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Character Quote: Trash Garbage Douche King Supreme
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Age: 27
Player: RodentFanatic (RF)
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Joined: 19-April 18
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Last Seen: May 20 2018, 08:53 PM
Local Time: May 23 2018, 09:46 AM
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Fabian Cortez

Brotherhood

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May 2 2018, 09:48 AM
Fabian was glad that he had spent time in Action Force before the Brotherhood. Not simply for the training —though that was invaluable—but because he didn’t think he could have gone straight from his former lifestyle to this…hovel. This bunker. This…this…look, however they fixed it up, whatever they added, they were still squatting, and he’d had no idea til he got there how much that would bother him. Not because anything was uncomfortable, just in principle. Snobbish principles were among the VERY few that Fabian possessed.

Likewise, he had no principles against child soldiers, but he was surprised to see yet another teenager here. He’d already met that little girl, Mackenzie, in the training area. Now he saw a boy child in the common area. He’d had him pointed out to him before, when he’d first arrived and had a passing introduction to everyone. His name was…oh no, Fabian couldn’t be recalling this right, because he remembered the boy being called Rat. Maybe something that sounded similar? Or one of those words with two meanings? An insult? Fabian couldn’t imagine anybody ever willingly taking such an unfortunate moniker.

Of course, it was also hard for him to imagine people willingly put garbage into their bodies, yet there the boy/rodent was, scarfing down some kind of…chips or cheetos or other aptly-named ‘junk food’. No wonder he was so tiny! Fabian understood that not everyone could be a towering pinnacle of manliness like himself, but…

He supposed now was as good a time as any to ingratiate himself to the boy as a cool older mentor. He wanted everyone here on his side in some way, and that seemed the best route with a teen. After all, what kid WOULDN’T look up to him? And not just literally!

“Hey there nino,” he said in a casual-friendly tone, striding over. He reached forward and gripped the corner of the glossy plastic snack-food bag between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it slightly as if to see the label,

“What have you got here? Ayugh, this can’t be good for you. Listen, I’m no cook, but there must be something better here for you.”
Apr 21 2018, 12:33 PM
There was very little that Fabian Cortez could not do, as he would be the first to tell you. He was athletic, he was clever, he possessed a keen mind for both politics and military strategy, he was skilled at subterfuge and espionage but also a real threat in a physical fight as well, not to mention a snappy dresser--

But he couldn’t feed himself.

Not only had he never learned to cook, he didn’t WANT to. Doing so would be BENEATH him, both in terms of his gender and his social class. Just because he had thrown in with these criminals---and would bring them to being something GREAT for it--didn’t mean he had forgotten that he was born royalty. Not to mention with a penis.

So no, he wasn’t going to “just Google it” nor was he going to settle for something like instant ramen---which he seriously doubted was actually a food anyway---he was going to do what he was best at:

Get someone else to do something for him.


It sounded lazy, but like all his other skills, this was something he had in fact worked to develop. His stupid mind-controlling sister, she was just born with the ability to make people do what she wanted. Fabian though...Fabian had had to learn.

And part of that meant learning to ask nice.

At least at first.

Because as much as he couldn’t wait to be in a position where he could just bark orders at people and have them jump to obey---as they should---he wasn’t there yet. And he wouldn’t get there if nobody liked him.

And for some reason, people just didn’t seem to respond well when he simply told them to do things for him. Go figure, eh? Total mystery.

So when he poked his handsome head into the Brotherhood kitchen, he had his game face on. Good thing too---there was indeed someone else in here. Samara Vane, also known as Nightmare. He’d been briefly introduced in passing to her when he had joined up, just so he knew who everyone was and vice versa, but he didn’t know anything about her. Well, ok, no, he did know that she had a fantasticly lush rack that was very generously on display in a great many of the approvably feminine apparel that she sported. Fabian, of course, simultaneously appreciated the view and judged her for showing it. Yeah, he was THAT type of guy.

Stepping into the kitchen---an unfamiliar territory indeed--he announced his presence with an apology, something that he, in his ego, did not understand was indeed something he truly should apologize for.

“I am truly sorry to barge in on you if you are busy---Samara, yes? Samara Vane? Or do you prefer Nightmare?”

Some people were picky about the whole codenames thing. Personally, he’d never gotten into it.

He put a hand to his broad, well-muscled chest,

“I am Fabian Cortez, you may remember that we met recently.”

Well of COURSE she did. No one forgot a face like his OR a body like his OR hair like this. But he wanted to sound modest.

Eyes sparkling with just the right hint of vulnerability, the same seeping into his voice, he asked,

“I was wondering if you might help me out?”
Apr 20 2018, 11:13 AM
MARCH 2017

Title: I ALSO THINK I'M A KING
With: KINGTIDE
Date: March 24 at 4 PM

Title: NOT HUMBLE, JUST HUNGRY
With: NIGHTMARE
Time: March 25 at 7:30 PM

Title: PUPPY LOVE
With: NOTION
Date: March 26 at 1:15 PM

Title: SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS (Brood Plot Group Thread)
With: Group thread, interacting specifically with RAPTOR and MAVERICK
Date: March 31 at 4 PM

APRIL 2017

Title: DIETARY DIATRIBE
With: RAT
Date: April 3, 3PM

Title: A RUN IN THE PARK
With: EPIONE
Date: April 7, 9AM

Title: BROOD - ISLAND GETAWAY
With: Brotherhood group thread
Date: April 9 1:38 PM
Apr 20 2018, 10:39 AM
Kingtide

Being born with mutant powers was a crapshoot. Maybe you got to have big bad powers so you never had to lift a finger to actually work for any victories. Or maybe you just got something benign and effete and meant to merely support the powers of others…and you had to use your wits and your hard work to make it into something better. LIke Fabian had.

He’d always resented that.

Bodies were a little like that too. You got given the genetic capability to, say, be taller or better at gaining muscle mass, but you still had to work to use it. And Fabian, for all his entitlement in other areas of life, had worked hard for his own. He liked being buff, he liked being strong, and he liked that this was something he could put effort into and get a result. A result that he could lord over others, and help even out the odds against those lucky mutants who just got everything handed to them by nature.

He’d started his martial arts training as a child. He’d continued into his teen years. And then, with Action Force, the paramilitary training had taken his body to limits he’d not have thought possible for someone who was, in physical terms, technically no different than your average human.

But the thing about that kind of training was…you had to keep it up. It wasn’t like, oh, I reached the peak, now I can just sit on my laurels and stay there. No, he had to keep it up—now more than ever, since he was with the Brotherhood. They’d be fighting the X-Men, who were surely several cuts above the civilian mutant resistants he’d faced with Action Force in Spain. They had had raw powers from Mother Nature, yes—but not training.

It had been a lesson for him.

So, no slacking off. No getting fat. No slowing down. Not now, not ever.

He’d been shown the training gym when he first arrived. Time to test it out.

He came in shirtless, clad solely in tight-fitting mens exercise shorts with a red V pattern that led the eye right towards his groin, because of course he did, he was Fabian, and besides there might be a woman in the gym!

….nope. Just a little girl. He remembered being briefly introduced to her when he met everyone. She had one of those weird American names, Mc…Mac…Mackenzie. Must be Scottish in origin or something. They lacked the romantic lyricism of Spanish names, for sure.

Well, he supposed he should make friends. Or at least a good impression. She might be a child, but she was still someone who might be in a position to save his life in a fight someday. Besides, she looked a little like his sister—not his twin, the annoying Anne Marie, but his baby sister, Lucia, the one he actually liked.

How did she wind up here, at her age?

“Well, hey nina,” he said as he approached, so she knew he was there. Not that anyone could miss his glorious presence! It positively filled the room!

“Remember me? Fabian Cortez?” he put up a hand in a slight wave,

“We met recently.”

It was a rhetorical question of course, there was no way anyone could forget him, even in the most grazing of encounters. Poor kid probably already had a hopeless crush on him, no doubt.

He looked from her and back to the equipment,

“Do you need any help? No offense–Mackenzie?–but…you’re tiny.”

Really, if she got crushed by something in here while he was RIGHT THERE, it probably would NOT reflect well on him to the rest of the Brotherhood, and he would prefer to avoid that.
Apr 20 2018, 09:48 AM
Notion

The sun was out, there was a slight breeze, the birds were chirping, and the ladies were out of their heavy winter clothes. A perfect time to take Brat, his little red-brown sausage dog, for a walk.

When Fabian had first started looking for a dog, he’d been thinking more along the lines of something like a Presa Canario . Something big, impressive, majestic—something like himself. But then it had occurred to him…a dachshund suggested two things:

Wieners and length.

Something he DEFINITELY wanted women to associate with him. It was true, after all.

And to his surprise, he’d gotten very attached to the little barking bratwurst. He hadn’t had a pet since childhood—life with Action Force hadn’t allowed for one, and he was rather worried that it might turn out Brotherhood life wouldn’t either—and he’d forgotten how wonderful that dogs were. Fabian might be an egocentric sack of shit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t love puppies like everyone else. Indeed, it was probably why he loved them—they were worshipful and unquestioningly loyal and everything Fabian wished other people would be.

People—aside from himself—were flawed. Dogs? Perfect. Especially HIS precious waggy baby dog.

His precious waggy baby dog that was going to help him get LAID.

So here he was on this beautiful bright sunshiney day in Central Park, strutting through the sidewalks and pathways, Brat on the lookout for squirrels and Fabian on the lookout for sex. Not that he would put it that way, of course—Fabian fancied himself a gentleman.

A very smart gentleman. A gentleman with plans. A gentleman who, when no one was looking, knelt down, unhook the beautiful custom-made leather leash from its expensive matching collar, and whisper a Spanish command to the pup, who took off like a shot into the bushes beyond the path. Fabian stood patiently for a few moments, ran a hand through his perfectly-preened hair to artfully dishevel it for authenticity’s sake, and then began to dramatically call “BRAT! BRAT!” as he ran after him…carefully measuring his strides so that his long, strong legs did not actually run the risk of overtaking Brat’s own short stubby ones.

Soon enough, he found the ‘escapee’ doing exactly what he had hoped…jumping up at the knees of a woman sitting at a bench. And what a woman! Fabian made a mental note to give Brat the special liver pate food for dinner tonight as a reward.

Game on.

He jogged up towards the lovely vision his dog was harassing, rapidly apologizing in a sincere tone,

“Oh, lo siento, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Brat! Brat, no! Stop bothering this lady! I’m so sorry, senorita, please don’t call an officer, he only got away from me more a minute and he’s so excitable, he doesn’t mean any harm, I promise!”

He got down on his knees to re-attach the leash to his yipping pet, giving him a good chance to check out the legs on this girl. Nice. Just like the rest of her.

“He’s a good boy, aren’t you Brat? But you scared Papa! I thought I was going to lose you in this huge place!”

He jostled the puppy’s ears with scratches, then beamed back up sheepishly at his target,

“You’re not hurt, are you miss? He didn’t scratch you with his little puppy claws, did he?”
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