MWAHAHAHA.
At approximately nine a.m. sharp on Thursday, a letter is sent to all the practicing supervillains in the area, or, where such a feat is impossible, to the nearest supervillain meeting place. The letter arrives by e-mail, fax, and/or the appearance of a plain white envelope stuck between the door and the doorjamb.
">The text is as follows:
The superheroes have remained comfortable and safe in their positions of power too long. They no longer understand the meaning of a true threat. They consider you pointless, a joke; to them, many of your brethren are little more than a nuisance.
You are more than that. You are better than that. You are villains. They should know better; soon, they will.
You do not need to know who I am, not yet. What you need to know is this: I HAVE A PLAN. If you want to know more, I have prepared a safehouse on the outskirts of Jump City. It was once a toy factory. The upper floor held the management offices; it is there, in room 2AB, where we will meet at midnight, two days from now.
I look forward to seeing you there. If not, I can't say I blame you - it's often more comfortable following the same old pattern than risking the catastrophe of change. You only risk my disappointment in your adventurous spirit by refusing to attend.
Best of wishes,
XX
And so it is that Faust finds herself in room 2AB, her hair dyed jet-black (an easy enough cosmetic change to make, really, and just as easily reversed) and pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a deep red pantsuit, as far from her normal dress as possible and dressed to give off a palpable sense of authority. To complete the ensemble, she was wearing sunglasses. After dark. Good thing she wanted the lights on.
She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, and puts a firm, confident smile on her face, smoothing out the last wrinkle on her suit. All that's left is waiting for the first villains to arrive.
Showtime.
((OOC info here!))
">The text is as follows:
The superheroes have remained comfortable and safe in their positions of power too long. They no longer understand the meaning of a true threat. They consider you pointless, a joke; to them, many of your brethren are little more than a nuisance.
You are more than that. You are better than that. You are villains. They should know better; soon, they will.
You do not need to know who I am, not yet. What you need to know is this: I HAVE A PLAN. If you want to know more, I have prepared a safehouse on the outskirts of Jump City. It was once a toy factory. The upper floor held the management offices; it is there, in room 2AB, where we will meet at midnight, two days from now.
I look forward to seeing you there. If not, I can't say I blame you - it's often more comfortable following the same old pattern than risking the catastrophe of change. You only risk my disappointment in your adventurous spirit by refusing to attend.
Best of wishes,
XX
And so it is that Faust finds herself in room 2AB, her hair dyed jet-black (an easy enough cosmetic change to make, really, and just as easily reversed) and pulled back in a ponytail, dressed in a deep red pantsuit, as far from her normal dress as possible and dressed to give off a palpable sense of authority. To complete the ensemble, she was wearing sunglasses. After dark. Good thing she wanted the lights on.
She takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, and puts a firm, confident smile on her face, smoothing out the last wrinkle on her suit. All that's left is waiting for the first villains to arrive.
Showtime.
((OOC info here!))