouldn’t be pressed to look too much further – or he may well discover the living quarters which Kettles had helped Ulfmund set up in the most remote corner of the archives. Shrugging to indicate his own surprise at the intrusion to the Viking, the doctor rose & crossed to the door. Swinging it open he was pleasantly surprised to meet a face he’d presumed he’d not see again – the ‘flaxen haired wench’ - as Ulf’ had put it – who they’d rescued on that eventful night last month. Well, Kettles had to admit, it was the Viking who’d done most of the actual rescuing, but he was sure that he’d offered his own services in an invaluable way – even if he couldn’t recall the exact details on the spot…

… The girl began by nervously apologising for not thanking the two gentlemen properly after her rescue, but soon broke down into floods of tears! Kettles quickly poured a glass from the bottle of ‘medicinal’ whiskey he kept in his desk drawer – mentally kicking himself as he noticed Ulf’s keen hunter’s gaze taking note of the location of his most secret of liquor stashes… Once the young lady was a little more settled, she managed to relate her tale,

“I… I never told you my name. I’m Fanny. Fanny Fairweather. My father is Professor Anton Fairweather. He’s a scientist, he is… was… conducting experiments into various applications of electricity. I… I don’t really know the details I’m afraid, just that his work was very important. But… he… well, he ran out of funding. No-one would agree to fund his research, until he met an investor – Mr Goldstein. That’s when the trouble began. Those men… the one’s you… the one’s who were attacking me that night – they worked for Goldstein. Once he’d loaned my father the money he needed, he started to demand payments – with interest… lots of interest… Of course, daddy couldn’t pay, but Goldstein insisted. He threatened to hurt me if he didn’t get his money… That’s why… Well, you stopped them, anyway.”

For a moment the girl paused, unable to continue, then, after some gentle encouragement, she added to her tale of woe,

“Last week I came home to find it all smashed up, & daddy was gone! I called the police, but they haven’t been any help at all, & now… Well, that man in the paper – the one who robbed the bank. I’m not sure, but I think that may be one of my father’s inventions he was using! I… I think that Goldstein has kidnapped my father & is forcing him to make weapons for him! The police think I’m mad. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have come here… You’ve already done so much for me, but… I… I didn’t know who else I could turn to…”

Doc Kettles patted Miss Fairweather on the back reassuringly as she again started to sob. The archaeologist’s gaze met that of the Viking – he nodded his agreement to the Norseman’s unspoken thought: maybe that meeting of ‘Masked Men’ tonight could be of some use after all…

Banshee:

Professor Quinn didn’t look up from his work as Cynthia questioned him: not only did she use his inventions to kill people – bad people, maybe, but still, a scientist should have some principles – she also insisted on calling him ‘Al’ – as if he was some jazz musician or something. Now she refused to leave him alone to get on with his work…

“Yes,” he finally answered, if only to be left in peace, “it’s possible – in theory anyway. The muscles of the human body run on electrical impulses – if a sufficient charge was administered there could be a significant increase in strength. But that’s theory – in practice, if you tried it, you’d fry: it’d be like getting struck by lightning. The ‘lightning bolt’? Even easier – it’s all a simple matter of potential differences, &…” he trailed off & finally looked up at the beauteous singer who funded his research. Looks - & a stunning voice - she had in the proverbial spades, but brains? Best to try to humour the girl, “… it’s complicated, but yes, it could be possible – if some genius figured out a way to safely generate & direct the charge. Doctor Fairweather wrote a paper on it… But, I digress. Yes, in theory, your ‘Doctor Dynamo’ could be just as the paper describes him. I doubt it, but it is possible. In theory.”

*****

Act 1:

Viktor straightened his pale blue tie before heading out to await the arrival of the others. His suit was the same shade of pale blue, along with a white shirt & a diamond tie-pin. His cane, of course, he’d keep to hand – some of his ‘colleagues’ had, after all, made certain to try their best to intimidate him at their last meeting, & he was quite sure that not all of those threats had been empty ones. Still, he had high hopes for these ‘Masked Men’ – now he’d managed to get them in a room together without any violence being perpetrated. If he continued to play his hand this well, the Big Man would have to take notice when he returned…

… The study had been refurnished since last month. Now the room sported a round mahogany table as a centre-piece (the Arthurian symbolism wasn’t lost on Eckhardt, but he hoped it wasn’t too over the top), with a high-backed leather armchair for himself & each of his guests. Drinks were stocked, & the bellboy had been briefed. The healed Sparkle would join Glisten in serving the group – despite her protests about the Watchman being present, Viktor was confident that she’d behave herself after he’d had a few well-chosen words with her…

… As the pre-arranged hour of the meeting fast approached, the iceman await the arrival of the Masked Men…

[ezekiel]

Yes,” he finally answered, if only to be left in peace, “it’s possible – in theory anyway. The muscles of the human body run on electrical impulses – if a sufficient charge was administered there could be a significant increase in strength. But that’s theory – in practice, if you tried it, you’d fry: it’d be like getting struck by lightning. The ‘lightning bolt’? Even easier – it’s all a simple matter of potential differences, &…” he trailed off & finally looked up at the beauteous singer who funded his research. Looks - & a stunning voice - she had in the proverbial spades, but brains? Best to try to humour the girl, “… it’s complicated, but yes, it could be possible – if some genius figured out a way to safely generate & direct the charge. Doctor Fairweather wrote a paper on it… But, I digress. Yes, in theory, your ‘Doctor Dynamo’ could be just as the paper describes him. I doubt it, but it is possible. In theory.”

Cynthia looked under long lashes at the scientist. Her long red hair glowed under the lights as she nodded.

"Ok, so what would keep him from frying if he is hitting himself with a lightning bolt? In other words, which trinket do I break when I meet him? ::sly And, uh..can you think of a way to shockproof the suit?" ::wink

Later...

She could still hear the roaring of the crowds in her ears. They were still chanting her name after the second Encore but sometimes you've just got to leave them asking for more. She sighed...the crowds chanted but it wasn't the same as what she had seen the night before. Sometimes she wished she had the time to commit to George and Ira. Their offers were tempting but the safety of the city was more important than a touring circuit...With these thoughts in mind the Banshee alighted gently on the Monolith hotel. She took out the small pin from her belt and approached the glass door...

[Archer21]

With another meaningful glance at his scholarly friend, Ulf' stands up and prepares to leave, confident Kettles will take care of the girl.

Tossing his fur-lined cloak around his shoulders, he then kneels next to Fanny, smiling more gently than would be expected from a hardened warrior. "Save him if I can."

Then he's gone, in a swift grace that shocks her and still surprises Kettles.

-------------

Making good time through the snow in his thickly padded boots, the Viking stops and tests the air; still unaccustomed to the more arid atmosphere of this surface world, his weather sense is still not as accurate as he'd like.

Shaking his head with a snort of irritation, he continues on, striding purposefully to the incredible edifice they call a 'hotel'. Wary senses track every movement as the muscular hunter steps quietly across the lobby floor to the stairwell, and then up the stairs he leaps, ascending quickly to the floor below Eckhardt's rooms.

With a none-too patient scowl at the elevator boy, Ulf' nervously stands still during the ride to the floor above. Exiting the horrible moving closet with haste, he pounds three times on the thick doors to announce his presence. Well, at least he tries to...though he should have known better, he leaps back in surprise as the doors glide open of their own volition. With a growled curse, he remembers the pin Eckhardt gave him; right hand now resting on his weapon, Ulf' stalks through the doorway to find the ice-wizard.

[Prince of Boredom]

Noticing that White Dragon had completed his exercises, the young lady tried to focus on why she was there. In a way she hated to give the man a clean bill of health – she’d no longer have any reason to visit – but it would serve Viktor’s purposes to have him healthy – the new group was to have their first monthly meeting that night…

Having finished his exercises and katas, Bai Long walked over to the bench and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his body, lingering over his recent gunshot wounds only slightly. On his bare forearms Glisten could notice the brands of his Shaloin temple, the Chinese dragon that would become his namesake on his right arm, and a tiger on the left. Smiling from behind his black mask he walked over to Glisten and spoke, in his now familiar Chinese accent, "Thank you for all of your help and support this last month. You have truly aided my recovery. If there is ever anything I can ever do for you, please do not hesitate to ask. (He takes her hand and kisses it) I hope I will see you tonight?"

After glisten leaves, Alex takes off his hood and begins to clean up for the meeting of the Masked Men (and women) that evening.

Having packed a small duffle bag for his trip, Alexander Stephens gets in the cab he had called a few minutes earlier, and heads to the Monolith Hotel.

Checking into his room, he opened his duffle bag and pulled out his alter ego. Before donning his black Kung Fu gee, Alex examined the intricately woven white Chines dragon sewn onto the back of his 'uniform' ensuring it had survived the events of last month. Satisfied, he slipped the gee onto his near perfect physical form, glided the slippers onto his feet, and covered his head with a simple black hood.

Now ready, the White Dragon placed a small pin on the inside of his gee and made his way to the Penthouse...

[tooho]

Ayame smiles gratefully and shrugs tiredly out of the overcoat. "It was perfect, Sergei. Michael is ever a gentleman." Stretching idly as she tosses her gloves onto the nearby table, she rubs her hands along the wood as she sits in her favorite armchair. "I only have a short break before I must leave. I should be back very late. You have the evening free, Sergei."

Sitting in a large, overstuffed armchair, her exotic features soften with the light of the fireplace, as she bends and removes her evening wear shoes. Curling her legs up carefully in the chair, she slides her hand down the silk of her red dress as she blows on her coffee. Ayame peruses the paper quickly, then settles in to read the more interesting articles, forgetting her time constraints.

"Murdering dogs." Passes through her clenched teeth without thought as she reads the lead story. Snapping to her feet, she angrily starts undressing on the way to her room. Changing quickly into dark clothing, boots and her customary stetson, she angrily pulls open her gun cabinet. Staring at the shining metal for a moment, she closes her eyes and breaths for a moment. "Calm... calm," she whispers to herself in japanese. Reaching out by memory, she pulls her gun belt out and carefully wraps it around her slender waist before reaching for her guns to load them. Caressing them quickly, she smiles slightly at their comfortable weight. "They'll pay."

Grabbing her mask from the chest in her room, she glides quietly to the hidden latch along its side. Tugging her coat around herself carefully, she pulls the latch and eyes the dank tunnel beyond. Sighing, she catches her breath then quickly starts beyond, pulling the hidden lever again to shut the opening. "I mustn't be late," she mutters as she picks up speed and rushes through the tunnel and out to the sewers. Stepping lively, she quickly and carefully makes her way to the Monolith hotel.

----------

Walking straight in the entrance, Black Lotus keeps her hat down as she walks swiftly for the stairs. Ignoring patrons and staff alike, she walks quickly through the door alighting a few flights before heading for the elevator.

Bowing slightly to the bellboy she politely requests the penthouse. Idly fingering the pin, she shakes her head slightly as she gets off. "Good evening, kind sir." She says smirkingly as she winks at the boy and heads into Eckhardt's home.

Bowing to each of the occupants, she slides into a seat at the Athurian round table, crosses her legs and leans back, letting her jacket fall open. Lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her, she looks over each of the others appraisingly but keeps her silence, partly because she's nothing to offer and partly because silently she still fumes.

[Asbjørn]

“I still say you’re a damned fool, Jack!” the doctor’s words were punctuated with his less-than-gentle application of ointment to the latest in his friend’s long series of bruises & scrapes.

"Yeah, yeah...", the Watchman winced and rolled his eyes at his friend's endless repeating of his favorite subject. ::rolleyes

"I'm a damned fool, I would never have survived a week without you, and half the time you wish you'd left me floating in the harbor. I know, Doc. I heard it bef.. Ouch! Careful with that!" ::angry

… It was later that day when Terry Fisk nervously entered a darkened alleyway…

The masked vigilante listened in silence to his contact's words, nodding now and then, and asking for details a few times. As the reporter finished, the Watchman looked at him, smiled and said

"You done good, Terry. Thanks. I'll let you know if there are any developments..."

Silently wishing the guy would be a little less scared, he added

"See you round, kid. I got work to do."

… As the pre-arranged hour of the meeting fast approached, the iceman await the arrival of the Masked Men…

Having previously made sure of the security of "his" apartment at the hotel, the Watchman hung his latest disguise in the closet next to the others. Anyone taking a close look would be bound to wonder who was using the room, the clothes stored there seeming to fit all ages and walks of life.

Buttoning his shirt and adjusting the twin shoulder holsters he studied himself in the mirror. His smooth shaven features looked precisely like just a few years ago, when he was still alive. Only his eyes had changed. Facing himself he thought of age. Those eyes didn't belong to a man of his own relatively few years, the anger and threat of violence he sometimes saw in his own reflection not something a mere human lifetime could give birth to.

He stood there in silence for a while, supporting himself on the edge of the sink as images of blood in the streets rushed by. Gangfights, stabbings, robberies, drive-by shootings, rapes, murder... a never ending choir of voices crying out in pain and sorrow.

And all too often the city's protectors refused to hear. All too often eyes turned the other way. All too often a dirty badge, for ever stained by the flood of blood money that's drowning this city. To protect and to serve. The words had become a cruel and ugly mockery of the ideal. Too many of the boys in blue protected nothing but their own, and served nobody but themselves.

Good thing I'm not the only one trying to stop it...

The dead man faces himself in the mirror a final time before hiding his humanity behind the mask of justice. Donning his jacket and hat he heads out and locks the door behind him.

Shortly thereafter he enters the meeting room of the Masked Men.

[Heritage]

Polly had insisted that this really wasn't necessary; the Gershwin concert had more than made up for the indignity of the boy's costume and ridiculous mustache, but Karl was adamant.

A good general should never ask his men to do something he's not willing to do himself.

So the lovely Miss Proctor was not escorted to the Monolith by the tall, blonde Berastro - instead, while Polly wore a beautiful new black satin dress, she was in the company of her dowager aunt 'Mathilda', a fussy old woman with a tattered fur coat stretched over her rather broad, mannish shoulders. The old woman's head bobbled as she walked into hotel lobby, making the green plumage on her hat dance from side to side.

*I feel the perfect fool! But am I not a fool in love?* ::rolleyes

Trying as hard as possible to not see Polly's reactions out of the corner of his eye, Karl at last made it to their suite upstairs and threw of his cheap fright wig the minute the bellboy shut the door.

Now if that doesn't make us even, nothing will ::blush ::laugh

- - - -

Once back into his evening wear, slouch hat and mask, the Whistler offered Echo his arm as he escorted her upstairs; however, just before the great doors swung open, he sheepishly disengaged himself and pretended to dust off his opera cape ::sneaky2

Good evening, one and all! I hope that we are all once again in good health?

[ProfPotts]

Banshee:

"Ok, so what would keep him from frying if he is hitting himself with a lightning bolt? In other words, which trinket do I break when I meet him?  And, uh..can you think of a way to shockproof the suit?"

Prof Quin sighs, his tone reverting to that 'talking to a three-year old' one he tends to reserve for when he really doesn't want to be disturbed (which is, now that Cynthia thinks about it, most of the time...),

"That, my dear, is the mystery now, isn't it?"

Without any further talk, the genius scientist puts down the... well, Cynthia isn't sure what the doohicky he puts down is actually meant to be, but down it goes... & takes the 'suit' down from it's stand. He gets to work, but just before the young singer leaves him in peace he notes,

"What with the winterizing you had me put in last month... This thing can't be modified endlessly - eventually we're going to run out of space."

Even so, by the time she's ready to leave for the meeting, the Prof assures Cynthia that the suit is insulated against electricity, adding,

"Just don't think you can get hit by a real lightning bolt & shrug it off, okay?"

Despite the older man's efforts, the beauteous young songbird fancies that she detects a touch of genuine concern in his words...

Masked Men:

As the various vigilantes arrive the doors, as promised, 'magically' open to allow them entrance to the penthouse. Glisten is there to greet the guests, along with Sparkle... Whilst the former takes a moment to steal a more-than-friendly glance & smile towards White Dragon as he enters, the latter, by constrast, throws a less-than-friendly glance & look in Watchman's direction - emphasised by an unconscious rubbing over the round scar on her shoulder...

Echo smiles as she spots the beefcake presence of Ulfmund - & manages to steer Whistler over so that she ends up sitting between the two... ::halo

Eventually, everyone arrives & settles into a seat - Sparkle & Glisten serve drinks as requested. Viktor - so far merely playing the polite host - suddenly raps the diamond-top of his cane on the round table for quiet,

"I call this first meeting of the Masked Men to order."

Glancing around the assembled group, the iceman takes a folded newspaper from Sparkle, & tosses it across to the centre of the table - the headline concerning 'Doctor Dynamo' is prominantly displayed. Nodding to the article, Eckhardt opens the discussions,

"I'll presume that we've all read about this... 'science villain'... for want of a better term. It seems to me that he, if real, is just the sort of case which we alone are equiped to deal with. So - I'm sure that some of us, at least, can shed some light on this character: what do we know so far?"

[Archer21]

Surprisingly, it's the normally silent Viking that speaks first.

"Goldstein the moneylender take...", he grunts irritably, "took sci-en-tist called Fairweather. Sci-en-tist make...makes...making...lightning weapons for moneylender?"

Staring at the table as he speaks, he abruptly looks up as he finishes, glaring about the table as if challenging them to mock his poor speech.

[ezekiel]

"Pretty well informed for a wolf who doesn't bother to wear sheeps clothing, Viking."

Looking at the Banshee, the heroes wonder if she's smiling behind the mask...

"What we've read in the papers is possible...in theory at least. The human body's muscles run on electrical impulses. A big enough charge could increase strength dramatically...the question is how come the users body doesn't fry...As for the lightning bolt, Dr. Fairweather wrote a paper on generating and directing lightning charges, if anyone could create such a machine, he could."

Maybe she didn't understand it all...but Cynthia was happy for Al's insight all the same. Maybe some around the table could make heads or tails out of this...

"If we find what's preventing the users electrocution, all we have to do is disable it for Villain Flambé...now who's this Goldstein?"

[Asbjørn]

"He works for the Dutchman."

The Watchman's voice sounds hollow after the Banshees comments.

"Ezekiel Goldstein. Jeweller, money launderer, fence and loan-shark extraordinaire. He depends on the Dutchman for most of his business, but he works with a lot of other people as well. A respectable, upstanding businessman as far as the authorities are concerned, of course." ::sarcasm

"Rumour has it Doc Dynamo had a few of Goldstein's boys along on the robbery, by the way..."

A grin spreads across the vigilante's face.

"I was gonna pay some of them a visit when I remembered about our appointment..." ::sly

[Prince of Boredom]

Listening quietly and attently as the others offer information, the White Dragon waits for a lull in the conversation, "I am sorry. I have spent the time since our last meeting recuperating, I have no information to add..."

[tooho]

Shaking her head slightly, Black Lotus looks slightly guilty. "I have no further information either. I would dearly like to 'meet' these... " pausing with a look of disgust on her face, "gentlemen."

[ProfPotts]

Viktor listens with interest to all the information offered...

"If we find what's preventing the users electrocution, all we have to do is disable it for Villain Flambé...now who's this Goldstein?"

Eckhardt frowns slightly,

"Maybe..." the group's host holds out his hand - for a moment wisps of chill vapour swirl across the palm, before dispersing to reveal a small, but beautifully crafted, ice-statuette depicting The Banshee herself, "... although it's also possible that this man possesses unique talents which allow him to withstand elements which others cannot." Placing the small sculpture on the table in front on him Viktor adds, with a shrug, "We shouldn't dismiss either possibility."

"I was gonna pay some of them a visit when I remembered about our appointment..."

Eckhardt nods,

"That sounds like our best plan of action for the time being. It appears that we have a dangerous science villain, a kidnapped scientist, & a mob-connected criminal to deal with..." one of the man in blue's 'micro-smiles' flashes across his face, "... quite some excitement for our first joint venture."

Turning to The Whistler Eckhardt says,

"I believe that you have a car ready?" To the group as a whole he continues, "I suggest we divide into two teams - one to check out Goldstein's shop, the other to visit his home. Who's with me, & who's with The Whistler here?"

[ezekiel]

The Banshee gets up

"Thanks but I don't need a ride and I'm hardly inconspicuous enough to walk through the lobby...Where is Goldstein's home? Perhaps I can scout it out as you make your way there..."

[tooho]

"I will travel with the Whistler, if that is agreeable." Black Lotus's soft voice volunteers as she stands and folds her arms across her chest. Tipping her hat at him, she looks to Whistler and his companion for agreement.

[Asbjørn]

"I believe that you have a car ready?" To the group as a whole he continues, "I suggest we divide into two teams - one to check out Goldstein's shop, the other to visit his home. Who's with me, & who's with The Whistler here?"

"Depends which car is going to the shop..."

[Heritage]

"I will travel with the Whistler, if that is agreeable." Black Lotus's soft voice volunteers as she stands and folds her arms across her chest. Tipping her hat at him, she looks to Whistler and his companion for agreement.

Whistler purses his lips and nods.

Seeing as I, too, have no new information to provide at this time, the lovely Lotus can travel with the lovely Echo and myself to wherever we agree is the best place to start.

[Archer21]

The Viking stands, ready to leave. "I go to moneylender's house. Which auto-mo-bile go there?"

[ProfPotts]

Seeing as I, too, have no new information to provide at this time, the lovely Lotus can travel with the lovely Echo and myself to wherever we agree is the best place to start.

"I go to moneylender's house. Which auto-mo-bile go there?"

Echo's hand shoots into the air, as she practically yelps out,

"That'd be us!"

As all eyes turn towards the chauffeuse, she slowly lowers her hand & blushes deeply, suddenly very interested in an imagined scratch on the top of the table... ::blush

After a brief pause, Eckhardt drags his gaze away from the young lady who accidentally made herself the centre of attention,

"Right..." ::rolleyes

Turning again to the group as a whole he says,

"If Ulfmund & Black Lotus are going with Whistler & Echo to Goldstein's home, & Banshee is going to meet them there, that leaves Watchman & White Dragon to accompany myself & the ladies," he gestures towards Sparkle & Glisten, "to investigate the shop."

After a brief discussion on directions & target locations, the iceman stands & nods to the group,

"I suggest that we all meet back here after we've finished our investigations - the doors will open for you, as you have discovered. My limosine is in a private section of the hotel's underground parking facilities - the elevator can take us straight there."

Striding towards the exit Eckhardt pauses as Sparkle helps him into his white overcoat, & Glisten presents him with his white fedora. Looking back towards the group & saluting with his diamond-topped cane he says,

"Ladies, gentlemen - shall we?"

[Prince of Boredom]

Striding towards the exit Eckhardt pauses as Sparkle helps him into his white overcoat, & Glisten presents him with his white fedora. Looking back towards the group & saluting with his diamond-topped cane he says,

"Ladies, gentlemen - shall we?"

Remaining quiet throughout the decision-maiking process, Bai Long quietly rises from his seat and follows Eckhardt to his limosine.

[Archer21]

Moving past the table to the entrance, the Viking tosses a wink at Echo as he walks by, but says nothing. ::sly

[ezekiel]

The Banshee steps out through the glass door, into the gardens. Stepping to the edge of the building she looks back through the windowed wall and waves goodbye with her hand. In a show of her more athletic abilities ::wub, she leans backwards, grabs the railing and flips herself over the edge!

Wind soars in her ears as the city streets rush towards her. Spreading her legs and arms wide Cynthia manages to slow her fall and somehow finds a thermal to quickly rise in the air. Getting her bearings, she then heads towards Goldstein's house.

[Asbjørn]

"Ladies, gentlemen - shall we?"

The Watchman rises, putting on his own hat as he heads for the door.

"Let's go."

[Heritage]

Echo's hand shoots into the air, as she practically yelps out,

"That'd be us!"

As all eyes turn towards the chauffeuse, she slowly lowers her hand & blushes deeply, suddenly very interested in an imagined scratch on the top of the table... ::blush 

Whistler's lips curl oddly, caught somewhere between highly amused and slightly hurt.

After a brief pause, Eckhardt drags his gaze away from the young lady who accidentally made herself the centre of attention,

"Right..." ::rolleyes

Turning again to the group as a whole he says,

"If Ulfmund & Black Lotus are going with Whistler & Echo to Goldstein's home, & Banshee is going to meet them there, that leaves Watchman & White Dragon to accompany myself & the ladies," he gestures towards Sparkle & Glisten, "to investigate the shop."

After a brief discussion on directions & target locations, the iceman stands & nods to the group,

"I suggest that we all meet back here after we've finished our investigations - the doors will open for you, as you have discovered. My limosine is in a private section of the hotel's underground parking facilities - the elevator can take us straight there."

Striding towards the exit Eckhardt pauses as Sparkle helps him into his white overcoat, & Glisten presents him with his white fedora. Looking back towards the group & saluting with his diamond-topped cane he says,

"Ladies, gentlemen - shall we?"

Whistler stands and bows in turn to the Viking and Black Lotus.

Sir, lady, would you be good enough to follow us down to the car?