May 31, 2018:

Donna runs into Malachi and Jeremy while off on an errand. Serious questions are considered.

New Troy

"1930's architecture stretched like a rubber band."

New Troy is the largest borough in Metropolis and is where all of the main city life seems to be established as well as take place. Here is where you will find skyscrapers that reach the heavens and commerce that spreads as far as the next business that picks up.

The heartbeat, lifeblood, and veins of The Big Apricot.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Superman (Only Hypothetically)


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

One of the perks of living in Metropolis, is that the city can usually be trusted to cough up the most random and obscure items from yesteryear, if you're just willing to dig deep enough. Cause in point? The bag swinging at a jaunty clip from Donna Troy's hand, as she stepped out of what looked like a store that specialized in vintage cameras and typewriters, of all things. The bag, too small to have any sort of equipment, nevertheless had enough sharp corners and angles poking out that it probably contained small boxes, probably film. Donna weaved her way through the crowd peppering the sidewalk, heading towards a shiny new Vespa, because of course she drives a Vespa, pistachio green, of course, and the top box she'd had installed for storage.


Jeremy Karne is in Metropolis today as well! And what a day it is, full of bright people and in the craziest place on the world, Metropolis! If the funniest place is Gotham City, the craziest is Metropolis!

Only in Metropolis does a man in tights fly above the city, just begging for someone to get into a car accident from excitement and sue him for his cape gold!

Jeremy Karne, dressed in a flashy Hawaiian shirt he poached off a Japanese tourist he mugged and left half-naked in the park a few days ago, and a pair of Banana Republic khaki shorts he purchased with the man's money, walks down the street, his oversized flip-flops from a public pool slapping on the ground. His mop of long golden hair has been crowned with a Kangol golf-visor, and he's presently holding an archaic Polaroid camera attached to him with a loop around his neck, looking about the city streets with a cheeky grin. He takes a picture of Donna Troy's Vespa, for reasons known to him alone, a flash sparking out as he aims the camera between his eye and the Vespa.


Funnily enough, Malachi von Caedmon was -also- in Metropolis! Having left his home to head into the marketplace to see what he could find today. He seems to be stroking his light beard as he looks at a shop with hunting equipment. He was looking at rifles.

Because he's a gun-lover.

Though with a small shrug after he found nothing he liked, he walked outside of the shop and he almost moves directly into Donna's path! Greeting her with a warm smile, he bows his head to her. "Hey Don." He turns his head to the Vespa. Yeah…that makes sense.

He doesn't quite notice Jeremy quite yet though.


Donna, thankfully, has enough agility to manage not to run into Malachi when he seems to suddenly appear on the sidewalk, "Alac! I didn't think I'd see you in town today." She does stop swinging the bag though. Noone wants the janky version of a sock filled with quarters in the side. "I thought I'd take advantage of the weather and get stocked up for the weekend, I've got a shoot down in South Beach, Miami. I want to hit the ground running." She waits for him to catch his balance, seeming to have taken the summer tourist look to heart. Crisp white palazzo pants, a bright coral shirt, hair swept up and off of her shoulders.

As she continued on towards the Vespa, she caught sight of a kindred spirit. or at least someone else with a camera fetish, "She's beautiful, isn't she? I just brought her back from the dealership." A pause, as she looked further down the street, "I thought…" A shake of her head, as whatever or whomever she was looking for seems not in evidence.


"Sure is beautiful, Miss," Jeremy responds, with a Texan twang that makes it seem like he's been chewing hay out by the cattle grazing grounds under some distant starlit sky.

The Kid lowers his camera and sidles up to the pair, lowering his camera and pulling out the floppy photograph that exits, letting the Polaroid hang around his neck as he flaps it off in the breeze out of idle, pointless habit.

"Say, this little Betty here," he says, sliding his hand over the seat. "How's the balance on her, off a lever flip into the air?" He looks sheepish a moment, before he smiles. "I'm working on a physics project for some extra credit, at college and all."


Malachi is pretty agile. He manages to at the very least lean away so that he doesn't end up clotheslining Donna with his body. But thankfully, she already dodged him! He'll smile to her, wearing fairly casual clothing himself, but not quite at that point where he's gotten into the tourist feel. He's just wearing his usual black and red trench coat with a decalled black shirt and blue jeans. he -is- wearing some nice sandals though, even if the style is a little…eh. People addicted to fashion might faint because of how bad his fashion sense is.

"Aye, that she is. A shoot in Miami? Long way from here. Need any extra help? I can tag along with you if you want." His eyes are on the Vespa, a chuckle on his lips. "What is it?"

Then he turns his head to Jeremy as he arrives, though he doesn't quite speak to him, since…well, he's speaking to Donna. So Malachi is content to watch and listen for now.


Donna continues forward, moving towards the Vespa, head tilted in interest as she hears the young man's comment, "To be honest, I haven't had much of an opportunity to test her out. Even with a scooter, you need more space than the city can provide to really test what it can do." A hand reaches for the top box, to deposit her purchases in the bun, "If what you're interested in is physics, I don't think you'll find what you're looking for with this."

A glance back towards Malachi, "It's a Vespa GTS Super. It's the most powerful they make, I think. I wanted one that would get me around more than from the apartment to the corner market. I was lucky to get it in the pistachio."


"I'm from Texas, myself," Kid explains with a grin, as if it wasn't obvious from his accent. "Greatest open ranges out there for opening up the valves and letting yourself hit the turf so fast that your head opens up and the moon gets inside. Pure piston pounding action. Especially at night."

Kid Karnevil looks at Malachi, then Donna again. "Name's Jeremy. I just moved to town. I'm doing a roadie gig at a local metal club, just to keep myself afloat in my flat. You guys sure got a nice city here," he says, looking upwards into the sun with his visor shading his eyes.

"I used to follow all the news about this Superman guy when I was a kid."


Malachi looks on with a bit of a wowed expression when Donna starts to name the specs of the Vespa she just reclaimed. "Oh? Best on the line, huh. Not bad." Either way, he crosses his arms as he looks at it, humming as if considering about getting one himself, though his eyes shift to Kid Karnevil as he explains who he is.

"Nice to meet you Jeremy. I'm Malachi. This is Donna." he introduces the both of them.

"Superman? the big boy scout? Yeah, he's got a ton of fans I guess." He notices the subtle changes when someone's lying, but this isn't -exactly- like it. Maybe it was a half-truth? Either way, he doesn't comment on it, instead just rollin'. "Thanks. Metropolis is a big place though…and for the most part it's actually pretty quiet compared to New York or Gotham."


"Good to meet you, Jeremy." Donna, having set the film inside the box, closes it again, but doesn't move away from the Vespa, seeming content to remain beside the scooter she drive in on, as it were. "I don't know that I've ever been to Texas, except to catch a connecting flight. And you don't get quite as nice of a picture when you're flying over it."

"I've only just moved here myself, but it seemed a more exciting choice than either Gotham or New York, when it came to putting down roots near my talent agency. There's something very engagingly old world about it." A sort of amusement, "I think everyone kept up with the headlines about Superman. How could you not? He came at a time, well, well before thr wortld exploded with the wierd and the wonderous."


"You know what I've always been curious about? How does he keep a secret identity, and wear red boots. Whoever makes those boots for him, knows who he is. Boots wear out, you know." Jeremy muses.


Malachi turns on his heel to face both Donna and Jeremy, though he seems to be fully enraptured in the conversation, he does't speak -too- much. Though..Jeremy's comment causes him to raise a brow just a little bit. "…why would you care about his boots? You know he could just make his own stuff, which leads you to a dead end at that point." He shrugs lightly.


"Mail-order with an anonymous drop?" Donna settles in beside the Vespa looking between both the older man and the younger, "Well, he has a point. I mean, it is a rather skilled trade, being a cobbler. I certainly couldn't make my own shoes," rather stylish heeled sandals and all, "And you couldn't make that jacket, for example. And we're not a costumed adventurer trying to protect his secret identity. Which he must have. I mean, besides when he's off saving the world or kittens, nobody just sees him randomly on the street."


Kid Karnevil raises a soft finger, wag-tapping the air at Malachi.

"No, no, no, the lady is right, Hoss, this Superman guy, he's a jetsetter, he's got all the sky to fly around, and he's seeing us, every day, and he talks like one of us, you know?" Jerry puts his finger on his mouth, drawing his nail along his lips. "You know, he has to taste, he needs to understand us, everyone needs a little taste of something they see every day."

Jeremy Karne squints, his hand drawing down to his Polaroid photo in the other hand, looking at the Vespa and nodding.

"I know what Superman does. There's some sort of superhero tailor, that makes all their clothes. That's the one." He's telling the truth, but knowingly transplanting an insight he has from the opposing subset, the supervillain. "A big supply store somewhere, under a city, where they all meet and get their gear. And someone pays for it, all of it. Like the CIA, except for capes."


Malachi tilts his head softly at Jeremy. This guy's a little on the weird side by how he speaks and the apparent determination he has in his eyes. Malachi is cautious, but he doesn't show it for even an instant. With that in mind, he simply goes. "Ah huh…given the often sometimes antagonistic relationship between heroes and the CIA because one often does the job of the other, I doubt they'd pay for stuff like that. But there's always a chance."

His eyes shift to Donna then. "True." Even though he -was- a tailor at one point in his life. But this jacket was practically pristine. With what it's made out of, there's no way he could replicate it without help.

"Well, either way, I do have to be somewhere at this time actually.." Likely a demon stakeout or something. He's a hunter, after all! "Nice meeting you Jeremy." his eyes shift to Donna, smiling. "I'll see you soon Don, okay? Stay safe." He'll bow softly to the group and squeeze Donna's hand in passing as he walks off.


"Considering the things I see on the news, it seems to me that a tailor would be run ragged trying to keep up with demand. I wonder if…I mean, you'd need a flat of nothing but outfits…what if there are whole factories that do nothing but produce superhero costumes piecemeal, and you can just pick and choose the pieces you ant and order them, the way they do at trade shows and trunk sales in the fashion district? I'd like 100 of these in red…I'll take 50 in green and add a pocket." Donna seems content enough to continue the conversation, and so they do, talking well on into the afternoon before they part ways.


Kid Karnevil seems obsessed with a central organization in the conversation, and secret signs, handshakes, locations, offices, distributors, even broaching the topic of theory on internal functions of the organization. He gestures with his right hand, often touching something he's either holding, or his mouth, and gesturing with a single finger. After they part, he slips his Polaroid beneath his shirt, into the hilt of a knife that's been duct-taped to his hairless chest beneath the shirt.

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