Topic: Not Quite Batman...

Vir

Date: 2007-10-23 03:14 EST
Slow, tired steps carried 'Vir' through the market. Tonight was a good night, as there wasn't much in the way of crime going on. The only thing he had to stop was a bit of graffiti going on; some teenagers painting a few lewd things in an alley's walls. It didn't end in battle though, just a lecture before they all parted ways. Honestly, he figured it'd do little good, but that's just the way things went sometimes.

Passing a street light, he stopped to allow himself to fall in the bench that rested next to it. He was tired, having fought earlier in the night, and having to work his 'day job' after that. Those tights he wore didn't pay for themselves....even if they were of the cheap variety. Shifting in his seat, he made a minor readjustment before lifting a hand to his chest, a minor throb in it causing his teeth to grit in pain.

"Really did a number on me there, didn't you Frosty..." He was murmuring to himself, sighing a little at the memories playing out in his mind. He had lost his cool, let his male ego get the best of him, and got into a fight with someone who was...what? Making fun of him' "Shouldn't let myself lose my cool like that..." Another murmur as he let eyes hidden beneath the mask he wore drift about lazily, taking in his surroundings. It was dark, but it was quiet, serene, and the street lamp at least kept the area around him lit - as well as the poster that hung on it.

Frowning some, he scooted over on the bench, peering over it, reading. The poster spoke of the recent killings that had gone on that involved people being frozen to death. He had heard of that before, if only vaguely. Of course, no one had information, no one was able to help...not even him. Leaning back in the bench, he shook his head. That's when something clicked.

Frosty.

His pale skin, water freezing over his face upon contact, his hair had even looked frozen. Those were odd traits 'Vir' hadn't seen on anyone else. Even the threat he had received! That ninja snowman had told him he'd freeze his throat shut...and as cold as he felt, even through the gloves he wore, it didn't seem an impossible task either. Why, he could easily freeze someone. Easily kill someone...

Jumping to conclusions probably wasn't the best thing, but the puzzle pieces were fitting together all too nicely to just sit back and ignore this. 'Vir' had a bit of work ahead of him.

Locke DVestavio

Date: 2007-10-25 22:19 EST
Locke walked out of the Outback much faster than he had walked in, even with the minor damage he had sustained. Bruised jaw, bruised backside, and, most importantly, a bruised ego. He wasn't sure what irritated him more: the fact that this milquetoast man had gotten under his skin, or that he had actually lost a fight to the guy. He wasn't entirely cool under the collar these days, but he had toned down the hotheadedness that occasionally plagued him when he was younger. Most of the time, Locke wouldn't have even fought someone like Les: a milk-drinkin', apron-wearin' pretty boy who looked like he had no way of defending himself. But the situation had spiraled out of control. What had been meant as a playful verbal jab soon became mean-spirited, when Les refused to be cowed by Locke. And when those glasses of water had been poured over his head, freezing over his eyes and on his face, he sort of lost it. He physically threatened Les, then insisted that the janitor duel him.

And what Locke had expected to be an easy thrashing turned into a close bout, then an embarrassing defeat. He rubbed his sore rump, his face heating up under the balaclava. How had he lost' Les couldn't be a better fighter than him. Locke knew he was faster, stronger, and smarter than Les. And better looking too, even with blue skin, he thought to himself as an aside. No, Les had gotten lucky. I was out of practice. I'm not used to the duel format. I'm not used to pulling my punches. Indeed, Locke's desire not to kill the poor fool led him to utilize a different style of martial arts than usual. Normally, he would dodge his opponents' attacks long enough to exploit a weakness, take his opponent down with some sort of judo flip or roundhouse kick, then grab him with his bare, freezing hands until he submitted or passed out from pain and cold. This time, though, Locke had tried to put on a show, going for his fanciest kicks and throws and backflips. All that had earned him was a seat on the canvas. Well, next time would be different. He would pull no punches. He would show no mercy. And, when Les was flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling? Locke would make him eat his words. Frosty. Feh. I've heard better insults from my little brother.