4vA]^#PG#IN-7#ST-7#SP-7#DR-7#EP-7#FS-1
Post by Uatu the Watcher on Jun 10, 2008 19:51:09 GMT -5
[Miller, Mark (w), Steve McNiven (p), and Dexter Vines (i)] “Civil War.” Civil War., #1, (Jul. 2006), Marvel Entertainment: [16-17]
Adapted By: Uatu, The Watcher
In midtown Manhattan, the muffled beats of appealing and strangely addicting dance melody reverberated outside the confines of the renowned Lazer Club. The dark blue neon lights that comprised the night club’s name cast a soothing glow on the impatient and mumbling line of attendees who stood outside, in line, at the mercy of the unforgiving bouncer that kept the entrance guarded. The tall, quiet, and muscular, staff member kept an empty and unwavering face at the cries and pleas of those who desperately sought entry into the illustrious establishment but fell victim to the unstoppable force of a simple velvet red rope. Yet as the taxis kept passing by down the street, dropping off men and women alike just to haggle with the bouncer, one singular lady kept all to herself.
Dressed in a off-white two-piece gown which highlighted all her voluptuous feminine features, the blonde swept her long hair back as she slanted her stance to once shoulder—her heals clicking with every subtle step she made. The cause of her immediate boredom could only be hinted to her prime interest to whatever secret she kept gazing at inside her wristwatch. Standing. Waiting.
Emerging forth like a bat out of a hell between the gap of two neighboring apartment complexes across the street, a streaming line of fire twisted and curved widely through the sky. Yet, it wafted too slowly to be any sort of threat or weapon—most certainly not a missile. It guided itself not sporadically or uncontrollably but with intelligence as it arced downward to the nightclub, leaving a trail of flames in the sky as it traveled. Quelling down to a lower temperature the fireball dispersed into the figure more familiar to the citizens of New York than most would recognize; Johnny Storm, member of the Fantastic Four. The flames innocently dispersed off the designer closes he sported underneath—uniquely crafted out of unstable molecules. His Italian leather shoes gracefully landed beside the impatient blonde who smirked at the intimidating and unnecessary entrance that was suitable only to Johnny’s liking. “Hey Baby, sorry I’m late, but I had to rescue a bunch of cute kids from a burning orphanage on the way over here.”
“Is that true, Johnny, or are you just making stuff up again so I don’t get mad at you?” She nuzzled up against Johnny’s shoulder as the two began walking towards the club’s entrance.
“Well, swap ‘orphans’ for ‘babes’ and ‘burning building’ for ‘signing autographs’ and it’s completely true, sweetie.” On the approach, the bouncer stepped aside while unhooking the red boundary; nonchalantly allowing the two access to the inside of the night club. “Chico! How’s it hanging, big man?”
“Paris and Lindsay are waiting upstairs, Johnny. Chicks couldn’t believe it when I said you were dropping by.” The bouncer parted his massive arms as the two strutted by—only to be caught off guard by the vulgar cries of one of the scantly clad ladies who waited in the front of the line.
“Hey! How come that loser’s getting in when we’ve been waiting hours?” Her disapproval seemed match the sentiments of those behind her.
“Tell you what, gorgeous: next time you save the world from Galactus, you can borrow my free pass, ‘kay?” Johnny quickly followed his slide and sarcastic remark with a quick wink before continuing to enter the club.
“What about the next time you blow up a school, jackass?” Another girl cried out from the line outside. “Yeah, what about the next time you kill some kids?” her date quickly followed in the increasing aggression of the crowd.
Johnny paused. “What?” His confusion on the matter was overrun by absolute frustration on the hateful remarks.
“Man, you got a nerve swaggering around town after that. I was you, I’d be ashamed to go outside.” A heavyset man gave Johnny a dirty look before continuing to insinuate the rising tension.
“Hell are you shrieking about, tubby?” Johnny threw out his arms while he approached the line, the tone in his voice rising. “I got nothing to do with Speedball or the New Warriors. Those guys were C-list, tops.”
“Baby-killer!” Another cry called out from the line.
The blonde huddled next to the bouncer as she appeared distraught over the malicious insults of the line. “Johnny, I don’t like this. I want to go home.” Yet as Johnny spun his head around to acknowledge his date, The back of his scalp met full force with a glass bottle colliding viscously with his finely styled blonde hair. Shards of glass crashed and flew through the air as blood and alcohol drenched Johnny’s head. “Johnny!” She cried out as her date collapsed on the sidewalk. The entire line seemed to merge around his body as they took their aggression out on his unconscious body.
“Hold him down! Hold him down!” A man yelled fueled by testosterone as the violent mob ruthlessly and savagely mauled Johnny Storm. Punching. Kicking. Scratching. The superhero who had time and time again risked his life to protect the very people who assaulted them was nothing more than a punching bag to vent their rage. The blonde was helpless to act while the bouncer tried to break up the fight. The attack continued mercilessly and without remorse as the would-be night out on the down turned quickly into another disastrous incident.
Adapted By: Uatu, The Watcher
In midtown Manhattan, the muffled beats of appealing and strangely addicting dance melody reverberated outside the confines of the renowned Lazer Club. The dark blue neon lights that comprised the night club’s name cast a soothing glow on the impatient and mumbling line of attendees who stood outside, in line, at the mercy of the unforgiving bouncer that kept the entrance guarded. The tall, quiet, and muscular, staff member kept an empty and unwavering face at the cries and pleas of those who desperately sought entry into the illustrious establishment but fell victim to the unstoppable force of a simple velvet red rope. Yet as the taxis kept passing by down the street, dropping off men and women alike just to haggle with the bouncer, one singular lady kept all to herself.
Dressed in a off-white two-piece gown which highlighted all her voluptuous feminine features, the blonde swept her long hair back as she slanted her stance to once shoulder—her heals clicking with every subtle step she made. The cause of her immediate boredom could only be hinted to her prime interest to whatever secret she kept gazing at inside her wristwatch. Standing. Waiting.
Emerging forth like a bat out of a hell between the gap of two neighboring apartment complexes across the street, a streaming line of fire twisted and curved widely through the sky. Yet, it wafted too slowly to be any sort of threat or weapon—most certainly not a missile. It guided itself not sporadically or uncontrollably but with intelligence as it arced downward to the nightclub, leaving a trail of flames in the sky as it traveled. Quelling down to a lower temperature the fireball dispersed into the figure more familiar to the citizens of New York than most would recognize; Johnny Storm, member of the Fantastic Four. The flames innocently dispersed off the designer closes he sported underneath—uniquely crafted out of unstable molecules. His Italian leather shoes gracefully landed beside the impatient blonde who smirked at the intimidating and unnecessary entrance that was suitable only to Johnny’s liking. “Hey Baby, sorry I’m late, but I had to rescue a bunch of cute kids from a burning orphanage on the way over here.”
“Is that true, Johnny, or are you just making stuff up again so I don’t get mad at you?” She nuzzled up against Johnny’s shoulder as the two began walking towards the club’s entrance.
“Well, swap ‘orphans’ for ‘babes’ and ‘burning building’ for ‘signing autographs’ and it’s completely true, sweetie.” On the approach, the bouncer stepped aside while unhooking the red boundary; nonchalantly allowing the two access to the inside of the night club. “Chico! How’s it hanging, big man?”
“Paris and Lindsay are waiting upstairs, Johnny. Chicks couldn’t believe it when I said you were dropping by.” The bouncer parted his massive arms as the two strutted by—only to be caught off guard by the vulgar cries of one of the scantly clad ladies who waited in the front of the line.
“Hey! How come that loser’s getting in when we’ve been waiting hours?” Her disapproval seemed match the sentiments of those behind her.
“Tell you what, gorgeous: next time you save the world from Galactus, you can borrow my free pass, ‘kay?” Johnny quickly followed his slide and sarcastic remark with a quick wink before continuing to enter the club.
“What about the next time you blow up a school, jackass?” Another girl cried out from the line outside. “Yeah, what about the next time you kill some kids?” her date quickly followed in the increasing aggression of the crowd.
Johnny paused. “What?” His confusion on the matter was overrun by absolute frustration on the hateful remarks.
“Man, you got a nerve swaggering around town after that. I was you, I’d be ashamed to go outside.” A heavyset man gave Johnny a dirty look before continuing to insinuate the rising tension.
“Hell are you shrieking about, tubby?” Johnny threw out his arms while he approached the line, the tone in his voice rising. “I got nothing to do with Speedball or the New Warriors. Those guys were C-list, tops.”
“Baby-killer!” Another cry called out from the line.
The blonde huddled next to the bouncer as she appeared distraught over the malicious insults of the line. “Johnny, I don’t like this. I want to go home.” Yet as Johnny spun his head around to acknowledge his date, The back of his scalp met full force with a glass bottle colliding viscously with his finely styled blonde hair. Shards of glass crashed and flew through the air as blood and alcohol drenched Johnny’s head. “Johnny!” She cried out as her date collapsed on the sidewalk. The entire line seemed to merge around his body as they took their aggression out on his unconscious body.
“Hold him down! Hold him down!” A man yelled fueled by testosterone as the violent mob ruthlessly and savagely mauled Johnny Storm. Punching. Kicking. Scratching. The superhero who had time and time again risked his life to protect the very people who assaulted them was nothing more than a punching bag to vent their rage. The blonde was helpless to act while the bouncer tried to break up the fight. The attack continued mercilessly and without remorse as the would-be night out on the down turned quickly into another disastrous incident.