Role Play Board: War of the Gods (Follow up)

War of the Gods (Follow up)

Posted by Supreme on 4/20/2009, 2:42 pm
71.226.186.23

Nearly two weeks had passed since Maxine's son had been cured of his seizures. In that time, Maxine had set her son up with a local Tudor. Brandon, in just hours had grasped speaking, reading and writing. Within days he was up to fifth grade level of comprehension. The nine year old was even displaying a knack for electronics, especially his Tudor's desk top Dell.

Not a single day went by that Maxine didn't thank Ethan from the bottom of her heart for his priceless help. Although, Ethan felt he could 'retire' from this super-hero business a happy man now, he knew he hadn't officially started, yet.

And that's what brings him to New York City, New York. The state itself seems to be a mecca for all sorts of superhuman, paranormal, alien and other activity, so what a better place to issue a press release for a superhuman?
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The camera's clicked away and the chatter roared high into the perfectly warmed April air as Ethan Crane, known to these onlookers, and the anyone else who had clicked on the evening new in the past dozen weeks or so as Supreme.

The near deafening roar calmed significantly as Ethan cleared his throat before the mic stand. a mic stand? He thought to himself. Strange to think a man who can issue beams of white hot energy from his eyes, would need his voice amplified. But he shook the silly side thought from his head, and stepped forward, speaking softly, yet firmly at the same time into the bundled mass of microphones.

If the roar of the crowd had been wounded by the throat clearing, it certainly died as Ethan issued his first words to the public. "Hello, thank you all for coming out today." His mind already was swimming. What to say first? What had he rehearsed with Maxine? How could he possibly make this less awkward?

"I'm sure you've seen, or in a lot of cases covered me on the news. And while you may wonder what purpose I serve, if any. And while it would be easy to state that I'm here as... a protector of the innocent, and then just zip out of here, I wanted to make for certain that all of your questions were put to rest, here, today."

Whew! Did I really say all that? That was a lot of words. Feels like I've been up here for hours. But the large town square clock's minute hand hadn't moved at all. "So, without further ado, I'd like to give you all an opportunity to field your questions."

Wrong thing to say to a group of reporters Ethan! He quickly chided himself as the massive roar came back with a vengeance. Luckily the smaller, balding man with the state who had worked with Ethan to coordinate today's meeting, stepped forward, and up to the microphones. Using the built in steps on the front of the mic stand box to be able to view the crowd out front while he spoke to them all.

"Please! The questions will come orderly, and one at a time, and only from the person of Mr. Supreme's choosing."

A sea of hands reached for the sky as the man stepped from the podium. Ethan had quite a decision at hand here. But he quickly chose a stick-thin tall reporter with the Times.

"Supreme, what was the meaning of your run in with the Justice League earlier this year?"

Ah, a tough one, right out of the gates. Surely Ethan hadn't expected 'what's your favorite flavor of Ice Cream?', had he? But he was determined to answer each and everyone of these questions.

"Well, that was a bit of a misunderstanding." Before having the chance to further elaborate he's met with a 'How so?'

"Just as everyone here is curious about my presence here, so were your very own defenders. While some might be a little over zealous, no one was injured in our exchange. And I assure you that if the League had deemed me a threat to any of you, I wouldn't be allowed to go free."

Satisfied with his own explanation, Ethan's confidence in fielding all these peoples questions began to soar. He next calls on a from the Canarsie Courier, a stuffy looking older man with a gruff voice.

"Supreme... can you deny the relation between the recent runaway superhuman amnesiac from Bellevue Hospital, and your seemingly instantaneous arrival in the news?"

If his confidence was soaring before, it was now grounded. Permanently. With a whole new can of worms opened up, Ethan's mind was yet again swimming, looking for a way out. Fortunately for Ethan, a way out came.

The mass before him looks onward as Ethan's head cocks to one side, as if straining to hear a distant sound. He then peers into that same direction. If the assembled mass could see the scene unfolding in front of Supreme's telescopic vision, they would no doubt be scrambling for their lives.

The scene was one of carnage, one of confusion, at least to Ethan's eyes. What appeared to be hordes of Roman Centurions were locked in battle with two or three Justice Leaguers.

Ethan turned quickly to the puzzled on lookers. "You'll have to excuse me, but something just came to my attention that requires my assistance."

The cries that rose back into a roar were ones of disappointment. "I'm sorry, folks. I'm sure you'll see it all on the evening news." And then they were left with only a crimson and Ivory after image of Supreme dashing away. And then nothing.
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A hail of Greek swords known as Falcatas came swooshing down ever close to the three defending Justice Leaguers. With the sudden force of gusting wind, a dozen or so Falcata blades clatter uselessly to the asphalt. The enraged men that hold tightly to the handle of a sword that now has only a three to four inch blade stare balefully at the fresh man on there field of battle.

A battle cry rises through the seemingly endless army of Gargareans. All of a sudden, Ethan likes his odds against the raring masses that he had just left better. But here at least he could let his fists do the talking.