09:43, Today: Timebroker, for the NPC Bullseye, rolled 3 using d8+d8 ((2,1)).

That is 2 with an Opportunity. Bullseye's Emotional Stress steps up from d6 to d8. I'm activating his Psychotic limit to add that d8 to the Doom Pool and step up his Stress to d10.

Bullseye blinks. He raises his hand to the radio in his ear. "The grunts have this one covered. I'm following up on a lead about a new anti-registration faction." There's a voice on the other end, but even Rocket can't make out the words. "Bite my ass, Norman. Nothing here but a bunch of civvies who think I won't pop them, and I can either do my job or prove them wrong." More words. "I don't care, make Taskmaster do it. He loves getting paid for sitting on his ass."


Bullseye takes the radio out of his ear and sets it down on the roof of the van. "Alright, Rabbit, let's go see if you can afford enough of 'Plan B' to talk me into 'Plan A'."

Some pointless small talk later: ((Padding!))

"And because he was so pissed about his legs being stolen, he stopped investigating at seeing Pete's uniform on the security footage and I quickly lost that lazy intel liabi~ Hold up!  That is a... terrible name for a bar.  I love it!  We got ourselves a winner."  It was a bar... by definition only.  It barely held together, the neon open sign burnt out, and he'd likely need to order the stronger stuff to get a buzz.

Rocket makes his way in, and scans around for an ATM... not knowing it's called an ATM.  Rocket pulls out his card, and asks Bullseye half a question.  "Hey, thing I turn this to mo~"  Bullseye quickly points him to the machine by the door he was right next to.  Rocket glares up at it, grabs a stool (to the amusement of the only other patron,) and jabs the card in.  It asks for a PIN number.  Rocket annoys the machine by removing the card and looking at the number posted on the back in removable tape.  "Oh, right."  Jabbing it back in and following the prompts, draws $4000... despite the machine advertising a $500 limit.

"I think we're ready for a drink."

((I'll edit if needed, but I got a sneaking suspicion I got the fluff in the transition right.))

This is a supervillain bar, with most of the patrons in fanciful costumes. You'd guess it's usually a supervillain bar, and usually tense because of it, but you wouldn't guess there's usually a line of empty tables down the center of it, with patrons sneaking suspicious glances at their opposite numbers.

Rocket hears the whispers: "sellout." "bootlicker."

He was meant to.

Bullseye wisely motions to a table in the designated Sellouts & Bootlickers section.

"So, what the Hell kinda job are you on where getting me liquored up is better than just steamrolling me? Nobody hires you and Deadpool if they give a shit about collateral damage, and nobody hires any of your other crew at all."

((I'll take "shadey bar comments for $200.
"sellout" "bootlicker"
What is a mercenary?))

Rocket takes a seat and orders drinks first, a combination of cheaper and stronger ones.  He considers how to address Bullseye's questions as a means of stalling for time.  "Boss doesn't give a shit about you, but I like being less dead."  Knowing how cryptic that is, he stalls (stares) a touch longer before sighing.  "Krutacking mess gets worse the more ya hear."

Rocket's reason for stalling shows up, the variety of drinks.  Rocket grabs a weaker one and gestures the most expensive one Bullseye's direction.  With a swig down, he continues.  "His consern is a matter of scale.  Guy thinks a lot more then Earth is gonna get caught in this crossfire.  Fancies himself some prediction models accurate enough that you could have guessed my pin number in one try if I had ya try it.  Anybody that good gets what he wants, and I plan to profit from it.  Steamrolling you means I get less friends on the ground, and I'm gonna need every card I can play if his sense of humor decides to include me.  I got a new personal best here for worst instructions ever given for a job.  What were your worst orders?  I need a comparison point."

((EDITS: Formatting Bullseye twice.  This OoC comment.))
This message was last edited by the player at 22:51, Sat 06 Feb 2021.

"Oh, you know the score, Rabbit. All wetwork, all the time, and you get clients who think 'whack this asshole' or 'whack that asshole' are all the intel you need. And they don't think to mention she's Frank Castle's second cousin or something."

"Worst job I ever got? Spider-Man. I don't miss, man, but it doesn't matter what you throw at him, he just isn't there. Worst part? He didn't even hit me. You know all that adamantium I got up and down my spine, thanks to Murdock? He magnetized it and left me stuck to the side of a garbage truck."

"But not, that's not the worst part. The worst worst part is I've been practicing for the rematch for years and Osborn hooked me up with something that nullifies his spider-sense... and I'm stuck being his..." He leans in close and practically whispers the next words: "... krutacking bodyguard."

Rocket will fail to hold back his snickering.  "Sorry, but from my end that is rather funny.  If I get the chance after this mission I'd love a shot at that tech, as it sounds like a handy part of my 'not dead' plan.  But I think my new personal worst mission directive beats yours out a smidge."  Rocket will grab a few napkins, pull out a marker, and write down a little poem.  However, as he's writing it, he'll send out a quick update to his team.

*Bullseye has tech to remove spider sense form some Osborn guy, is being paid to protect Spider-Man, and still has a metal spine.*



He will also pull out a small welding tool, quite ready to burn the little note when Bullseye's had his fill of it.  "Wetwork sounds nice and easy to this shit, not that I don't take my fair share of live bounties.  I'm not a fan of running this blind on a job."  Rocket will take another sip of his drink.  His voice gets a lot quieter. "That said, if you wanna play nice and dry, my team seams to have made contact with capes on both sides at this point.  No idea how friendly it's going on the opposing side, but I'm assuming civil.  That or they ignored me when I asked to be included in any fun."  Rocket's lets out a sigh, and pitches his alliance one more time.  "Steamroll exclusion at the cost of fun, and enough drinks to apologize."  The note quickly burns, and Rocket cleans it up with a different napkin.  He eyes up Bullseye to gauge his opinion on the whole mess.

Bullseye takes the note and reads it. And reads it aloud. And reads it aloud again. And then it's his turn to pretend he's trying not laugh. He sees the welding torch and hands you back the napkin.

"That... that is some bullshit. Not gonna ask who the client is, but I wanna know who he thinks he is, with this crap. Dunno what he's got over you but..." He's a little drunk. Maybe a little emotional. "You... uh... you need a little help renegotating your contract?"

Assuming you're declining and giving him any reason.

He looks down at this phone, and then shows it to you:



Bullseye shrugs. "I'm not going to screw up my SHIELD deal for less than retirement money. If all you want is for me to do the job I'm already being paid for, I'll pull my punches as much as I can afford to."

He smirks, pours a packet of roasted peanuts out on the table, and flicks one across the room. Moments later, you hear gasping and choking from the across the room-- several costumed villains on the Righteous Scumbags and Villains side of the bar are slapping another costumed villain's back, and a guy with metal tentacles starts trying to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

Bullseye looks at you with an expression of mock concern. "Whoops." He makes for the door in a... casually hurried fashion.

As the door closes behind you, he hands you something.

"Silly Rabbit. Forgot your Epi-Pen."

  "Not before rigging my hand.  I'll try and keep in touch."
((any reason indeed.))

  Rocket can't help but grin.  One more team message while figuring out who he's meeting up with next:

*Bullseye's as non-lethal as we can get him.  Ready to assist elsewhere.*

Rocket fans what's left of the pile of cash out onto the table in a way for the inflicted party to see, takes one of the more expensive bottles left, and follows Bullseye out the door in an attempt to make it look like that message was meant for the two of them.  The grin on his face on getting his 'Epi-Pen' back was practically monstrous.  'One worry down, should I make a polymer gun next?'  The bar issue could be worrying, but he's far too over the moon to care.  The moment he makes it out, his quick feet send him in an entirely different direction then wherever Bullseye went.

((Spider allergies are a pain. :P ))

Gwen responds to Rocket after a couple minutes.
* One of the Osborns probably runs Oscorp.  I dated Harry Osborn in my world.  Looks like in this one, his dad Norman hates Spider-Man.  Murdered Gwen and uses her memory to torture him.  Made my arrival kinda awkward.

Why does Pete's bodyguard have something to shut down his powers?

Make sure you're somewhere safe by midnight.  Don't want to be caught off-guard when you turn into a pumpkin. *

Gwen isn't even sure if talking Rabbits need to register for this thing.  Does he have any abilities above normal for a human?
This message was last edited by the player at 22:25, Fri 12 Feb 2021.

*Bullseye got it before this regestration thing hit.  They have a bad history.  Presidential pardon and a SHIELD contract paid his way to the opposite side for now.*

((EDIT: Forgot a key question, dang it!))

Rocket will start making his way to Stark Tower given a lack of other leads.  *Hey, that offer to join you at Spider-Man's tower condo still valid?  I could use an easy entrance.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:46, Sat 13 Feb 2021.

* Sure, you want me to warn them before or after the SHIELD agent leaves? *

*If he's actually important, he can stick around.  If not, he can meet me at the door.  I'm sure they don't want me making my own entrance.*

Deciding not to annoy the Quills, Rocket leaves out the next bit.  'A sudden midnight change would more likely be a puddle of goo or explosion then a pumpkin, given the likelyhood that we're made of the same unstable molecule stuff as these suits (as far as I can tell.)'

((Continuing in the Stark Tower thread on the assumption nothing stops me in the streets.))