06-24-2017, 07:33 PM
The wind blew eerily through the plaza as MadBull drew his sidearm at the ready, his footsteps making echoing sounds as he walked a search pattern around the perimeter. Nothing out of the ordinary...but that sound had spooked him. There was definitely someone here.
"Lights!"
The lawman turned around as the lights above the stage lit up, swirling around in erratic patterns and throwing blue, green, and purple spots all around. The main spotlight turned downwards and blasted him with it's multiwatt gaze, forcing him to squint and shield his eyes.
"Music!"
A loud throbbing beat from a bass drum erupted into life, Mad Bull staring slack jawed at the stage. A full jazz band had appeared from nowhere, playing their hearts out to an audience of one. Saxophones, guitars, trumpets, trombones rang out, as an enthusiastic voice wholly different from the one that summoned the band enunciated clearly.
"Coming to you live from Coruscant, the golden boy from Tier 5, the bane of crime, the modern day avenger, the scourge of every bakery on twelfth street, Officer...Officer...."
"That's Sergeant John Estes!" Mad Bull offered, utterly nonplussed at the theatric display from the stage, the band still playing and singing about a "smooth talker" and an "alley cat with a big bad voodoo hat".
"What he said!" A flickering neon sign burst into being above the cop's head, fanciful script marking him as "Sgt. Estes". Sleepy was still alert, his gun pointed at the band as the light show and jazz performance continued. The way the music was going, he could sense a crescendo.
"And now coming to the stage... Boss of the Gentleman Jacks, Pillar of the Community, Smooth Talker, Street Walker;" The voice stopped as the band picked up his sentence with a jauntily sung lyric. "Mister Pinstripe Suit! Mister Hi Dee Hi Dee Ho! He's got all the answers we really wanna know!"
Vic Hendy appeared on the stage in front of the band, grinning right at Mad Bull, the cop aiming his gun at the disheveled handyman. "Hey! Hands up, dirtbag!"
Vic complied, snapping his right hand out to the side, the same floating neon script spelling out "HARLAN". He did the same with his left, spelling "HIGGS". Finally, he clapped his hands together and the stage exploded in a flash of light, Sgt. Estes shielding his face with his free hand.
The lights, band, sound and music were gone. In Vic Hendy's place was a man that looked almost facially identical to him. Except this man couldn't have been more different than the jovial, casual handyman.
He wore a grey pinstripe suit, a visibly stab wound on his stomach and a few cuts and rips in the cloth. On his feet were black and white italian wingtips, and on the crown of his short, buzzed scalp was a jaunty grey derby, a black leather band around the dome. His skin was greyish and sunken, his eyes swirling with a non-euclidean geometric pattern of purple vistas. In his mouth was a fat cigar, lit and smoldering.
He extended a hand, thumb and index outstretched in a mockery of Mad Bull's hostile stance. "Right back at ya, Officer." He inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke from his elevated position on the stage.
"So I understand that you have been looking for me, is that not correct?"
"Lights!"
The lawman turned around as the lights above the stage lit up, swirling around in erratic patterns and throwing blue, green, and purple spots all around. The main spotlight turned downwards and blasted him with it's multiwatt gaze, forcing him to squint and shield his eyes.
"Music!"
A loud throbbing beat from a bass drum erupted into life, Mad Bull staring slack jawed at the stage. A full jazz band had appeared from nowhere, playing their hearts out to an audience of one. Saxophones, guitars, trumpets, trombones rang out, as an enthusiastic voice wholly different from the one that summoned the band enunciated clearly.
"Coming to you live from Coruscant, the golden boy from Tier 5, the bane of crime, the modern day avenger, the scourge of every bakery on twelfth street, Officer...Officer...."
"That's Sergeant John Estes!" Mad Bull offered, utterly nonplussed at the theatric display from the stage, the band still playing and singing about a "smooth talker" and an "alley cat with a big bad voodoo hat".
"What he said!" A flickering neon sign burst into being above the cop's head, fanciful script marking him as "Sgt. Estes". Sleepy was still alert, his gun pointed at the band as the light show and jazz performance continued. The way the music was going, he could sense a crescendo.
"And now coming to the stage... Boss of the Gentleman Jacks, Pillar of the Community, Smooth Talker, Street Walker;" The voice stopped as the band picked up his sentence with a jauntily sung lyric. "Mister Pinstripe Suit! Mister Hi Dee Hi Dee Ho! He's got all the answers we really wanna know!"
Vic Hendy appeared on the stage in front of the band, grinning right at Mad Bull, the cop aiming his gun at the disheveled handyman. "Hey! Hands up, dirtbag!"
Vic complied, snapping his right hand out to the side, the same floating neon script spelling out "HARLAN". He did the same with his left, spelling "HIGGS". Finally, he clapped his hands together and the stage exploded in a flash of light, Sgt. Estes shielding his face with his free hand.
The lights, band, sound and music were gone. In Vic Hendy's place was a man that looked almost facially identical to him. Except this man couldn't have been more different than the jovial, casual handyman.
He wore a grey pinstripe suit, a visibly stab wound on his stomach and a few cuts and rips in the cloth. On his feet were black and white italian wingtips, and on the crown of his short, buzzed scalp was a jaunty grey derby, a black leather band around the dome. His skin was greyish and sunken, his eyes swirling with a non-euclidean geometric pattern of purple vistas. In his mouth was a fat cigar, lit and smoldering.
He extended a hand, thumb and index outstretched in a mockery of Mad Bull's hostile stance. "Right back at ya, Officer." He inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke from his elevated position on the stage.
"So I understand that you have been looking for me, is that not correct?"
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”