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capeandcowllogs2013-07-11 05:49 pm
ropedin) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-07-11 05:49 pm
Chaos is hangin' around
WHO: HOODED JUSTICE and YOU
WHERE: The City (in various places)
WHEN: Late on 07/11 and the week afterward
WARNINGS: Hooded Justice is a warning on his own; starting out with violence and will edit from there if needed
SUMMARY: HJ is on the streets, indefinitely
FORMAT: tl;dr to start, but tagger's choice!
The first night, the one night when he started to feel his age, he felt his feet force him to keep going. He had something to prove, maybe, or was it just that he didn't know what else to do. The thought of reaching the age he was at (an age he didn't think he'd see) made him tense, like everything in him pulsed, and he needed to keep going, and prove that it didn't matter. He'd lost time, back home, and he felt it distinctly now. The way the streets looked, this future with the dirt and grime, the laziness and entitlement, all of it equated to a distinct sense of helplessness. He'd been on the streets night after night, but there was no improvement.
He didn't expect it overnight, but he'd think, even in a city as large as this one, that word would spread. That they would know not to do these things. Get off the streets, make something of themselves. But people like that, the undisciplined, they continued to do it. Because this place let them slide. He'd seen faces that he knew he bloodied already once back out on the streets. Repeat offenders, which meant that there was only so much blame that could be landed onto the people who saw no punishment in the long run. He wasn't going to monitor every one of them.
Eventually, they simply had to pay, and then it would be society that bared the burden for failing them.
Hooded Justice moved through the first night, pushing himself deeper into the City, because he felt his age. Because he'd had years where he'd done nothing. Because he'd only gotten so far, and it hadn't done any good. He hadn't done enough, he could do more, so that's what he decided to give. Everything else be damned in the process.
[A]
Most of the week, he spent it finding both repeat offenders and new ones. The increase of bruised and bloodied bodies left for the police spoke well enough of his activities. He felt alive when he could feel the sweet, sick give of flesh beneath a fist, or how his head swam when someone gasped or cried in just the right way. Hooded Justice had no delusions, he knew there was something to be said for the fact that he enjoyed what he was doing. That he liked the feeling of blood drying on his gloves. He wore black and red for a reason, but as time moved on, later on down the week, flecks of blood were starting to show on the rope that adorned his waist and fists. Color that spoke of what he was doing, this entire time, or most of it. Ceaseless, he continued through a personal vendetta against the scum and laziness that seemed to infest every corner of society, especially here in this City.
He knew it was like this elsewhere, too, but out of sight, out of mind. Or rather, if he could do something here, and change opinions here, then maybe it would spread. The example shown, that more would follow.
Hooded Justice was no stranger to starting the motion, and then letting others follow his example. It happened before, he could make it happen again, couldn't he? He continued to take them. Dealers, pushers, producers, runners, crooks, vagrants, customers, each and every one given the same level of scrutiny and malice, either being slammed into walls, or their faces mutilated from solid punches, or bodies with broken bones and cracked ribs, some even coughing and puking blood, by the time the authorities picked them up.
Hooded Justice continued on his one-man war against the degenerates of the City. The rot that didn't seem to go away, no matter how much he cleaned.
[B]
Even men like Hooded Justice, hell-bent on a mission that was seemingly endless, needed to eat. The issue, of course, was that he hadn't left with the intention of not going home, and it's by the first day that he's had to look to his dog tags for assistance. He hasn't had to use them, yet. He didn't know how to use them, to get money. He'd read the supplemental material provided, but that didn't mean he understood how to use the dog tags. He'd hovered near a bank for a good hour or two, in broad daylight, watching patrons hit the machine outside more than they went inside. He looked more like the crook planning to rob the bank, rather than make a transaction.
Society continued to change, it seemed. Machines replaced human interaction. People didn't talk to each other anymore. Another flaw. He'd seen how some just walked down the road with white things in their ears, the way some looked down at small devices like they were staring at the road through the machines and into the ground. Somehow, they all managed to still dodge around anyone that would potentially run into them.
Eventually, however, he needed money. And that was how Hooded Justice ended up in front of an ATM, staring between his dog tags and the machine, like there was a mystery to be unveiled, that he hadn't quite figured out.
He felt exposed.
[C]
The problem was, that during the day, there wasn't much use for a vigilante. Sure, there was the occasional robbery, mugging, or violation, they could be found at any time of the day, and Hooded Justice would stop them if possible, but this was not the time for men like him. He was a man of darkness, who clung to the shadows, and remained there. He was a man who belonged in that environment, and coming out in to the daylight was not for him.
But that left him with long swaths of time that he wasn't doing anything. Before, he'd spend it sleeping, training with JR, or perhaps even taking a few hours to do nothing, he wasn't incapable of it, but that was for men with disposable time and disposable goals. Part of the rot that was settling in to him. Part of the rot that was festering, and making this City weak. It didn't matter that it had been alright before, back home, but things were getting worse and worse here. He needed to escalate it to get ahead of it. Age be damned.
But Hooded Justice was quickly figuring out that he was going to have an issue. He hadn't given the issue of money much thought, but once he saw his bank account (once he eventually got into it) and once he saw how swiftly an entire twenty dollars had gone, how soon he'd needed a refill, he thought better of how that money would last. But he didn't do anything yet, no, he wasn't going to get a job, (please) but he was eying the prospects, mulling them over in his head, and so during the day he moved around, walking the streets, and observing. He'd done too little of that so far. Too disgusted and frustrated by the world he found, but now wasn't the time for ignoring the glaring issue. Now was the time to look it in the eye, and stare it down. Now was the time to make sure he saw just how far they place had come, and figure out what he was either going to do about it, or do with himself.
And figure out how he was going to make this place work for him.
[D]
[ Wildcard!! Hit me with your best shot! ]
WHERE: The City (in various places)
WHEN: Late on 07/11 and the week afterward
WARNINGS: Hooded Justice is a warning on his own; starting out with violence and will edit from there if needed
SUMMARY: HJ is on the streets, indefinitely
FORMAT: tl;dr to start, but tagger's choice!
The first night, the one night when he started to feel his age, he felt his feet force him to keep going. He had something to prove, maybe, or was it just that he didn't know what else to do. The thought of reaching the age he was at (an age he didn't think he'd see) made him tense, like everything in him pulsed, and he needed to keep going, and prove that it didn't matter. He'd lost time, back home, and he felt it distinctly now. The way the streets looked, this future with the dirt and grime, the laziness and entitlement, all of it equated to a distinct sense of helplessness. He'd been on the streets night after night, but there was no improvement.
He didn't expect it overnight, but he'd think, even in a city as large as this one, that word would spread. That they would know not to do these things. Get off the streets, make something of themselves. But people like that, the undisciplined, they continued to do it. Because this place let them slide. He'd seen faces that he knew he bloodied already once back out on the streets. Repeat offenders, which meant that there was only so much blame that could be landed onto the people who saw no punishment in the long run. He wasn't going to monitor every one of them.
Eventually, they simply had to pay, and then it would be society that bared the burden for failing them.
Hooded Justice moved through the first night, pushing himself deeper into the City, because he felt his age. Because he'd had years where he'd done nothing. Because he'd only gotten so far, and it hadn't done any good. He hadn't done enough, he could do more, so that's what he decided to give. Everything else be damned in the process.
[A]
Most of the week, he spent it finding both repeat offenders and new ones. The increase of bruised and bloodied bodies left for the police spoke well enough of his activities. He felt alive when he could feel the sweet, sick give of flesh beneath a fist, or how his head swam when someone gasped or cried in just the right way. Hooded Justice had no delusions, he knew there was something to be said for the fact that he enjoyed what he was doing. That he liked the feeling of blood drying on his gloves. He wore black and red for a reason, but as time moved on, later on down the week, flecks of blood were starting to show on the rope that adorned his waist and fists. Color that spoke of what he was doing, this entire time, or most of it. Ceaseless, he continued through a personal vendetta against the scum and laziness that seemed to infest every corner of society, especially here in this City.
He knew it was like this elsewhere, too, but out of sight, out of mind. Or rather, if he could do something here, and change opinions here, then maybe it would spread. The example shown, that more would follow.
Hooded Justice was no stranger to starting the motion, and then letting others follow his example. It happened before, he could make it happen again, couldn't he? He continued to take them. Dealers, pushers, producers, runners, crooks, vagrants, customers, each and every one given the same level of scrutiny and malice, either being slammed into walls, or their faces mutilated from solid punches, or bodies with broken bones and cracked ribs, some even coughing and puking blood, by the time the authorities picked them up.
Hooded Justice continued on his one-man war against the degenerates of the City. The rot that didn't seem to go away, no matter how much he cleaned.
[B]
Even men like Hooded Justice, hell-bent on a mission that was seemingly endless, needed to eat. The issue, of course, was that he hadn't left with the intention of not going home, and it's by the first day that he's had to look to his dog tags for assistance. He hasn't had to use them, yet. He didn't know how to use them, to get money. He'd read the supplemental material provided, but that didn't mean he understood how to use the dog tags. He'd hovered near a bank for a good hour or two, in broad daylight, watching patrons hit the machine outside more than they went inside. He looked more like the crook planning to rob the bank, rather than make a transaction.
Society continued to change, it seemed. Machines replaced human interaction. People didn't talk to each other anymore. Another flaw. He'd seen how some just walked down the road with white things in their ears, the way some looked down at small devices like they were staring at the road through the machines and into the ground. Somehow, they all managed to still dodge around anyone that would potentially run into them.
Eventually, however, he needed money. And that was how Hooded Justice ended up in front of an ATM, staring between his dog tags and the machine, like there was a mystery to be unveiled, that he hadn't quite figured out.
He felt exposed.
[C]
The problem was, that during the day, there wasn't much use for a vigilante. Sure, there was the occasional robbery, mugging, or violation, they could be found at any time of the day, and Hooded Justice would stop them if possible, but this was not the time for men like him. He was a man of darkness, who clung to the shadows, and remained there. He was a man who belonged in that environment, and coming out in to the daylight was not for him.
But that left him with long swaths of time that he wasn't doing anything. Before, he'd spend it sleeping, training with JR, or perhaps even taking a few hours to do nothing, he wasn't incapable of it, but that was for men with disposable time and disposable goals. Part of the rot that was settling in to him. Part of the rot that was festering, and making this City weak. It didn't matter that it had been alright before, back home, but things were getting worse and worse here. He needed to escalate it to get ahead of it. Age be damned.
But Hooded Justice was quickly figuring out that he was going to have an issue. He hadn't given the issue of money much thought, but once he saw his bank account (once he eventually got into it) and once he saw how swiftly an entire twenty dollars had gone, how soon he'd needed a refill, he thought better of how that money would last. But he didn't do anything yet, no, he wasn't going to get a job, (please) but he was eying the prospects, mulling them over in his head, and so during the day he moved around, walking the streets, and observing. He'd done too little of that so far. Too disgusted and frustrated by the world he found, but now wasn't the time for ignoring the glaring issue. Now was the time to look it in the eye, and stare it down. Now was the time to make sure he saw just how far they place had come, and figure out what he was either going to do about it, or do with himself.
And figure out how he was going to make this place work for him.
[D]
[ Wildcard!! Hit me with your best shot! ]
no subject
Fear was what kept them in line. Fear is the only thing people responded to. Gilbert obviously hadn't learned that yet. Most didn't, and that was why they weren't up to snuff. The machine brought too many of those types, and not enough who could lay the law down, and show society what they should and could become.
He rounded in front of the man, making sure all the boy could see was his bulk. HJ towered over him, looking down at him, head tipping back slightly. ]
You will, until you understand what it is I am doing. He doesn't deserve pity, but I am not planning on just killing him.
[ He didn't need to stop, or even convince him to leave, but maybe it was the weakness in him that did it, or the gun in his hand, and the fear of his heartbeat stopping again. Fear was a powerful motivator. If he could get the boy to understand that, and leave, then all the better. It made it easier for him. ]
no subject
You need to stop already. Mr. Nelson would never do this.
no subject
People knowing made him cagey. The Minutemen had realized, and understood, that it was best to not bring it out into the open.
He assumed that Gilbert understood what he'd seen. That he knew exactly what the nature of their relationship was. ] Of course he wouldn't.
[ And it was with that when he reached out, at first to just shove him, but a snap-quick decision changed it. The boy should leave, he didn't need him close. He'd have to change areas, just in case the boy told Nelson. He didn't need this right now. Thinking, considering were actions that would take too long.
He drove his fist at him, a sharp violent shot to his face, intending to silence him for long enough to get him out of there. ]
no subject
A-Augh!
[ The world around him spins too fast for him to keep up with and he stumbles away with a hand pressed against his face. He feels the blood seep through his gloves and trickle down his collar. ]
no subject
He tossed a look behind his shoulder, at the criminal. He was effectively neutralized, as well.
Hooded Justice didn't think the boy would have much trouble. He didn't hit him that hard. He turned, striding down the alleyway, but stopped to look down at the man he'd taken care of. ]
If you're so concerned with this filth, feel free to take care of him.
[ If not, the cops would eventually come on the alleyway, after another anonymous tip. Those had increased lately as well. ]
no subject
That bastard. He grips the gun tightly in his hand, though he never once dares to raise it. It seems almost pointless now. ]
You... [ It's a low growl. Not menacing, but defiant in the face of all this.
He thinks he hates this man. His eyes haven't held such seething anger since the stadium incident.
But he's not going to test his luck tonight. His thoughts quickly trail to Nelson; somewhere, blissfully unaware of what's gone down tonight. He doesn't want to bring this to him. Not yet, anyway. ]
Forget it.
[ The blood keeps coming, but he turns away anyway to see if the man Hooded Justice beat up is still breathing at this point. ]
no subject
Perhaps this will be a lesson you won't forget. Don't stand between me and my work again.
[ Between him and anything, really. The boy was quickly edging closer toward a nuisance. He didn't deal with him further, because he hadn't seen fit to draw the weapon on him. Only that. It's what he told himself, either way, that he was going easy on him, because he was simply doing what he thought was right. He didn't know the consequences of his actions any more than the people on the streets did.
He didn't even run away, he walked down the alley, turning a corner without looking back again. ]