chato ❝ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ, ᴅɪᴀʙʟᴏ❞ santana 🔥 (
arsiento) wrote in
maskormenace2016-10-04 07:48 pm
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Entry tags:
- harleen quinzel | harley quinn,
- jonathan crane | scarecrow,
- joseph kavinsky | n/a,
- †bianca reyes | n/a,
- †chato santana | el diablo,
- †frederick chilton | chief of staff!!,
- †hemali | n/a,
- †isaac gates | felix,
- †jack | n/a,
- †james jesse | the trickster,
- †kaidan alenko | sentinel,
- †mick rory | heat wave,
- †sally mckenna | hypodermic sally,
- †sam ortez | locus,
- †yuri petrov | lunatic
𝜤 🔥 video
[ The feed turns on shakily and abruptly, showing at first a view of mostly sky, but then it catches more blurry glimpses of scenery -- what might be recognizable as downtown Nonah, if someone were to squint or was just very familiar with the area by now -- as it moves again, as if being wrestled from someone. Voices can be heard above the fainter sounds of traffic, although there's the steady pulse of a nearby car stereo playing loudly and, occasionally, an engine revving.
Then the communicator steadies, being held at its owner's side; the camera now gives an un-aimed view the street, though at a somewhat diagonal, catching about half of the car in question in the shot. A guy's voice, about a foot away, says: "--the sickest shit I ever seen, man! Orale, show the guy, Angie!" And then the communicator moves again, the man holding it taking a step back as Angie breathes fire about five feet into the air. Only the fire and not Angie herself is visible on the screen, although within moments the speaker is stepping close again.
"You see that? It's legit, right? Just one selfie, man! Just one, come on!" ]
Then what, you'll finally beat it? [ Diablo's not speaking into the communicator, obviously, so his voice is muted, though still audible. ] I got nothing to say about no heroes, kid. Whatever you want? It ain't got nothing to do with me.
[ "Yeah, yeah, whatever! Damn, why you got to be such a bummer, dude?" The communicator raises again, rotating around to show two people: #1, a heavily tattooed man in a letterman-style jacket, "Diablo" embroidered on it like a nametag, looking impatiently at #2, who appears to be a teenager with slicked back hair ("AA" shaved into the sides), a lightning bolt tattoo on his neck, and large mirrored sunglasses. ]
Okay, how--
[ But, smiling delightedly, the boy waves into the camera, declaring: "Heeeey, imPorts! Que onda, stay crazy, guys -- we still believe in you! We got your backs now, so take it easy! Ride or die, man!" before he laughs and runs out of frame to join his off-screen friends; the car motor revs again. Diablo, still holding the communicator, does nothing for a moment except flick his eyes irritably and skeptically in that direction, then turns the camera around to capture the kids driving away. The car's plate reads "DOUBLE A". ]
Man, the hell was that. [ And now the camera once again rotates, his skeptical gaze gracing the screen. ] If that's what you all got around here, then no wonder they be importing in heroes like furniture.
[ Well... "heroes," as the still-dubious expression on his face may go on to suggest. He shrugs, then shakes his head. ]
But hey, y'know-- it's whatever. Anyone know where's a good shoe place around here?
Then the communicator steadies, being held at its owner's side; the camera now gives an un-aimed view the street, though at a somewhat diagonal, catching about half of the car in question in the shot. A guy's voice, about a foot away, says: "--the sickest shit I ever seen, man! Orale, show the guy, Angie!" And then the communicator moves again, the man holding it taking a step back as Angie breathes fire about five feet into the air. Only the fire and not Angie herself is visible on the screen, although within moments the speaker is stepping close again.
"You see that? It's legit, right? Just one selfie, man! Just one, come on!" ]
Then what, you'll finally beat it? [ Diablo's not speaking into the communicator, obviously, so his voice is muted, though still audible. ] I got nothing to say about no heroes, kid. Whatever you want? It ain't got nothing to do with me.
[ "Yeah, yeah, whatever! Damn, why you got to be such a bummer, dude?" The communicator raises again, rotating around to show two people: #1, a heavily tattooed man in a letterman-style jacket, "Diablo" embroidered on it like a nametag, looking impatiently at #2, who appears to be a teenager with slicked back hair ("AA" shaved into the sides), a lightning bolt tattoo on his neck, and large mirrored sunglasses. ]
Okay, how--
[ But, smiling delightedly, the boy waves into the camera, declaring: "Heeeey, imPorts! Que onda, stay crazy, guys -- we still believe in you! We got your backs now, so take it easy! Ride or die, man!" before he laughs and runs out of frame to join his off-screen friends; the car motor revs again. Diablo, still holding the communicator, does nothing for a moment except flick his eyes irritably and skeptically in that direction, then turns the camera around to capture the kids driving away. The car's plate reads "DOUBLE A". ]
Man, the hell was that. [ And now the camera once again rotates, his skeptical gaze gracing the screen. ] If that's what you all got around here, then no wonder they be importing in heroes like furniture.
[ Well... "heroes," as the still-dubious expression on his face may go on to suggest. He shrugs, then shakes his head. ]
But hey, y'know-- it's whatever. Anyone know where's a good shoe place around here?
video
So, he shrugs. ]
Maybe not, but that's fine with me. Ain't really my business anyway, so long as they ain't up in my face about it. [ Then he inclines his head slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. ] Yeah, I remember you. How's it hanging, Daisy?
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[She knows from experience, it's beyond obnoxious. Especially for someone who's spent the better part of 10 years erasing any history on herself.]
Could be better, could be worse. What about you? I know this place can be overwhelming.
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[ Diablo's somewhat given up on the idea of having privacy by now, but just as long as he's left alone he'll be content. No guarantees for either, of course, but for now this strikes him as on the more mild end of things. In his experience, at least, it's mild. ]
Ain't dead or in lock-up, so I guess I'm doing pretty good, yeah. Could be a lot worse than this.
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I guess that's one way of looking at it...
What job did they give you anyway?
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Oh, that? It's a joke, that's what kind -- like they really expecting me to be some fireman.
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[Duh.]
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What can you do?
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[Figures he'd ask. It only seemed fair.]
I can control vibrations.
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That's convenient, actually; at least to maybe help get his point across better. ]
Okay-- right, vibrations. [ ... ] So you ain't never thought, like during an earthquake or whatever... that sure, maybe you can help out. Or maybe you gonna just make everything worse. And maybe you ain't got no way of knowing which one it's gonna be 'til after it's over.
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So are you saying you can't do it? Or you've just never tried?
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Maybe I don't want nothing.
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