Ever have one of those Monday mornings where everything actually *did* go right? You’re left with this unsatisfied air of “WTF? I thought it was Monday!” My head is all wobbly though. Bleah.

Ah, me. I am only going to get to work 2 days this week due to Thanksgiving and the office’s somewhat Neanderlithic (i don’t care if its not a word; it should be) views on whether or not contract employees get to be in the office when there’s no “real” employees about. Of course, as I am a contract employee I don’t get *paid* for those days that I have to take off. *grumble*

Last night was amazingly “eh” after the first couple of hours. We saw Jason (Void) and he stood us a round of drinks. Lots of people were amazingly dressed and it was a ton of fun watching folk’s faces as new costumes wandered in.

But after awhile, I just started feeling icky. Could NOT catch my groove – hard to do when your ‘tines are rumbling in time to the beat – and eventaully, I just wanted home. Blankets, kitties, snuggly boy-types….*sniff, sniff. OH, ICK!* AFTER a shower. It was terribly smoky in Los Club de la Gothlings as well.
So we left. We walked back the forty or so blocks to our car and drove the hour it took to get back to our house in BFE.
*sigh*

If you guys want us to move back into town, you’ve got my vote.

*those of you what watch Richard Jenni will get that.

This is a word sketch of a character I am making for a game that I play called, “City of Villains”.

From the files of Indigo….

“Not all who wear white are heroes…”
So said a member of the Freedom Phalanx. He seemed to be referencing no one in particular, although he may well have been speaking of Belle Bourke.

Belle Bourke was raised as a genteel girl of the South. Coming from the curious hybrid of rural and metropolitan that is Atlanta, Georgia, Belle was born into a family of wealth and tradition that few modern people can comprehend. Her entire life was planned from the moment of conception and deviation was not tolerated. She was to be a debutante dressed in pastels by sixteen. And married wearing white by no later than twenty-two. In her world, young women went to college to meet prospective husbands.

Belle however, had different plans. Darker plans. Even as a child she had been fascinated by the mastery of body through training and rigorous mental discipline. She began secretly studying kung fu at the age of fourteen, delighting in the mastery that it gave over at least one aspect of her life. Although she revelled in the burgening prowess in her body, she did not feel that it exacted enough punishment to truly become great. It was while she was in college that she found the outlet for her needs in a group calling itself “Deadly Blooms”.

On the surface, the Blooms are a Southern woman’s self-defense group. In reality, they are an elite group of assassins for hire. Each member of the inner cadre – all of them fanatically loyal to the organization – trains ruthlessly to metamorph their bodies into killing weapons. At the culmination of training, each woman takes the name of a poisonous flower.

As with many gang and mercenary groups, training is completed with a horrific act of violence. Usually, this act is a symbol to the potential member. A metaphor for the removal of any ties to their past lives. Belle – now known as “Star Jasmine” – was no different. At the age of twenty three, one year shy of graduating from college, she went home to visit her family. While she was there she massacred everyone in her parent’s mansion. Over thirty people were killed by her hands. She then tore out her own eyes and placed one in her mother’s mouth, and one in her father’s.
One of the last things she would say before sewing up her own mouth would be to the psychiatrists at the Zig. “This gives me absolute control of their spirits. They do MY bidding, now.”
Whether this is true or not, the wounds where her eyes used to be never heal.