Lord Fell

Pompadour nodded to the woman, and took the clip-board. Settling into a chair, he picked up and uncapped the pen with a tendril of hair. He skimmed the questions with a hmmmm. Finishing the paperwork, Pompadour follows the receptionists direction to the testing area. He shakes the Doctor's hand, then passes him the clip-board. "Pleased to meet'cha Doc. I'm Pompadour."

Might be good to put dates on these, since the tread is open and ongoing. I'm going to re-edit the first post to indicate that meeting took place on May 25th.

Pompadour's brow furrowed in manly concentration as he struggled for a retort. Finally, he settled on "If you aren't sober you'll never believe it in the morning." Unfortunately, his clever line is delivered to empty air! Mercy has already sprung into action, and leaped down to the street. Following suit, Pompadour also jumps down, extending his hair out and down, it acts as a mighty shock-absorber. He enters the liquor store hot on Mercy's tail. A quick glance around tells the tale of what's going on. "Holy Naked Hellboys! It's a Sinister Sausage fest!"

Initiative vs. Beer Demons (1d20+1=10) Pompadour will leave his hair extended, but kind of close to the body -otherwise it's a Move action to extend it.

May 25th, 2009. Alicia Whitling (Thunderstanding) and Mandy Karlson (Pompadour's agent) come to a business agreement. Delicate Art of Thunder. This is an ongoing thread, and is now Open.

This thread should now be open to anyone. Before jumping in, note that your character will need to jump a few hoops to get an appointment; beyond that point you'll need to negotiate then when/why/how with Sacerdos how your character will be involved in this thread.

[post reserved for a press release] Mandy's tame reporters will be re-visiting the events of Thunder's memorial weekend adventure. This report will emphasize Thunder's blend of incredible fighting skill and superhuman strength and toughness. The reporter will make a point of mentioning Thunder's interest in training other superhumans in unarmed combat.

Just realized that Pompadour will still be in NYC on the 1st. We'll move this back to Thursday, June 4th.

"Oh hell no." Mandy seems somewhat offended. "Amateurs lie, then they get caught, and then their names get synonymous with jokes. Reporting is pretty much always slanted, even when it's not intentional. Two reporters interviewing the same people will have different results. A person one reporter describes as intense and focused, another reporter describes as obsessed and single-minded." Mandy glances at her watch. "I need to run, but trust me; I won't work with a reporter that's willing to bend the truth. If one of my clients does something great, I generally know someone I can call to make sure that the story gets out there and emphasizes the success. If one of my clients has a bad day, that same reporter will still report it. The difference is, they'll probably just report the facts, without using a lot of words like: incompetent, reckless or menace. To be honest, I'm as likely to call a reporter when my clients screw up as I am when they do good -because it's all about controlling the press." Glancing at her watch again, Mandy waves. Her stilettos click-clacking as she makes her way back to her car.

Mandy blinks. "Oh, they missed plenty. I don't mean the cops, I mean the press. They had a chance to do a crime-beat, community-interest piece on a woman that singlehandedly took down something like three-dozen thugs. Extra bonus that she's a celebrity that's been on the cover of magazines, and built like a brick house to boot. It's shameful what the press misses, they need to be lead around by the nose sometimes. I know some guys who'll appreciate the 'pop' factor of a story like this." She turns to go, but then stops. "You might get a call for an interview, don't worry too much about that. Just be polite, a little humble... I'll get a chance to 'touch up' the report before it hits the press. You know, for professional courtesy."

Edited! Probably the best place for me to put a "press release" about that thread is in THIS thread -it doesn't really belong in my news, or your news, or... and if Thunder just happens to be interviewed, and just happens to mention that she's thinking about opening her dojo to train Superhuman fighters, then we can open this thread to others. I envision this as a thread for people to just 'drop in' and spar, RP, RP training... can be used to justify combat and combat feat upgrades.

"Abso-" [sound of a car backfiring] "-lutely! Your dojo, your rules." Mandy shook the offered hand enthusiastically. The Super Agent reached into her purse, and produced a large leather-bound day-timer. "Alright... as far as I'm concerned this is just foreplay. No need for contracts or any of that yet. I do want you to have extra copies of my card, although I'll probably arrange for you to have your own -card that is. You can give out my office number as a contact for anyone you don't want having direct access to you -fanbois, press, whoever." She jotted down a phone-number on the back of one of her cards, "That's my personal cell number. Please don't pass that out to anyone, but definitely feel free to call me whenever you have an idea, question, whatever. I'll get your digits too, if you don't mind..." "Ok! Last bit of business... Pompadour has a bunch of meetings in New York next week and I'll be with him, but perhaps we can schedule a first meeting for you two in the first week of June?" After sorting out all the last few notes and cards, Mandy tucks her day-timer away, and fetches forth her purse. Then she allows herself to be lead to the door. As she is putting her shoes back on, she asks oh-so-casually, "do you have any problems with me sending my tame news-hounds to have another sniff around that Greenbank Warehouse?"

Mandy pursed her lips in thought for a moment, and Thunder could practically hear the clicking of mighty wheels turning. "Let's lay it down plain what we're each bringing to the table. You need to be able to set some time in your schedule aside for training." A brief pause for emphasis. "And that's it. You already train, continuously it looks like, you'd just need to be ready for guests a few times a week. You won't need to go touring to train people, they will come to you." "For my part, I arrange the details. If you need more or better press, I make that happen. Training with you has to be prestigeous -no empty pockets or nobodies. My office can vet applicants, handle the appointments, and even sort out the bookkeeping for you. We can start with a little Quid Pro Quo, I'll send you Pompadour and you can see how you like training a superhuman fighter, while I have a look at raising your profile."

A Week in the Big Apple, Part I The night passed uneventfully. Perhaps admitting her fear that she might want nocturnal company was enough to strengthen Mandy's resolve. Pompadour, conscious of his utter lack of luggage slipped out early and visited the boutique in the hotel. He picked out a new outfit, as well as a few assorted extras. He breakfasted on bagels, cream cheese and coffee in a bistro across the street from the hotel, and then returned to his room to shower and change. Perhaps feeling a bit awkward, Mandy did not attempt to track him down until nearer the time of his interview. Neither of them mentioned last night's admission. A car was summoned to take them to the offices of Us Magazine. On the way to the interview, Mandy reminded Pomp of some of the key points she had discussed with him on the flight. The rest of the afternoon proved grueling. A perky young woman trapped him in an office that was either too damn hot, or too damn cold and asked him increasingly repetitive questions. Then, after a short break for a snack, the whole thing started all over again. Pompadour did his level headed best to remain pleasant and jovial with the woman the entire time. For reasons he was unable to determine, she seemed unaffected by his hawtness powers. Despite this unexpected setback, he thought the interviews went rather well. Wednesday night was spent quietly bumming around the hotel. After a quiet dinner, Mandy excused herself to her room. Pompadour browsed the boutique in the hotel again, and picked out a few more articles of clothing. Then he spent a few hours in front of the television. Every once in a while, he could hear Mandy in her suite. Before turning in himself, he tapped on the adjoining door and said good-night through it... and heard a murmer in reply. Thursday morning saw Pompadour and Mandy back in the offices of Us Magazine. An editor sat down with them to go through the rough draft and make some notes. Mandy was assured she would have access to the final draft for editorial approval by Friday afternoon. Then Pompadour got to spend three hours posing for photographs. That night, he decided to see the sights. His agent pled fatigue, and declined to come with him. He went down to the car by himself. "I'm a tourist. show me all the sights," he told the driver. The man nodded, and pulled into the New York traffic. The smoothly moving towncar passed through Time Square. Pompadour gawked at the enormous electronic signs and the bustling people. He decided not to get out and wander around, though. He had a vague notion that the Square was supposed to be seedy, but it didn't seem that way. The car went on to the waterfront, and Pompadour got out to take a look at America's Grandest Old Girl. My ancestors beat you here, but I dig what you do, baby. A street vendor hawking souveniers caught Pompadours eye, and he left $20 poorer, but with a plastic replica of the statue, except wearing Lady Liberty's red, white and blue costume. The car had one final stop to make. As the car approached Ground Zero, Pompadour felt, or imagined that the city seemed to grow quieter or somber. Almost 8 years later, the wound in the heart of the Big Apple... in the heart of the country still hurt. Pompadour got out of the car, and walked at a slow pace to the monument. He looked around, and let his mind wander. This is the truth of evil. Over 2000 dead for no reason but Hate... and this is where ordinary men and women proved Heroes beyond the Centurion. So easy to be a hero when you're indestructible. To run into a burning, collapsing office tower when you're not... you're not indestructible Pomp... do you have what it takes to be a Hero? He was just a teenager when it happened, but he still remembered the day. He wiped some moisture from his eyes, and returned to the car.

ah... we need a timeline for the start of this thread. In June, all the 'tell all' mags will have a rehash of Pompadour's career and interviews talking to him about being a reformed villain, etc. So... I'm thinking that this thread should start sometime in the last week of May, so it's reasonable that Thunder would be clueless. I sort of have an idea that this thread will let Thunder become sort of like a Wildcat character, that has trained some of the greatest fighters in the DC universe.

Mandy paused a moment, to slip off her stilettos (perhaps she knows a little something about dojo etiquette) and wait for the furniture to stop flying. Then she padded barefoot over to the offered chair. She doesn't seem to grasp that you're unfamiliar with Pompadour. "Well, he got his powers about a year ago. With the America's Top Model fiasco, and the fallout from that he's only just getting a chance to think about putting his powers to good use. It takes a lot more than super strength or powers to go toe-to-toe with a supervillain though. He's got a lot of raw potential, but needs to learn application. Or, another way of looking at it... Consider how powerful a champion the Centurion would have been, if he had all the fighting skills of someone like Raven." The 'smooth operator' pauses for a moment. "So that's my duty to my client; to arrange the kind of training he will need to actually succeed as a hero. Now, my proposal to you as a potential client is entirely different. We will want to enhance your mystique as a superhuman warrior. Your client base will be exclusive; fewer clients, less work, more money. All the supers will want to be able to say they train with you. Or, they will once the word gets out that you're the preeminent superhuman sensei in Freedom City." The briefest of pauses. "Everything I've learned about you makes me sure that's the truth, we just need to get the word out."

"It wasn't exactly easy getting your address, and I wasn't able to get a phone number at all." The business woman remained in the doorway, perhaps aware of the difference between entering an open door and being invited inside a residence. She wore a fitted, black knee-length skirt, and a bright pink blouse with ruffles at the waist and bodice. "My client doesn't know I'm here. I think he'd get all pouty if I told him he would get a chance to train with you, and then it fell through. I thought it would be better to talk to you myself, first. Besides, we might have business of our own to discuss." The confidant professional woman smoothly produced a slim black case out of her purse, snapped it open, and slid a card out of it, all with one hand -sort of a boardroom iajutsu. The card reads: Mandy Karlson Public Relations & Career Consulting. "My client is Brett Mason, more commonly known as Pompadour. He's an up and coming musician and super hero. I think that he really needs some training in unarmed combat. But, Pompadour can pick up a car... I can't send him to Temple Kung Fu or something like that. I mean, it's not my area of expertise either, but I would assume that a normal human, even an expert martial artist, could be seriously hurt trying to train a superhuman fighter." Mandy's eyes sparkle as she continues. "My client is probably not the only superhuman that needs the kind of training that you can provide. That puts you in a very interesting, unique, and potentially lucrative position... and I would be delighted to help you explore it."

Pompadour unfurled tendrils of his hair, and chased after the flying heroine. He came to realize that flying had the advantage of not having to follow streets nor rely on finding things to swing off of. Much to his surprise however, Pompadour was able to keep pace with Mercy simply because he could move faster in straight lines than she could. The downtown streets seemed empty, and he began to think that the night's adventures were over. Then something caught his eye, and he pushed himself to overtake Mercy. Once in front of her, he signaled for her to follow him, and looped back to stop atop a nearby building. Once Mercy had (crash) landed next to him, he pointed out the liquor store across the street from their vantage point. "I just saw about half a dozen guys in trench coats go in there... and I might be the novice here, but that seems pretty suspicious to me."

For the past week or so, I've been joking about another super-team in the city. A group of (generally) lower powered individuals who will, uhm, do stuff. The name was chosen to reflect the teams (projected) flamboyant style, and battlecry "in the FACE!" At the moment, the only thing I really know about the team, is that Pompadour would be on it, which means that the team will have a slick marketing team, photo-ops, professionally designed logo, that sort of thing. Players/characters that have expressed interest, so far: Vith/Mercy Electra/Wander Sacerdos/Thunderstanding ...characters that are interested should be comfortable with the idea that their exploits would involve press releases, merchandising and write-ups in the comics.

I don't think that there should really be an upper limit of attendants. That's sort of the point: Ace Danger wants ALL the heroes to come out and play. If things get too crazy, the thread could probably be split into two locations eg. Danger Mansion Ballroom, Danger Mansion Banquet Hall. ...the downside of that, is that if all the heroes are gettin' tipsy and carousing in one spot, crime gets a free pass somewhere else. And anyone with a bomb can make a play for a large percentage of the cities heroes.

Bring on the beer demons!

Edited my post to incorporate the proper layout. I had it in my head that all dojos are on the second floor, either because climbing a flight of stairs helps discourage the idly curious, or because 2nd floor rents are cheaper... but this is a private residence, so that makes a difference.

This Flight Tonight The flight to New York was quite enjoyable. Mandy had booked them into First Class seats which were deep and comfortable. A somewhat continuous stream of flight attendants offered every conceivable comfort. The flight was also too short for Pompadour to get over the novelty of flying first class and become bored or irritable. During the flight, Mandy produced the questionnaire he had filled out a few days before, and went through some of his answers with him. She made suggestions for phrasing, things to emphasize, and topics to steer clear of. She also cautioned him that while she was supposed to have final editorial of the magazine piece, if he told them anything truly juicy or inflammatory, they might well run the piece how they wanted and risk the legal consequences. With assorted delays, Pompadour and Mandy didn't clear the airport and get to their hotel until 10:30pm. Pompadour waved off the bell-hop. His only luggage was his stand-up bass, and he carried Mandy's few bags with tendrils of hair. He had yet to try to pick up something with his hair that didn't seem weightless, and contemplated how much he could actually lift. For that matter, he had come to realize that he had incredible strength in his arms as well. Well he'd learn more about that soon enough; he'd booked an appointment with the Albright Institute for the following Monday. Pompadour received several odd looks. Mandy checked them in, adjoining suites apparently. The upscale hotel had an elevator attendant who seemed scandalized to see Pompadour carrying his luggage... whether because he wasn't attended by a bell hop, or because he was using his hair to do it wasn't clear. Pompadour set his instrument case down in his room, then went through the adjoining room to bring Mandy her luggage. They chatted, briefly, but she seemed concerned about something. Finally, Mandy said "A long time ago, I told you that willpower and professionalism was keeping me from pouncing on you. That still goes. But... tonight, traveling with you, having other people -other women look at me with you. I could see them wondering what I had that you wanted, and that felt pretty damn good. And you... paying attention to me, taking my bags like a gentleman..." Mandy gave him a searching look, perhaps debating what she would say next. "And so, my lovely, yummy Pompadour... I'm not made of steel. Tonight, lock your door... and don't let me in." Pompadour blinked. Oh, awkward... "oh. Yeah, sure thing, boss." As he turned back to his own room, he did not see his agent's manicured nails digging furrows into her skirt.

Pompadour crosses the lobby, while removing his sunglasses in a dramatic, slow-motion gesture. When he finally reaches the desk, he favours the receptionist with a big, pearly white smile. He folds his sunglasses away, and tucks them into his jacket. "Yes, I believe you can help me. I have an appointment for Power Gauging? My name is Brett Mason, but you may have me listed as... Pompadour."

May 25th, 2009 The posh little beemer slipped into a curbside parking stall smoothly, and it's driver exited the vehicle; her stiletto heals clicking on the pavement. Amanda (Mandy) Karlson lifted her sunglasses to take a closer look at the wide brick building. Then she checked an address on a slip of paper and pursed her lips. Walking around the building, she finally spotted a doorway at the far side. Once Mandy walked over to it, she didn't see a doorbell, but the door was open about a third. Shrugging, Mandy just poked her head inside "Hello?" While walking along the sidewalk, she had heard the sounds of someone punching, kicking or otherwise murdering a heavy bag. That sound had stopped the second she stepped from the sidewalk up to the doorway. After the bright afternoon sun, the interior of the building seemed dim. Her eyes could make out a figure, standing towards the center of the dojo. "Are you Alicia 'Thunderstanding' Whitling? I want to ask you about training..." As the business woman takes a step inside the dojo, Thunderstanding is able to assess her in less than a glance. Mid 30s and fit, but with absolutely no balance to indicate she has any combat experience... a basic self defense class would probably be more beneficial... she is just about to tell the interloper exactly this, when she speaks again. "I represent a client that would very much like to train with you."