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milliways_bar
Apr. 19th, 2007 10:44 pmJohnny practically dragged himself out of the Wells's house earlier. Protests nonwithstanding, he had a place to be, and he wouldn't fucking miss it for anything.
Which is why he is standing (As best as he can manage) in a tailored Leather Jacket, black Pants, and a Black Shirt.
Halfway through the evening he panicked and started to work on Grace-trying to calm himself down.
This would be why he's got grease stains on his hands and smells like Dolce and Gabana for men and Motorcycle oil.
He's secured a rather nice table in the middle of the room, complete with the full set up.
He is thinking.
And waiting.
Which is why he is standing (As best as he can manage) in a tailored Leather Jacket, black Pants, and a Black Shirt.
Halfway through the evening he panicked and started to work on Grace-trying to calm himself down.
This would be why he's got grease stains on his hands and smells like Dolce and Gabana for men and Motorcycle oil.
He's secured a rather nice table in the middle of the room, complete with the full set up.
He is thinking.
And waiting.
(no subject)
Mar. 21st, 2007 01:49 amWhen we last left our Hero and Heroine-
"Yes he does." Pastor Kale said, "And she's the one who summoned him."
Without further deliberation he pointed at Magdelena.
And now we return you toRamen's insomnia acting up Our Regularly scheduled programme.
( Every man's work shall be made manifest. )
"Yes he does." Pastor Kale said, "And she's the one who summoned him."
Without further deliberation he pointed at Magdelena.
And now we return you to
( Every man's work shall be made manifest. )
Kale Family history: prt 1
Mar. 20th, 2007 11:52 pm1795
Massachusetts Territory
( Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. )
Massachusetts Territory
( Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. )
Becoming the Rider: Prt 2
Mar. 12th, 2007 08:23 amFort Worth Texas
9:30 PM.
When one is kidnapped against one's will by otherworldly forces, there's little that someone with no spectacular abilities, other then winning the crowd and doing stupid human tricks, can do.
So when Grace the roaring lion came to life with Johnny Blaze in toe, there was little for him to do but Hang On.
She stops in an old train yard far outside the city limits. I know this place
Rationality takes strange forms at strange times, particularly in this case.
This is the place they have kids go on field trips. An Old timey train station, still in circulation just for tourists who came to see Texas history.
Proud of noticing, Johnny allowed himself a split second of triumph for gaining a handle on the situation, before Grace bucked him like a horse.
He slid across the pavement, greatful to be off his chopper, greatful to be spared...
Only to have that massive inferno engulf him once again, the pain and feeling double. Even triple . The Fire consumed him, and this was no ordinary fire.
In the beginning there was the word and the word made flesh and all that. And after the battle when Lucifer crawled into the pit, he only discovered the fire. A pretender. A secondary tenant.
It was older. Much older. A remenant of something much darker then it should have been. A part of an elder god? A feeling that the one in power had left behind?
I am not mere fire the inferno whispered I am feeling, passion, vengence, hatred. I am living flame mere mortal. Tremble in my grasp, writhe before my power. You. are. MINE.
Johnny screamed.
He screamed as his eyeballs were burned from their sockets, cursing God and every divine being to walk this and any other earth as the fire climbed up his spine and helped his flesh to melt away.
He was dying.
On the outside of the pain with what little of his mind remained, Johnny registered the smell of his own burning flesh and hair.
With his death, something inside him took over, stealing life with each painful spasm that the throes of dying threw him into. He could only gasp in surprise at the entity, who's will and memories surfaced beneath his own. What monster was this? Why god, is this happening to me?
GOD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.
The little mind that remained to Johnny Blaze went the way of the dinosaur.
What are you? (Am I? Am Me?)
VENGEANCE
Johnny laughed as the thing tore the rest of his flesh away, leaving him to curl up in a corner of his mind as the Rider took the reigns.
No matter. This mortal was only a vessel for his Master's power. He had no need for sanity. No need for safety. There were things to do.
He was a Rider. And He was Needed.
\
9:30 PM.
When one is kidnapped against one's will by otherworldly forces, there's little that someone with no spectacular abilities, other then winning the crowd and doing stupid human tricks, can do.
So when Grace the roaring lion came to life with Johnny Blaze in toe, there was little for him to do but Hang On.
She stops in an old train yard far outside the city limits. I know this place
Rationality takes strange forms at strange times, particularly in this case.
This is the place they have kids go on field trips. An Old timey train station, still in circulation just for tourists who came to see Texas history.
Proud of noticing, Johnny allowed himself a split second of triumph for gaining a handle on the situation, before Grace bucked him like a horse.
He slid across the pavement, greatful to be off his chopper, greatful to be spared...
Only to have that massive inferno engulf him once again, the pain and feeling double. Even triple . The Fire consumed him, and this was no ordinary fire.
In the beginning there was the word and the word made flesh and all that. And after the battle when Lucifer crawled into the pit, he only discovered the fire. A pretender. A secondary tenant.
It was older. Much older. A remenant of something much darker then it should have been. A part of an elder god? A feeling that the one in power had left behind?
I am not mere fire the inferno whispered I am feeling, passion, vengence, hatred. I am living flame mere mortal. Tremble in my grasp, writhe before my power. You. are. MINE.
Johnny screamed.
He screamed as his eyeballs were burned from their sockets, cursing God and every divine being to walk this and any other earth as the fire climbed up his spine and helped his flesh to melt away.
He was dying.
On the outside of the pain with what little of his mind remained, Johnny registered the smell of his own burning flesh and hair.
With his death, something inside him took over, stealing life with each painful spasm that the throes of dying threw him into. He could only gasp in surprise at the entity, who's will and memories surfaced beneath his own. What monster was this? Why god, is this happening to me?
GOD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT.
The little mind that remained to Johnny Blaze went the way of the dinosaur.
What are you? (Am I? Am Me?)
VENGEANCE
Johnny laughed as the thing tore the rest of his flesh away, leaving him to curl up in a corner of his mind as the Rider took the reigns.
No matter. This mortal was only a vessel for his Master's power. He had no need for sanity. No need for safety. There were things to do.
He was a Rider. And He was Needed.
\
A Rider is Born: Prt1
Mar. 12th, 2007 02:14 amThere is a summons.
It comes quickly and quietly, interrupting Johnny's musings. Cutting through the conflicting signs. His hands redden, unbearable heat rises in his body as he tries frantically to cool himself down. It does no good. Water dissolves off his hands and the steam oozes out the open window. The steam is palpable, rising from some inner sidewalk within himself.
I haven't been sick in years.
This is bad and he needs to get himself to a doctor. He knows it. Believes it. The fact that he hasn't keeled over from the heat is impossible.
This is not right.
His mind suddenly leaps to the incredible disappearing and reappearing state of his afternoon-and the tension is cut by a rumble from outside.
It could very well be a lion. Today he touched a tiger who spoke and talked of things beyond his mortal (Not quite. Never. Never sir) comprehension. His feet pad cautiously toward the doorway of his bathroom, afraid of what he might encounter.
Hell, if it's the bar, he's going to throw a fit. It needs to stop showing up at the most inopportune times-
Grace..
-------------
"Ain't she a beaut' hon?"
Quientin Simpson could only marvel at Barton Blaze and the bike he so carefully straddled. A girl child watched from underneath her father's arm, brown eyes wide as she took in the expanse of chrome and paint. Even someone who knew nothing about motorcycles, about transportation, could see that Grace wasn't just a bike. Nothing so paltry. She was a work of art.
"...I wanna touch."
"No!"
A boy child pushed her away with pudgy hands, " -That belongs to my daddy."
---------
Grace, the only mother he'd ever really known, was missing. She'd vanished abruptly, without a sound betraying her exit, leaving only a pile of books in her wake. Their pages flapped in a non-existent wind as Johnny hung back.
I don't want to go out there.
His feet thought differently.
If I go out there I'm in trouble.
His body paid no heed to his mind's warnings as he activated the lift and ended up on the concrete outside his apartment.
The roar was louder here. The lion hungry.
Grace. Johnny couldn't have been more surprised if He'd walked into that bar again, out here in the street.
His father's bike sat complacently in the alleyway, twitching her non-existant tail and studying Johnny with lidded and sensuous eyes. Every scratch was gone, every dent fixed. The chrome was polished, as if three decades of wear and tear and fear had never happened.
Even stranger, the bike was running by itself.
Johnny took a cautious step forward, wondering what the hell was going on-when he felt the chilled presence of the figure standing directly in the bike's path.
The last time I saw him- Anger welled up inside Johnny as he pointed a finger, reminiscent of all those years ago That bastard, that snake, that two timing monster, that-that-
"....You."
Hate consumed his voice as the elderly stranger smiled genially and stepped forward, "Hi Johnny."
"...Stay away from me." Johnny willed the figure to vanish, willed the past to change.
"....A little late for that." The Devil stepped forward, examining the bike with a critical eye, "....Nice Bike....Yeah.." This would do fine. A new look for the modern era.And at least I don't have to find him a horse.
Somewhere in Hollywood, a nice man named Peter Fonda shivered.
"What are you doing here?"
The Devil smirked, "Oh, I've always been here." The old man tilted his head to the side, "Phoenix, Denver, Huston..."
Johnny's career flashed before his eyes. It was all a joke. It meant nothing. The admiration, the skill he thought he'd mastered. All for nothing, "...It was you." Johnny growled, "....Keeping me alive-" Making me famous, dangling me along like a cat teasing a mouse-
"Oh no no." The old man held up a hand, walking toward him, steps slow and deliberate, "....It's all you Johnny. You're the best."
The best. A false idol. The devil couldn'tve been more thrilled. Each child who emulates you. Each teen who watches you religiously. One less for him. My own little golden calf. A calf with benefits. A cow ready to give milk for the first time.
The devil smiled warmly, "and I'm your...biggest fan."
His voice matched an octave reserved for a cat's purr as he stalked closer, "The posters, the Video games," Give, Give to this man rather then to those who deserve it. The ultimate sin of vanity, "The chanting crowds; screaming, "Johnny-Johnny...Johnny-"
Something crawled up Johnny Blaze's spine and died.
"...It's like watching an investment." The devil continued, "That keeps growing and growing...until the day you cash it in. And that day?" He traced a gloved hand over one of Grace's handlebars, "Is today. Find the one called Blackheart and destroy him."
The order was casually thrown away, as if they discussed the weather or the latest Cowboys score. Johnny shook his head, willing the sudden cobwebs to clear, vowing to go to Roxanne. (Roxanne? Was that her name?) Then to the hospital, "Find him yourself."
He swung a leg over Grace to find that it fixed in place, fused to the metal itself. His hands automatically reached for the handlebars and fixed themselves to the metal, welding him to the machine. Panic gripped him, his brain swimming as the devil shook his head, "...It doesn't work like that Johnny. You're under contract."
No! You can't sign a contract under false pretenses can you? I wasn't! It's not-
The Devil raised his cane, his face wearing a look of intense concentration as he brought it down with the thunder in the desert.
Grace started.
Chunks of concrete and stone tore up from beneath her as the wheel spun. Instinct brought Johnny's heels down as the bike roared under his control (barely! Good god, if it kept going like this-) the engine roared in protest, Grace surging forward.
Johnny could no longer hold on to the world, reality, the bike-anything that made sense. Terrified, he planted his feet on the pedals as the bike moved of it's own violation, leaving a trail of fire behind him.
---------
It comes quickly and quietly, interrupting Johnny's musings. Cutting through the conflicting signs. His hands redden, unbearable heat rises in his body as he tries frantically to cool himself down. It does no good. Water dissolves off his hands and the steam oozes out the open window. The steam is palpable, rising from some inner sidewalk within himself.
I haven't been sick in years.
This is bad and he needs to get himself to a doctor. He knows it. Believes it. The fact that he hasn't keeled over from the heat is impossible.
This is not right.
His mind suddenly leaps to the incredible disappearing and reappearing state of his afternoon-and the tension is cut by a rumble from outside.
It could very well be a lion. Today he touched a tiger who spoke and talked of things beyond his mortal (Not quite. Never. Never sir) comprehension. His feet pad cautiously toward the doorway of his bathroom, afraid of what he might encounter.
Hell, if it's the bar, he's going to throw a fit. It needs to stop showing up at the most inopportune times-
Grace..
-------------
"Ain't she a beaut' hon?"
Quientin Simpson could only marvel at Barton Blaze and the bike he so carefully straddled. A girl child watched from underneath her father's arm, brown eyes wide as she took in the expanse of chrome and paint. Even someone who knew nothing about motorcycles, about transportation, could see that Grace wasn't just a bike. Nothing so paltry. She was a work of art.
"...I wanna touch."
"No!"
A boy child pushed her away with pudgy hands, " -That belongs to my daddy."
---------
Grace, the only mother he'd ever really known, was missing. She'd vanished abruptly, without a sound betraying her exit, leaving only a pile of books in her wake. Their pages flapped in a non-existent wind as Johnny hung back.
I don't want to go out there.
His feet thought differently.
If I go out there I'm in trouble.
His body paid no heed to his mind's warnings as he activated the lift and ended up on the concrete outside his apartment.
The roar was louder here. The lion hungry.
Grace. Johnny couldn't have been more surprised if He'd walked into that bar again, out here in the street.
His father's bike sat complacently in the alleyway, twitching her non-existant tail and studying Johnny with lidded and sensuous eyes. Every scratch was gone, every dent fixed. The chrome was polished, as if three decades of wear and tear and fear had never happened.
Even stranger, the bike was running by itself.
Johnny took a cautious step forward, wondering what the hell was going on-when he felt the chilled presence of the figure standing directly in the bike's path.
The last time I saw him- Anger welled up inside Johnny as he pointed a finger, reminiscent of all those years ago That bastard, that snake, that two timing monster, that-that-
"....You."
Hate consumed his voice as the elderly stranger smiled genially and stepped forward, "Hi Johnny."
"...Stay away from me." Johnny willed the figure to vanish, willed the past to change.
"....A little late for that." The Devil stepped forward, examining the bike with a critical eye, "....Nice Bike....Yeah.." This would do fine. A new look for the modern era.
Somewhere in Hollywood, a nice man named Peter Fonda shivered.
"What are you doing here?"
The Devil smirked, "Oh, I've always been here." The old man tilted his head to the side, "Phoenix, Denver, Huston..."
Johnny's career flashed before his eyes. It was all a joke. It meant nothing. The admiration, the skill he thought he'd mastered. All for nothing, "...It was you." Johnny growled, "....Keeping me alive-" Making me famous, dangling me along like a cat teasing a mouse-
"Oh no no." The old man held up a hand, walking toward him, steps slow and deliberate, "....It's all you Johnny. You're the best."
The best. A false idol. The devil couldn'tve been more thrilled. Each child who emulates you. Each teen who watches you religiously. One less for him. My own little golden calf. A calf with benefits. A cow ready to give milk for the first time.
The devil smiled warmly, "and I'm your...biggest fan."
His voice matched an octave reserved for a cat's purr as he stalked closer, "The posters, the Video games," Give, Give to this man rather then to those who deserve it. The ultimate sin of vanity, "The chanting crowds; screaming, "Johnny-Johnny...Johnny-"
Something crawled up Johnny Blaze's spine and died.
"...It's like watching an investment." The devil continued, "That keeps growing and growing...until the day you cash it in. And that day?" He traced a gloved hand over one of Grace's handlebars, "Is today. Find the one called Blackheart and destroy him."
The order was casually thrown away, as if they discussed the weather or the latest Cowboys score. Johnny shook his head, willing the sudden cobwebs to clear, vowing to go to Roxanne. (Roxanne? Was that her name?) Then to the hospital, "Find him yourself."
He swung a leg over Grace to find that it fixed in place, fused to the metal itself. His hands automatically reached for the handlebars and fixed themselves to the metal, welding him to the machine. Panic gripped him, his brain swimming as the devil shook his head, "...It doesn't work like that Johnny. You're under contract."
No! You can't sign a contract under false pretenses can you? I wasn't! It's not-
The Devil raised his cane, his face wearing a look of intense concentration as he brought it down with the thunder in the desert.
Grace started.
Chunks of concrete and stone tore up from beneath her as the wheel spun. Instinct brought Johnny's heels down as the bike roared under his control (barely! Good god, if it kept going like this-) the engine roared in protest, Grace surging forward.
Johnny could no longer hold on to the world, reality, the bike-anything that made sense. Terrified, he planted his feet on the pedals as the bike moved of it's own violation, leaving a trail of fire behind him.
---------
Ladies and Gentlemen...Johnny Blaze!
Mar. 10th, 2007 11:00 amOOM The SoBe dome is proud to present the "TouchDown Jump" starring everyone's favorite daredevil, Johnny Blaze!
Milliways has seen it's fair share of patrons dressed oddly.
So maybe the man in the snazzy white jumpsuit with his name emblazoned on the back won't cause a stir. Then again, if you're at all familiar with motocross (in at least three worlds who owe their lives to Stan Lee) The name might raise a few bells and deserve a few whistles.
As it is, Johnny Blaze knows nothing about this.
He only knows that for the first time in his life, he took a wrong turn in the SoBe Dome.
I must be more tired then I thought "Mac? Hey Mac? Did I take a wrong turn? This isn't the dressin' room, this looks like a bar."
Pause.
"....And I thought those were all on the main concourse."
Milliways has seen it's fair share of patrons dressed oddly.
So maybe the man in the snazzy white jumpsuit with his name emblazoned on the back won't cause a stir. Then again, if you're at all familiar with motocross (in at least three worlds who owe their lives to Stan Lee) The name might raise a few bells and deserve a few whistles.
As it is, Johnny Blaze knows nothing about this.
He only knows that for the first time in his life, he took a wrong turn in the SoBe Dome.
I must be more tired then I thought "Mac? Hey Mac? Did I take a wrong turn? This isn't the dressin' room, this looks like a bar."
Pause.
"....And I thought those were all on the main concourse."
Huston: Opening OOM
Mar. 7th, 2007 11:38 pm"Ladies and Gentleman....Johnny BLAZE!"
The crowd riots in their seats, barely contained. They only know that a life hangs in the balance. A man is about to charge through a herd of stampeding cattle. Bulls! Angry Bulls! Bulls charged up with Testosterone!
Billy Fredmont is thrilled. Johnny Blaze is just That fucking cool.
He and Jimmy Kowalski have seats up in the nosebleeds, but they can still see it. The Arena's not that big.
-----
At the edge of the world an old man leans on his cane and growls to himself. Johnny's purpose was painfully obvious.
Poor bastard. Suicides ended up in the place Johnny was going anyway.
Why hurry the trip?
--------
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Blaze is down! Blaze is down! Get the cows off the floor! Jesus Fucking Christ!"
Billy and Jimmy are up off their feet. Jimmy's grinning stupidly, "See any blooooood?"
Billy says nothing. He only whimpers. He's never seen anybody die before. It's weird. He's got Johnny's games. All his posters. He's a Hero in the truest sense of the word. He's fearless. Chris Slanton beats him up, but Billy takes it because you can't live in fear.
You can't live in fear.
"Where the hell're you goin Billy? Billy? Billleeeee-"
Jimmy whimpered and cursed his friend, falling back into his seat and grabbing his Nachos.
Jumbo Style.
-----------
It's not going to be that easy Johnny.
The Devil smiled. You poor sad fool
-----------
Billy nearly knocked into the stranger standing at the enterance to the lower levels. He tripped, his foot catching on a long white cane. Almost like he tripped me..
Nice old guy like that? Never.
"Little boys should mind their elders and not run
The crowd riots in their seats, barely contained. They only know that a life hangs in the balance. A man is about to charge through a herd of stampeding cattle. Bulls! Angry Bulls! Bulls charged up with Testosterone!
Billy Fredmont is thrilled. Johnny Blaze is just That fucking cool.
He and Jimmy Kowalski have seats up in the nosebleeds, but they can still see it. The Arena's not that big.
-----
At the edge of the world an old man leans on his cane and growls to himself. Johnny's purpose was painfully obvious.
Poor bastard. Suicides ended up in the place Johnny was going anyway.
Why hurry the trip?
--------
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Blaze is down! Blaze is down! Get the cows off the floor! Jesus Fucking Christ!"
Billy and Jimmy are up off their feet. Jimmy's grinning stupidly, "See any blooooood?"
Billy says nothing. He only whimpers. He's never seen anybody die before. It's weird. He's got Johnny's games. All his posters. He's a Hero in the truest sense of the word. He's fearless. Chris Slanton beats him up, but Billy takes it because you can't live in fear.
You can't live in fear.
"Where the hell're you goin Billy? Billy? Billleeeee-"
Jimmy whimpered and cursed his friend, falling back into his seat and grabbing his Nachos.
Jumbo Style.
-----------
It's not going to be that easy Johnny.
The Devil smiled. You poor sad fool
-----------
Billy nearly knocked into the stranger standing at the enterance to the lower levels. He tripped, his foot catching on a long white cane. Almost like he tripped me..
Nice old guy like that? Never.
"Little boys should mind their elders and not run
Phoenix: Opening OOM
Mar. 7th, 2007 11:14 pmThe surest way to stave off nightmares is not to sleep. The surest way to stave off fatigue is to consume record amounts of caffeine.
Johnny Blaze knows this very well.
And he ignores the beginnings of that same fatigue in his body as he mounts his cycle and guns the engine, throwing off a wave to the crowd before he raises the wheel in mock salute to the heavens. Thirty eight flaming cars.
"Johnny." Mac says, "You don't have to do this. Flaming cars can just as easily turn into exploding cars. We're not making a movie. Your death doesn't have to be entertainment!"
But it does. That's what Mac doesn't get.
Because that's what it's always been about. You don't get on a bike to go somewhere, you get on a bike to obtain a level of freedom you don't get in a car. You don't do crazy stunts to earn money.
You do it because you satisfy an urge. A need to watch life and death hang in the balance that bored suburbanite children with too much time and money on their hands have never seen or experienced.
Johnny doesn't hear Mac begging him to come back and explain his most recent "Stupid Human trick stunt. He never does.
----------
When he falls, the crowd rises and falls as one.
Would there be blood? Carnage? The big crash they were all hoping to see? That was the difference between Motocross and Nascar. With nascar things were on fire, with Motocross, the body parts were there. Limbs snapped off. Heads oozed red paint.
Sure nothing burned. But the smell of charred flesh coupled with motor oil was sick enough as it was.
Come for the entertainment, stay for the shish ka bob.
Barbeque's too expensive.
------
"Multiple Lacerations, a mild concussion, and two bruised ribs." The ER doctor murmured, lifting a chart, "...That's not including the burn on your boy's shoulder."
"Second or third degree?"
Mac scratched the back of his head nerviously, fiddling with the watch around his wrist as he turned the alarm on and off.
"...Second." The Doctor said, "Even then? It's no where near as bad as it should be. He rolled into a flaming car. Mr. Mackenzie. By all rights, the man should need skin graphs."
Mac was not going to discuss Johnny's unnatural lucky streak, "....And?"
"And what?"
"...And...And Johnny Blaze lives to ride another day." The ER Doctor said, "I wanna keep him overnight as a precaution, but there shouldn't be anything preventing him from going on the road, given his medical history." The Doctor grinned, "The man's got Devil's Luck."
Mac frowned, raising an eyebrow, "...Huh?"
"The Devil's Own luck? Unnaturally lucky? I knew a guy who came back from the war. He was in the middle of a suicide bomber. Guy was three feet from him and Bobby walked away. Everybody else in his unit bit it, but Bobby got blown back from the explosion. He hit a wall and ended up with a concussion that should've killed him."
The Doctor shrugged, "Some people. It's like they've got folks looking after um."
Of course JB's got a guy looking after him. Mac growled, Me..
"...Anyway. You 'member what you promised me?" The Doctor grinned, "Keepin' this outta the press and all that?"
Johnny's shoulder angel was dropped as a topic of discussion as Mac, the guy looking out for everyone, slipped him the autograph he'd had JB sign before he'd slipped into another temporary coma.
They'd be out on the road by tomorrow.
Johnny Blaze knows this very well.
And he ignores the beginnings of that same fatigue in his body as he mounts his cycle and guns the engine, throwing off a wave to the crowd before he raises the wheel in mock salute to the heavens. Thirty eight flaming cars.
"Johnny." Mac says, "You don't have to do this. Flaming cars can just as easily turn into exploding cars. We're not making a movie. Your death doesn't have to be entertainment!"
But it does. That's what Mac doesn't get.
Because that's what it's always been about. You don't get on a bike to go somewhere, you get on a bike to obtain a level of freedom you don't get in a car. You don't do crazy stunts to earn money.
You do it because you satisfy an urge. A need to watch life and death hang in the balance that bored suburbanite children with too much time and money on their hands have never seen or experienced.
Johnny doesn't hear Mac begging him to come back and explain his most recent "Stupid Human trick stunt. He never does.
----------
When he falls, the crowd rises and falls as one.
Would there be blood? Carnage? The big crash they were all hoping to see? That was the difference between Motocross and Nascar. With nascar things were on fire, with Motocross, the body parts were there. Limbs snapped off. Heads oozed red paint.
Sure nothing burned. But the smell of charred flesh coupled with motor oil was sick enough as it was.
Come for the entertainment, stay for the shish ka bob.
Barbeque's too expensive.
------
"Multiple Lacerations, a mild concussion, and two bruised ribs." The ER doctor murmured, lifting a chart, "...That's not including the burn on your boy's shoulder."
"Second or third degree?"
Mac scratched the back of his head nerviously, fiddling with the watch around his wrist as he turned the alarm on and off.
"...Second." The Doctor said, "Even then? It's no where near as bad as it should be. He rolled into a flaming car. Mr. Mackenzie. By all rights, the man should need skin graphs."
Mac was not going to discuss Johnny's unnatural lucky streak, "....And?"
"And what?"
"...And...And Johnny Blaze lives to ride another day." The ER Doctor said, "I wanna keep him overnight as a precaution, but there shouldn't be anything preventing him from going on the road, given his medical history." The Doctor grinned, "The man's got Devil's Luck."
Mac frowned, raising an eyebrow, "...Huh?"
"The Devil's Own luck? Unnaturally lucky? I knew a guy who came back from the war. He was in the middle of a suicide bomber. Guy was three feet from him and Bobby walked away. Everybody else in his unit bit it, but Bobby got blown back from the explosion. He hit a wall and ended up with a concussion that should've killed him."
The Doctor shrugged, "Some people. It's like they've got folks looking after um."
Of course JB's got a guy looking after him. Mac growled, Me..
"...Anyway. You 'member what you promised me?" The Doctor grinned, "Keepin' this outta the press and all that?"
Johnny's shoulder angel was dropped as a topic of discussion as Mac, the guy looking out for everyone, slipped him the autograph he'd had JB sign before he'd slipped into another temporary coma.
They'd be out on the road by tomorrow.
Fort Worth Texas: Opening OOM
Mar. 1st, 2007 08:18 amJohnny Blaze does not do limos.
Actually, that could be said of alot of things. Johnny Blaze does not do Ambulances, Johnny Blaze does not do cars-
so the sun had barely peeked over the horizon before he was showered, shaved, and wearing his stupid white suit-standing out in front of his apartment waiting for the bus.
The sound of it pulling into the alleyway was akin to some large beast tugging itself through the world, the mighty engines rumbling. He flexed his hands on the handlebars of the bike he'd be using today. Four out of a set of five..
wreck one more-
The thought that he might actually die today and end his career with a closed casket funeral sponsored by Cinnabon and AAA made him shudder. The Dubious concerns of fame and all that. Oh to be a celebrity.
The "Team Blaze Bus" door opened to reveal a pale and pallid looking Mack, swallowing down bile. Poor guy. He didn't look like he'd slept since they'd talked.
"...You ready?"
He should respond with something in character. Something denoting his daredevil status. Something appropriately badass and final. Like a cowboy in a Western going off to his final showdown at the OK Corral.
"...Let's go."
----------
There were fans already lined up in front of the Sobe dome. The jump wouldn't be for hours, but the blaze fanatics (They called themselves Blazen Fans) were standing out in front chatting and sharing cups of coffee. A few had chairs, the season pros had TVs and laptops. Johnny wondered if you could get Wi-Fi in a place like this.
A few folks looked up sleepily as his bus pulled in, but security was right there to quell any excitement. Which was fine.
There were stakes here after all. They came to watch him succeed or fail, and it was too early to be excited for a regular man without a snazzy suit or a helmet.
Coffee induced hazes blocked the bus from their eyes. There would be no splatter. No earth shattering crash and thousands of mourning fans.
Not yet anyway.
-----------
Johnny supervised the last check on the ramp himself, following Mack like a white shadow. Everything was solid-and his little surprise was on the way.
He'd had to call in every favor he could think of to do it behind Mack's back. The US military had balked at him, until he'd promised them a show out at MiraMar two weeks from today. If he survived.
"Son." The colonel had said, "You're about as tough as any of my boys here. I'll start bookin' seats. I know the base'd be thrilled."
It'd take them two refueling stops to make it to Texas, each copter manned with six men. Six men times Six copters meant 46 other people he was putting at risk. He had not wanted the full crews in the choppers, but the colonel had insisted.
They all wanted autographs.
-------------
"...We've got a last check to run before I call you." Mack patted his friend's back, "Go put on a pot of coffee okay?"
"You sure that's wise?" Johnny raised an eyebrow, with your acid reflux problem?
"I'm gonna drop dead on the fucking runway if I don't get some." Mack said, shaking his head and scribbling across a piece of paper, "....Much oblidged JB."
Johnny'd never get lost in the SoBe dome. This wasn't his first time jumping here, and it wouldn't be his last. If today goes as planned-
No fear. Nothing but that empty feeling inside that he got before he made millions of people gasp and shriek in delight. If I die today...
It was a means to an end. An end at a crossroads in SweetWater Texas miles away with a yellow eyed stranger and a promise-
Forget about friends...Forget about family..
He could see it in his mind clear as day as he opened the door, wondering where he put his Carpenters CD and if he could make it through the next hour without any of his candy (never ate before a jump. Never a good idea)
With these thoughts on his mind, his attention occupied more then usual, Johnny did not pay attention as he shouldered the door open.
Actually, that could be said of alot of things. Johnny Blaze does not do Ambulances, Johnny Blaze does not do cars-
so the sun had barely peeked over the horizon before he was showered, shaved, and wearing his stupid white suit-standing out in front of his apartment waiting for the bus.
The sound of it pulling into the alleyway was akin to some large beast tugging itself through the world, the mighty engines rumbling. He flexed his hands on the handlebars of the bike he'd be using today. Four out of a set of five..
wreck one more-
The thought that he might actually die today and end his career with a closed casket funeral sponsored by Cinnabon and AAA made him shudder. The Dubious concerns of fame and all that. Oh to be a celebrity.
The "Team Blaze Bus" door opened to reveal a pale and pallid looking Mack, swallowing down bile. Poor guy. He didn't look like he'd slept since they'd talked.
"...You ready?"
He should respond with something in character. Something denoting his daredevil status. Something appropriately badass and final. Like a cowboy in a Western going off to his final showdown at the OK Corral.
"...Let's go."
----------
There were fans already lined up in front of the Sobe dome. The jump wouldn't be for hours, but the blaze fanatics (They called themselves Blazen Fans) were standing out in front chatting and sharing cups of coffee. A few had chairs, the season pros had TVs and laptops. Johnny wondered if you could get Wi-Fi in a place like this.
A few folks looked up sleepily as his bus pulled in, but security was right there to quell any excitement. Which was fine.
There were stakes here after all. They came to watch him succeed or fail, and it was too early to be excited for a regular man without a snazzy suit or a helmet.
Coffee induced hazes blocked the bus from their eyes. There would be no splatter. No earth shattering crash and thousands of mourning fans.
Not yet anyway.
-----------
Johnny supervised the last check on the ramp himself, following Mack like a white shadow. Everything was solid-and his little surprise was on the way.
He'd had to call in every favor he could think of to do it behind Mack's back. The US military had balked at him, until he'd promised them a show out at MiraMar two weeks from today. If he survived.
"Son." The colonel had said, "You're about as tough as any of my boys here. I'll start bookin' seats. I know the base'd be thrilled."
It'd take them two refueling stops to make it to Texas, each copter manned with six men. Six men times Six copters meant 46 other people he was putting at risk. He had not wanted the full crews in the choppers, but the colonel had insisted.
They all wanted autographs.
-------------
"...We've got a last check to run before I call you." Mack patted his friend's back, "Go put on a pot of coffee okay?"
"You sure that's wise?" Johnny raised an eyebrow, with your acid reflux problem?
"I'm gonna drop dead on the fucking runway if I don't get some." Mack said, shaking his head and scribbling across a piece of paper, "....Much oblidged JB."
Johnny'd never get lost in the SoBe dome. This wasn't his first time jumping here, and it wouldn't be his last. If today goes as planned-
No fear. Nothing but that empty feeling inside that he got before he made millions of people gasp and shriek in delight. If I die today...
It was a means to an end. An end at a crossroads in SweetWater Texas miles away with a yellow eyed stranger and a promise-
Forget about friends...Forget about family..
He could see it in his mind clear as day as he opened the door, wondering where he put his Carpenters CD and if he could make it through the next hour without any of his candy (never ate before a jump. Never a good idea)
With these thoughts on his mind, his attention occupied more then usual, Johnny did not pay attention as he shouldered the door open.
I gotta appreciate this one. It's absolutely beautiful.
Disappointment isn't climbing off the bike at the end of a jump that left the entire audience out of their seats and hearing them cheer.
It's afterwards. When you get everything that people do stupid human tricks for. You stand in the winner's circle and you get your award and you get approached by fans and agents alike who all want a piece of you. They move closer, latching onto you like leeches, draining the life out of you because they love you.
The agents are one thing, the fans are worse.
To each of them you're some kinda god. Some sort of magical being with powers beyond normal human skills. All you did was stick to your guns, and that somehow makes you better then they are? Makes you worthy of adoration?
You're not god right? Not a diety either. You're just human. There's real power out there not in the hands of mankind. Doesn't make sense to place power in the hands of normal guys like me.
I walk down certain streets and get recognized-then I smile and wave and sign a few slips of paper. My adoring fans, I gotta love them.
And it's 'cause of that that I wish them more then just jumping, performin' stupid human tricks. Being the dog in the dog and pony show. It killed my dad after my mom left. Tore our family apart in the end. As much as you think you're satisfyin' them? It's never enough. How quickly they'd get disillusioned with the money and the power and the affection.
It sounds sort of depressing, but all my fame's only served to illustrate the few pleasures in my life. Lights in my existence and all that. All and all? I'm no richer then the rest of them. I ride down the street and folks sit there and envy all that I have.
If only they knew. S'brought me nothing but disappointment.
Disappointment isn't climbing off the bike at the end of a jump that left the entire audience out of their seats and hearing them cheer.
It's afterwards. When you get everything that people do stupid human tricks for. You stand in the winner's circle and you get your award and you get approached by fans and agents alike who all want a piece of you. They move closer, latching onto you like leeches, draining the life out of you because they love you.
The agents are one thing, the fans are worse.
To each of them you're some kinda god. Some sort of magical being with powers beyond normal human skills. All you did was stick to your guns, and that somehow makes you better then they are? Makes you worthy of adoration?
You're not god right? Not a diety either. You're just human. There's real power out there not in the hands of mankind. Doesn't make sense to place power in the hands of normal guys like me.
I walk down certain streets and get recognized-then I smile and wave and sign a few slips of paper. My adoring fans, I gotta love them.
And it's 'cause of that that I wish them more then just jumping, performin' stupid human tricks. Being the dog in the dog and pony show. It killed my dad after my mom left. Tore our family apart in the end. As much as you think you're satisfyin' them? It's never enough. How quickly they'd get disillusioned with the money and the power and the affection.
It sounds sort of depressing, but all my fame's only served to illustrate the few pleasures in my life. Lights in my existence and all that. All and all? I'm no richer then the rest of them. I ride down the street and folks sit there and envy all that I have.
If only they knew. S'brought me nothing but disappointment.
What are you waiting for?
Feb. 20th, 2007 09:35 am"-Stop struggling!"
Johnny's face twitched, "-No, no no please-" It'd start at any moment. He could feel it, the other being playing guest in his body, using his hands, his form, his skills to it's advantage, "-You can't do this, you can't do this-"
FINISH THEM ALL
Bile rose in Johnny's throat and he swallowed it back down. His skin crawled, an itching sensation, like a blister or a scab ready to fall off.
They passed another cell, a man with tattoos (He cut a woman, destroying her face because she'd refused to sell herself-) grinning at him with a lopsided eye.
He felt it all. All of it. It consumed him, washing over him in waves that left him feeling dirty, soiled. THEY ARE UNCLEAN. FINISH THEM ALL)
"No-" Johnny's boots backpedaled, pushing against the officer, "You can't put me in the tank!"
Despite being a carnie with an unsavory reputation, he'd never been arrested. He'd heard stories of the types of characters that frequented the establishment however. The guys his dad'd lead him away from when they laughed. The drunk ones who'd leer. The guys who'd stare at Roxanne-
Assault with a deadly weapon. Armed Robbery, Rape, three counts- His mind slipped into a sort of "Law and Order as a defense mechanism. Only without Lennie offering wisecracks and Green (Had to be Lennie and Green hands down) playing bad-cop.
He saw them. The crimes. They were all guilty. All Guilty WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? FINISH THEM?
"..no.." Louder, he let out a startled cry, "Please, you can't put me in there with-with them!"
The murderers. The Rapists.
"....Sorry." The Guard shoved him forward. Some hotshot celebrity in his tank? The locales would eat him alive, "The Ritz was booked solid."
He shoved him in.
Johnny crawled inside his subconcious, fighting down a clenching pain in his chest. Feels like a case of acid reflux disease.
He wondered if he had that wonderful purple pill with him and burst out laughing.
The crimes bombarded him like waves. He saw them. Their sins, their crimes, as if god had hung a sign around their neck. He picked them out and he hunted them down. This was what he was built for, designed for-
"...Say." The Rapist started forward, "You look like that Johnny Blaze guy."
Johnny swallowed. "eah. Heh. ...I -I get that alot." His chest heaved. If he could only burst free of his pathetic exterior, reveal his true colors. For the sake of propriety this pathetic mortal was preventing him from doing his job dammit. He could take them all, present them to the master with nooses made of chains round their neck-
No. The mission. The mission waited.
Johnny's flesh began to burn again.
"...Nah." The Rapist said, "...It is you." He spat, "I paid ten bucks to watch you splat."
Johnny twitched, "..heh-now guys-" WHY DO YOU HESITATE? FINISH HIM! HE STANDS IN THE WAY OF OUR GOAL.. " ...I-I-I-I-I don'..don't want any trouble." It was getting harder to suppress the fire welling up inside of him, the flames raging out of control at each injustice committed again and again before his eyes-
One. Last. Chance.. Beat the spirit. Beat the Devil. Leave.. "YOU CAN'T PUT ME IN HERE!"
Across the cage, Burt Varley tilted his head to the side. Somethin' sounded off about Mr. Blaze. Higher, deeper, like a track underneath. His Cousin always said, when you mixed tracks it didn' matter what you started out with. What mattered was the finished product.
Like this guy-
Before he could finish his thought, across the cage, Johnny began banging on the bars in a futile effort to open them. Out! WHY CAN'T YOU LET ME OUT? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
"...Uh oh." said the arsonist, "Looks like somebody's trippin out." Gutteral laughs followed the pronoucement as the remains of Johnny Blaze laughed.
"Listen up Blaze. You may be a big shot out there? But in here? You're just another monkey in a cage!" The arsonist was jabbing his finger at him, emphasizing his point, "Make you feel like a big man?"
"...I don't want any trouble-"
Burt could no longer take it. "-Hey guys, leave him alone-" If he'd known that shoplifting would have landed him here-
"Shut the hell up." The rapist said, throwing a solid punch against the kid.
Johnny wondered if some part of him went mad every time he changed. If it had to, to accept what it was seeing, the horrors these men had created. The wrongs they'd been responsible-
He laughed as the jackals circled. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?.
The first punch landed, and time stopped. I don't know..
He'd believed there was good in everyone, until he saw them stripped away. Laid bare by god and his master. He was waiting for the good to surface. The clean part of their souls. Men should weep at the sight of it.
They had none left. There was nothing to wait for. Nothing to hope or pray existed.
Just pain. Just Fire. Just vengence.
Johnny's face twitched, "-No, no no please-" It'd start at any moment. He could feel it, the other being playing guest in his body, using his hands, his form, his skills to it's advantage, "-You can't do this, you can't do this-"
FINISH THEM ALL
Bile rose in Johnny's throat and he swallowed it back down. His skin crawled, an itching sensation, like a blister or a scab ready to fall off.
They passed another cell, a man with tattoos (He cut a woman, destroying her face because she'd refused to sell herself-) grinning at him with a lopsided eye.
He felt it all. All of it. It consumed him, washing over him in waves that left him feeling dirty, soiled. THEY ARE UNCLEAN. FINISH THEM ALL)
"No-" Johnny's boots backpedaled, pushing against the officer, "You can't put me in the tank!"
Despite being a carnie with an unsavory reputation, he'd never been arrested. He'd heard stories of the types of characters that frequented the establishment however. The guys his dad'd lead him away from when they laughed. The drunk ones who'd leer. The guys who'd stare at Roxanne-
Assault with a deadly weapon. Armed Robbery, Rape, three counts- His mind slipped into a sort of "Law and Order as a defense mechanism. Only without Lennie offering wisecracks and Green (Had to be Lennie and Green hands down) playing bad-cop.
He saw them. The crimes. They were all guilty. All Guilty WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? FINISH THEM?
"..no.." Louder, he let out a startled cry, "Please, you can't put me in there with-with them!"
The murderers. The Rapists.
"....Sorry." The Guard shoved him forward. Some hotshot celebrity in his tank? The locales would eat him alive, "The Ritz was booked solid."
He shoved him in.
Johnny crawled inside his subconcious, fighting down a clenching pain in his chest. Feels like a case of acid reflux disease.
He wondered if he had that wonderful purple pill with him and burst out laughing.
The crimes bombarded him like waves. He saw them. Their sins, their crimes, as if god had hung a sign around their neck. He picked them out and he hunted them down. This was what he was built for, designed for-
"...Say." The Rapist started forward, "You look like that Johnny Blaze guy."
Johnny swallowed. "eah. Heh. ...I -I get that alot." His chest heaved. If he could only burst free of his pathetic exterior, reveal his true colors. For the sake of propriety this pathetic mortal was preventing him from doing his job dammit. He could take them all, present them to the master with nooses made of chains round their neck-
No. The mission. The mission waited.
Johnny's flesh began to burn again.
"...Nah." The Rapist said, "...It is you." He spat, "I paid ten bucks to watch you splat."
Johnny twitched, "..heh-now guys-" WHY DO YOU HESITATE? FINISH HIM! HE STANDS IN THE WAY OF OUR GOAL.. " ...I-I-I-I-I don'..don't want any trouble." It was getting harder to suppress the fire welling up inside of him, the flames raging out of control at each injustice committed again and again before his eyes-
One. Last. Chance.. Beat the spirit. Beat the Devil. Leave.. "YOU CAN'T PUT ME IN HERE!"
Across the cage, Burt Varley tilted his head to the side. Somethin' sounded off about Mr. Blaze. Higher, deeper, like a track underneath. His Cousin always said, when you mixed tracks it didn' matter what you started out with. What mattered was the finished product.
Like this guy-
Before he could finish his thought, across the cage, Johnny began banging on the bars in a futile effort to open them. Out! WHY CAN'T YOU LET ME OUT? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
"...Uh oh." said the arsonist, "Looks like somebody's trippin out." Gutteral laughs followed the pronoucement as the remains of Johnny Blaze laughed.
"Listen up Blaze. You may be a big shot out there? But in here? You're just another monkey in a cage!" The arsonist was jabbing his finger at him, emphasizing his point, "Make you feel like a big man?"
"...I don't want any trouble-"
Burt could no longer take it. "-Hey guys, leave him alone-" If he'd known that shoplifting would have landed him here-
"Shut the hell up." The rapist said, throwing a solid punch against the kid.
Johnny wondered if some part of him went mad every time he changed. If it had to, to accept what it was seeing, the horrors these men had created. The wrongs they'd been responsible-
He laughed as the jackals circled. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?.
The first punch landed, and time stopped. I don't know..
He'd believed there was good in everyone, until he saw them stripped away. Laid bare by god and his master. He was waiting for the good to surface. The clean part of their souls. Men should weep at the sight of it.
They had none left. There was nothing to wait for. Nothing to hope or pray existed.
Just pain. Just Fire. Just vengence.
Do you believe in Ghosts?
Feb. 20th, 2007 01:25 am...Do I believe in ghosts?
That's tough see. Cause' at one point? I would've said no. Contrary to popular belief, growing up with Carnies didn't instill me with all sorts of weird superstitions. We did not hold satanic rituals once the carnival closed down (Or if we did, I wasn't privy to anything) I mean, there were things..
Okay. There were things. But what do you expect? The urge to move's not unique to one religion or group of folks. S'spread. Throw in all those people like that and you've got a soup or chili that'll burn even the strongest stomaches. I mean, people'd chant, we had one guy who worked for a month who ran with the Hari Krishna.
But I never believed in ghosts, because the idea of death always seemed so far away. Hell, My dad jumped through fire on a regular basis. These guys preached 'bout an afterlife that didn't exist for me.
Until I made the deal.
And my dad died.
...After I left, I'd hear something and jerk awake, imagining that he was standin' right beside me. Spot him in crowds and things like that. It was my imagination of course, but after a while I started wondering.
I think I knew. I think I knew something was off after that. Wrong with me. Off Kilter. I was a busted bike without a spoke. Tires without tread. Lackin' in something, but picking up all sorts of new vibrations that left me unhinged and driftin' on the road of life. I think that's why...I started learning about the occult. Your bike breaks, you learn to fix it. You study the mechanics of a jump before you do it. Simple.
It provided hundreds of different explinations. But I needed only the one. There was somethin' else out there. Something Evil and Something good.
I just never figured it'd come gunning for me, that's all.
That's tough see. Cause' at one point? I would've said no. Contrary to popular belief, growing up with Carnies didn't instill me with all sorts of weird superstitions. We did not hold satanic rituals once the carnival closed down (Or if we did, I wasn't privy to anything) I mean, there were things..
Okay. There were things. But what do you expect? The urge to move's not unique to one religion or group of folks. S'spread. Throw in all those people like that and you've got a soup or chili that'll burn even the strongest stomaches. I mean, people'd chant, we had one guy who worked for a month who ran with the Hari Krishna.
But I never believed in ghosts, because the idea of death always seemed so far away. Hell, My dad jumped through fire on a regular basis. These guys preached 'bout an afterlife that didn't exist for me.
Until I made the deal.
And my dad died.
...After I left, I'd hear something and jerk awake, imagining that he was standin' right beside me. Spot him in crowds and things like that. It was my imagination of course, but after a while I started wondering.
I think I knew. I think I knew something was off after that. Wrong with me. Off Kilter. I was a busted bike without a spoke. Tires without tread. Lackin' in something, but picking up all sorts of new vibrations that left me unhinged and driftin' on the road of life. I think that's why...I started learning about the occult. Your bike breaks, you learn to fix it. You study the mechanics of a jump before you do it. Simple.
It provided hundreds of different explinations. But I needed only the one. There was somethin' else out there. Something Evil and Something good.
I just never figured it'd come gunning for me, that's all.
Johnny Blaze is quite a few things. He's a stunt rider, a celebrity, a doomed soul, a cursed man. At heart however, Johnny is a carnie. One of the souls doomed to wander the earth like Cain from Kung-Fu, obeying some distant and indistinct order that their soul orders them to follow. He comes by it honestly, as the son of Barton Blaze, a Carnival Stunt Rider, and Naomi Kale-a woman with her own reasons for joining up with the Quentin Carnival. Naomi was running, and Barton felt the need to move, impulses passed on to their son.
Beyond that, Johnny's rash and impulsive. At the age of eight, Johnny woke up one night hearing a loud argument. The next day his mother was gone, and Barton took up smoking like the rest of the guys in the Carnival. Lacking in a mother figure to temper the love of speed inherited from from his father, Johnny absorbed everything that Barton could teach him. He learned to be reckless and to play to a crowd, which means-that in the presence of people who don't know him very well, he's impassive and overwhelmingly cool, complete with shades and a cowboy hat. (Hell, he's even got a pimp cane)
When in the presence of friends however, Johnny's a quiet man. An introspective and surprisingly intelligent individual, Johnny spends his leisure time watching tv, or repairing his stuntcycles in his garage apartment. He has little patience for books, save those about the occult, and will oftentimes be seen scrounging around in second-hand bookstores. He'll watch anything on TV however, from comedy shows to Asian Serials. He's very familiar with things like that, being that he suffers from near incurable insomnia.
Johnny does not brag about his job, and he does not talk about his parents. He changes the subject whenever it comes up, and he'll only use his fame if he thinks it'll help.
Despite the lifestyle that he professes to lead, Johnny never drinks (preferring instead to eat jelly beans) or smokes. As an ex-carnie, he has some funny ideas about religion, but acknowledges that there's something else out there beyond the ordinary and the normal. He will never expound on his knowledge however. Simply put, Johnny Blaze is like fire. He burns brightly very quickly, but will soon cool down.
As the ghostrider, he's manical in the persuit of his duty. He's very aware of the transformation, and manages to maintain his mental state. It's difficult, because those first few times that one turns into a Ghost Rider it's extremely painful. He doesn't yet have control over his ability, but he's trying to be rational about it and learn to apply the transformation usefully rather then just go- werewolf monster at the full moon. As it is, knowing what he knows, he would probably make an effort to stay away from people who'd be "evil" or "darksiders". (He has no wish to cause fights) Or if he did, he'd run outside.
His powers are numerous, but chances are he won't use a few of them due to the fact that I want to keep true (in some way) to comic canon. Basically he's a flaming skull, has difficulty being killed, and can use the penance stare (because the power is just too cool). This is not a toy, and can be healed by anyone with magical healing skills. (If he'd use it, he'd use it and then ask to be put in the cells afterwards.) He really doesn't want to hurt anybody? It's....the rider.
I'm excited about playing Johnny, because (initially when I first thought about bringing him to Milliways, I was trying to picture what'd happen if Johnny was on security and gave people the penance stare. Ghostrider: *STARE* Patron: *falls down dead*) Since that wouldn't happen, I think, that Johnny would work through his canon, having a fun time with all of that. Once that's done, he'd be more then willing to lend his flaming chain to any cause that'd require him. He has a very strong sense of injustice being done to people, and would be against demonic influence in particular.
This new into canon, Johnny is affected by evil. Afraid of making a scene however, he would probably go outside and the bar would refuse to let him back in. Something like that werewolves have. Once he's got control of it however, he'd be willing to lend a flaming chain to any cause that needed him. His circumstances have given him an acute sense of injustice-although he'd probably have to be reigned in if the goal's too close at hand.
Beyond that, Johnny's rash and impulsive. At the age of eight, Johnny woke up one night hearing a loud argument. The next day his mother was gone, and Barton took up smoking like the rest of the guys in the Carnival. Lacking in a mother figure to temper the love of speed inherited from from his father, Johnny absorbed everything that Barton could teach him. He learned to be reckless and to play to a crowd, which means-that in the presence of people who don't know him very well, he's impassive and overwhelmingly cool, complete with shades and a cowboy hat. (Hell, he's even got a pimp cane)
When in the presence of friends however, Johnny's a quiet man. An introspective and surprisingly intelligent individual, Johnny spends his leisure time watching tv, or repairing his stuntcycles in his garage apartment. He has little patience for books, save those about the occult, and will oftentimes be seen scrounging around in second-hand bookstores. He'll watch anything on TV however, from comedy shows to Asian Serials. He's very familiar with things like that, being that he suffers from near incurable insomnia.
Johnny does not brag about his job, and he does not talk about his parents. He changes the subject whenever it comes up, and he'll only use his fame if he thinks it'll help.
Despite the lifestyle that he professes to lead, Johnny never drinks (preferring instead to eat jelly beans) or smokes. As an ex-carnie, he has some funny ideas about religion, but acknowledges that there's something else out there beyond the ordinary and the normal. He will never expound on his knowledge however. Simply put, Johnny Blaze is like fire. He burns brightly very quickly, but will soon cool down.
As the ghostrider, he's manical in the persuit of his duty. He's very aware of the transformation, and manages to maintain his mental state. It's difficult, because those first few times that one turns into a Ghost Rider it's extremely painful. He doesn't yet have control over his ability, but he's trying to be rational about it and learn to apply the transformation usefully rather then just go- werewolf monster at the full moon. As it is, knowing what he knows, he would probably make an effort to stay away from people who'd be "evil" or "darksiders". (He has no wish to cause fights) Or if he did, he'd run outside.
His powers are numerous, but chances are he won't use a few of them due to the fact that I want to keep true (in some way) to comic canon. Basically he's a flaming skull, has difficulty being killed, and can use the penance stare (because the power is just too cool). This is not a toy, and can be healed by anyone with magical healing skills. (If he'd use it, he'd use it and then ask to be put in the cells afterwards.) He really doesn't want to hurt anybody? It's....the rider.
I'm excited about playing Johnny, because (initially when I first thought about bringing him to Milliways, I was trying to picture what'd happen if Johnny was on security and gave people the penance stare. Ghostrider: *STARE* Patron: *falls down dead*) Since that wouldn't happen, I think, that Johnny would work through his canon, having a fun time with all of that. Once that's done, he'd be more then willing to lend his flaming chain to any cause that'd require him. He has a very strong sense of injustice being done to people, and would be against demonic influence in particular.
This new into canon, Johnny is affected by evil. Afraid of making a scene however, he would probably go outside and the bar would refuse to let him back in. Something like that werewolves have. Once he's got control of it however, he'd be willing to lend a flaming chain to any cause that needed him. His circumstances have given him an acute sense of injustice-although he'd probably have to be reigned in if the goal's too close at hand.
(no subject)
Feb. 18th, 2007 10:27 am<i>At night, in the presence of evil, the rider takes over</i>
There was never a night at the carnival.
Just a fake sort of morning made cheesy. Light never ended. Even as a child, Johnny could remember there being something going on at all hours. Lights and sounds and noises. He'd never been afraid of the dark, because the dark was never <i>dark</i>.
Then he came. In the night. The lights of the carnival dying as he passed like childhood.
Night means something different now.
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"-No please-" Night dimmed the cellblock, "-You can't put me in there with them, you can't, you <i>can't</i>."
There was never a night at the carnival.
Just a fake sort of morning made cheesy. Light never ended. Even as a child, Johnny could remember there being something going on at all hours. Lights and sounds and noises. He'd never been afraid of the dark, because the dark was never <i>dark</i>.
Then he came. In the night. The lights of the carnival dying as he passed like childhood.
Night means something different now.
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"-No please-" Night dimmed the cellblock, "-You can't put me in there with them, you can't, you <i>can't</i>."
