[Location: Beacon Park] Mr. Furious rides in on his motorcycle, ripping through the pathways, teeth gritted, goggles down, chasing after a guy on rollerblades... a guy who's frantically hot-footing it away as fast as he can. There's a good distance between them, because Roy had some problems getting onto his bike once he spotted the evildoer... it's a new bike, after all... still has problems. But the whole she-bang makes noise enough to wake the dead. Or at least the really sleepy. Mike is about to answer when the sound of the motorcycle distracts him. He stares. "Wow. Blake? Isn't that that guy you know?" Blake looks around. "Oh wow. Yeah. Haven't scheen him in eonsch." He sits up. "The hell is he doing?" The rollerblader, a good-looking kid of about 20, even wearing his helmet and pads, finally slips up at the speed he's going, knocking over a trash can and spilling its contents and himself all over the grass... a wicked flip and smack onto the ground, coupled with some painful-looking rolling... and Mr. Furious turns his bike into a skid, screeching to a halt right in front of a horrified woman who thought she was about to die. Once the bike shuts down, Furious glances up at the woman, and they have a staredown for a moment - both seemingly still in shock. Furious finds his voice first. "Um.. excuse me, madam." he says, then clearing his throat before stepping off his bike and whipping his hands out a few times... ostensibly getting 'psyched.' His grin gets a little devious as he takes a few overly-large strides towards the rollerblader, lying dazed on the ground... "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Must be somethin' about today, huh? What's the score, Toby, huh? Gettin' practice for your new supervillain gig? What are you gonna call yourself, huh? 'Littermaster?'" Mike shoots Blake a 'do something' sort of look before scrambling to his feet and starting towards Furious and the downed rollerblader. "Hey, hey!" Blake obligingly gets up and follows Mike to the 'crimescene'. "Good work, Furiousch!" he says enthusiastically. "You've apprehended schomeone having fun. The city isch schafe onsche more." Mr. Furious glances up, seeing... his girlfriend's uncle and his teammate.. sorta. He's been out of action for a while since the 'Junkyard' incident. Laying low, prepping again. One might say he's overcompensating at the moment for his lack of activity, but then again, one might also say... nah, he's overcompensating. He nods to the two of them. "Excuse me, citizens... but Colonel Litter of the S.S. I-Don't-Understand-What-Trash-Cans-Are-For is in violation of about 80 different environmental laws... and it's time for a little Justice of Fury." He turns to the guy, looming over him. "Ain't that right, sleazeball?" The guy just sort of groans, rubbing his eyes and trying to think straight. Mike blinks and steps forward to tap Mr Ticked Off on the shoulder. "He littered? Don't you think this is kinda an overreaction? I figured he was a bank robber or something." Blake gasps. "I'll bet he doeschn't reschycle, either!" he blurts. He sidles up to Mr F. "Want me to warm up the electric chair?" Mr. Furious glances up to the citizens. "You know... I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the crimefighting to the professionals, okay? For your information..." he says, widening his eyes and giving a little sarcastic waggle of his head... "... this unpleasant dungheap of humanity here and his SINISTER HENCHMEN -" he says, noisily, to the guy "- tipped over a port-a- potty while an average everyday citizen, not unlike yourselves, was inside." He pauses briefly, to let that sink in - but not long enough to let anyone interrupt him. "I intend to make him pay for that crime... got that?" With that, he reaches down to pull the guy up by his shirt. "PICK UP THAT LITTER, Jimmy!" Mike still thinks this is a bit much. "Professionals?" he says, unheard, under Mr F's speech. He looks helplessly at Blake, lost for what to do. Blake gapes a bit now. "Oh, hell," he comments. He cups his hands around his mouth. "Throw the book at him!" he cheerleads. Any sarcasm is lost on Mr. Furious at the moment. He's got a gleam in his eyes that suggests he's missed avenging the unavenged. REALLY missed it. He yanks the guy's shirt a bit more. "YOU HEARD ME, pal. Get to the cleanin' or I'll get to the being- mean... meaning. Meany... ness... Meanness." He looks blank for a second. "Get movin'!" The guy groans and starts to waddle over to the trash, uneasy on his skates... Mike addresses Furious, as sternly as he can manage. Which isn't very, if we're honest. "Hey, buddy, c'mon, you already scared the poor guy half to death. Go easy." Blake gets a reproachful look. Blake stands next to Mr F. "Next time you tackle a criminal maschtermind like that, call for backup," he remarks. "Becausche schomeone needsch to be around to tell you when you're COMPLETELY INSCHANE." He folds his arms. "Getting a little antschy, are we? Where have you been?" Mr. Furious doesn't listen to Mike as much as he hears Blake calling him insane. His face snaps to attention, glaring him in the face... until he remembers those news reports he saw... about Blake taking down SUPERMAN. His face softens... maybe he SHOULD take lessons from this guy. "Oh." he says, after a moment, looking back down at the guy as he straightens up the can. "I... I thought, y'know... turnabout being fair play... humiliation for humiliation, you know?" He looks back up to them. "You ever been humiliated?" Okay, he's getting tense again... obviously, he HAS been humiliated? "Ever? Have you, Mr... Tooter?" he says to Blake... "Is it possible to humiliate you, Mister... Mister... Mister SPLEEN?" Okay, maybe that makes no sense... Mike comes to a decision. He doesn't need to be in this conversation. "Sorry you got your portapotty tipped," he says to Roy. And to Blake, "Listen, if you see Lupita, tell her I said hi, okay?" And he heads off. Roy is freaky. Blake absently waves to Mike, then turns back to Mr F, looking vastly amused. "That wasch a very good guessch," he grins. "--The schecond one," he adds quickly. "And I try not to let thingsch get to me. Schelf-defensche. Why, what happened to you?" "STUFF happened, okay? STUFF. Towers of Rage aren't born, Spleenboy. They're MADE. STUFF. Bad stuff goes down, builds up, becomes FURY. Fury in the slaughterhouse, baby, yeah!" Perhaps there's been too much coffee... here's hoping he doesn't bomb anything at midnight. "Pick up the pace, Admiral Potty Pooper!" he shouts to the guy... Blake stares at Mr F. "Okay," he says at last, resignedly. "I schupposche that makesch as much schensche asch anything." He shrugs. "But then I don't take great schtock in thingsch that make too much schensche." He nods at the unfortunate kid. "Scho what are you going to do with him?" he wants to know. Mr. Furious keeps his goggled eyes trained on him, talking quietly. "This is about it, actually... although I thought about making him go to the poor guy's house and give him a sponge bath... but that might be injury to insult... or something..." He steps forward toward the guy. "GET A MOVE ON! Don't make me angry... you wouldn't like me when I'm angry..." Blake shakes his head. "Nah, juscht leave him, he'sch working it off. Come on. I need coffee and you need a tranquillischer dart." He makes a motion for Mr F to come with him as he starts to walk away. Mr. Furious holds out a finger. "Never leave the eggs of justice only half-served, Spleeny." He's taking to that name for some reason. "We'll get coffee AFTER the job is done." He keeps his goggles on the guy. "Hey, you missed all those coffee grounds!" Blake starts to look impatient. "But I wanted to talk to you," he says. "About that Blue Raja guy." Mr. Furious blinks. Blue Raja? Whozzat? Well, if it wasn't for the tremendous respect he has for Spleen for taking down his girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, he might blow him off. "Okay, okay...." he sighs, glancing back to the man. "I'm watching you, Slim... at all times. The watchful eye of Mr. Furious is going to make SURE you behave. Don't you forget it!" He then straightens up and drops character to Blake. "C'mon, let's hop on the bike..." He heads back towards the Furycycle. Blake stops short and stares at the 'bike'. "No!" he says, a little too quickly perhaps. "Um, no," he says again. "I'll walk. There'sch a cafe right acrossch the schtreet." Mr. Furious revs up his bike, shooting a glare at the guy, who quickly gets back to work, then turns back to Blake. "C'mon... I gotta park it there anyway... This is the transportation for the team, man..." Blake shakes his head, backing away a step or two. "I'll meet you there," he insists. "And I don't think there'sch room for the whole team. Well, potential team." He pauses. "That'sch what I gotta talk to you about. I'll juscht meet you over there, okay?" With that he turns and all but bolts out of the Park. Mr. Furious shakes his head. "No team spirit..." He glares again at the guy, who's almost finished.. and then roars out of the park, cutting through the grass... feeling that rush of testosterone again... Blake steps into the meagre parking lot of the little cafe after Mr F zooms into it and heads for the front door, glancing over his shoulder. Hope this place isn't a repeat of that Diner thing a while back. Mr. Furious puts the kickstand down and dismounts... taking his goggles off and glancing back to the park... and the guy's gone. That snivelling bastard... but he shrugs. That was a decent way to vent his pent-up jones for justice... He follows Blake into the place... Blake steps up to the counter and looks around at Mr F. "Get usch a booth," he says. Remembering how much this guy likes espionage, he adds, "a private one. Wouldn't want anyone to overhear. Want anything?" He nods at the menu over the counter. Mr. Furious shakes his head... "Nah, just ate a Justice Sandwich with a side of Righteous Comeuppance, couldn't eat another bite." He reaches into his pocket and hands him a couple bucks. "Gimme a chocolate shake, though." He then slips off to a booth in the back, his eyes toward the door.. Blake orders something from the bored-looking counterchick and hurries to the booth. Sitting down, he leans over the table and whispers conspiratorily, "Scheen the Bowler around lately?" Mr. Furious leans in, whispering back. "Not at all. I've been hanging back until I got the new bike... after that huge stinky alien guy busted it up. He should be A-numero-uno on our justice list..." Blake waves that aside and goes on, seeming to change the subject. "You know about that Infinity Effect thing?" Mr. Furious nods. "Yeah, Spleeny..." he says, continuing the theme. Spleen. Funny word. He grins a little, hoping he doesn't mind... he's in a good mood. "That's where most of the big problems are comin' from..." Blake presses, "How about Alternate Earthsch?" Mr. Furious blinks a little. "Yeah.. I've read some comic books... like, weird parallel dimensions or something?" Blake nods. "Yeah like, where an alternate verschion of you exischtsch on each one?" Mr. Furious blinks again. "Um... what's with the philosophy, Spleen? Is there a point anywhere in the future?" His fingers fidget a little... he could use that shake... Blake exhales. "I'm trying to get to the point," he insists. "Okay, scho, I met thisch guy in the Park a while ago, calls himschelf the 'Blue Raja.' I'd never scheen him before in my life but he knew *me*--from an alternate universche." He watches Mr F carefully for his reaction. Mr. Furious narrows his eyes, not moving a muscle for a long moment, looking into Blake's eyes. Suddenly, he breaks his motionless and leans back, rubbing his chin. "Go on." Blake shrugs then. "Scho it turnsch out that this Raja guy wasch on a schuperhero team, with you, and me, and Bowler, in thisch alternate universche," he says. "There were a few other guysch too. Schaid we were called 'The Myschtery Men'. He even schowed me a newspaper clipping with a photo of all of usch." He pauses again. Mr. Furious widens his eyes a bit. Last time he saw the Bowler... she mentioned that name, didn't she? This is... weird. "Are you uh.... are you sure this guy's on the up-and-up?" he says, cautiously... Blake shakes his head. "I don't know for schure, I guessch," he admits. . o O (He'd better be, though, I gave him some money) he thinks. "But I think he'sch bizarre enough to be one of usch." He grins. "I think I believe him, though," he says at last. Mr. Furious narrows his eyes again. Bizarre enough? This isn't the proper respect for the team. "So... what were we like in this world? How different were we? And how did you take down Superman?" he asks, out of the blue... Blake starts to answer the pertinent questions when the last one hits him. "It wasch an accident," he dismisses it. "And I don't really know if we were any different," he goes back to the subject at hand. "I didn't talk much to the guy. He schaid we took down schome big crimelord though." [Note: Whoops. He never actually ICly told me about defeating Casanova Frankenstein. Continuity error on my part. ;) --Spleen] Mr. Furious cocks an eyebrow. An accident? Must be some accident... but he smiles at the thought of their success. "Yes, see? That's what we have to do. We can do it. It's been too long. What's this Raja guy all about? What can he do? What's his power?" Blake shrugs as the waitress finally swoops by with their order. "He throwsch forksch," he says, pulling his Blackout espresso towards himself. "Guessch he putsch holesch in the bad guyschs' coschtumesch or schomething." Mr. Furious blinks a bit. "He... throws forks." He blinks again. "He throws forks, and he's part of a team that's successful." He says this matter of factly, not believing it. Blake picks up a teaspoon and points it mock-threateningly at Mr F. "The Forschesch of Evil will never look at flatware the schame way again," he intones, then grins and stirs his espresso. "Hey I haven't actually scheen the guy throw them, maybe it'sch more impresschive than it schoundsch. Beschidesch, there wasch another guy on the team called The Schoveler. How schcary isch that?" Mr. Furious cocks an eyebrow. "The Shoveler? What kinda town did they operate in? What kinda crimelords were they bringing down? The Cookie Crook?" He starts sucking on the straw of his shake. "Well... guess it won't hurt to take a look at what he can do... do you know Bowler's number?" Blake shakes his head. "I don't asck chicksch who carry around dead people'sch body partsch for their number," he admits. "And I don't know what kinda town it wasch...told you I didn't talk to him much. He made it schound like the team didn't schuck, though." Mr. Furious nods. "I hope we didn't schuck. I hate corn." No mocking is intended - an honest misunderstanding there. "But we're gonna have to get her number if we're gonna get this team up and running... too much bad joo-joo goin' down out there..." Slurp slurp. Blake shrugs. "Well you can asck her. Maybe we schould have an HQ, too," he points out. "Meeting in these dinersch and cafesch doesn't get one much privaschy." Mr. Furious nods... "Well, there's the junkyard... I work there, and that's where I get bike parts... but the old lady's a bit of a... a bit of a... cranky type." He gets a brief scowl going... thinking about her... Blake thinks about that. Junkyard. That's where Raja said the group would meet. "Yeah, okay, junkyard'sch probably good enough," he agrees. Old lady? As in, *his* old lady? Don't ask. "Well I can keep the plasche clear of anyone who wantsch to bother usch, anywaysch," he grins. Mr. Furious grins back. "That's cool... that's cool." He smirks a little bit more. "Man, you took out Superman. That's awesome." Blake drinks some of the cooled espresso. "I'm schure *he* didn't think scho," he grins again. "I wasch scho schure he wasch going to hunt me down and finisch me off, there, though," he admits. "It'sch kind of schcary being a hero. Maybe it'll be better being on a team." Mr. Furious nods.... "I don't know... I've always worked alone." Rather poorly, too, but that's beside the point. "Having a support group might work really well, and it might not..." Blake shrugs. "Scho have I," he says. "But teamsch scheem to work out for a lot of other people and beschidesch, we could alwaysch go it alone in between timesch, right? I'm schure there would be timesch when it would be um, schafer if I wasch alone." Mr. Furious nods, slurping on his shake, his fingerless gloves clenched around it intently. "Yeah... no kidding. We're gonna have to try to develop some anti-Spleen gas-masks for the team... we need a science guy. Think the Bowler knows anything about science?" Blake thinks. "Sche knowsch how to apply a pint of eyeliner without going blind, that scheemsch schiensch-y. But maybe we schould asck. In the meantime you can try a handkerchief full of lemongrassch and cedar, that scheemsch to work a little." He finishes the espresso. "Do you think we schould try and find these other people who were on the team in that alternate universche?" he asks. "They might exischt here." Mr. Furious scratches his head a little. "Ah, therein lies the rub, eh, Fleance? I'd say no... let 'em find us once we make ourselves known. Once we make our presence felt. Once we lay the smackdown on their criminal asses!" he belts out... feeling crimefighting pumpin' through his veins.. Blake grins. "No problem. Juscht announsche to the copsch that I'm on a team now, it'll be all over the newsch. I haven't been on the newsch in a while anywaysch, I feel unloved." Mr. Furious shakes his head. "No... we can't just ride your publicity wave, Spleen. We need to show our hand through ACTIONS, not words. We've gotta get the team together and make a unified strike... and what better target than that stinky guy that destroyed my bike..." Blake raises an eyebrow. "That big guy?" He's not keen on fighting him again, knowing that he's immune to Blake's powers. "You think the addition of forkpower will help usch out any?" Mr. Furious shrugs. "We'll have to see how good this Raja is. Maybe he can get a fork into his eyeball, or down his throat or somethin'... but the guy's gotta be served justice... and we're smarter than that guy... if we come up with a PLAN... we can get the job done." Blake nods. "You're probably right," he says. "But we need to all get together. We need pagersch or schomething...I guessch we schould schwap phone numbersch. Although I'm never really home thesche daysch." Mr. Furious hmmms. "Yeah, we should..." he looks around cautiously, producing a card. Reading Mr. Furious: 555-RAGE. And a weird little drawing of an angry guy. "I... I'm still working on the emblem there..." Blake brightens at the card. "No, I like it," he grins, "keep it." He finds one of his own cards, which features his name, his studio name ('Here There Be Dragons'), his number, and a picture of a firebreathing dragon. He pushes it across the table at Furious. "And now we gotta keep an eye out for the othersch," he comments needlessly. Mr. Furious nods to him. "Yep. Hope they haven't turned tail and ran... keeping outta the way of a challenge..." he mutters... finishing off his shake. "Keep an eye out for anyone that looks like a potential partner... we need strength in numbers... might in many... that sorta thing..." Blake nods back and pockets Furious' card. "Nah," he says. "If anyone'sch gonna turn tail, it'sch me." He grins, standing up. "We'll be in touch, then." Mr. Furious nods and stands up. "Don't be turning any tail, Spleen. We've got a job to do. JUSTICE never sleeps." He nods and then storms back out to his motorbike... probably to harass a smoker or something...