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V is not in at the moment. Please leave a message and he will get back to you once he regains consciousness.
* Norman_Osborn gestures at the portal he left through. "My other self. Such a strange mirror...."
V_> It isn't often one has the opportunity to encounter mirros that show not what one is, but what one could be.
Norman_Osborn> Mmm. What I could be....
V_> Is it what you want to be, though?
Norman_Osborn> Mm? It's power.
V_> At what price?
Norman_Osborn> It's /power/.
V_> Power for its own sake rarely grants a person what they /truly/ want. The price is too high, whether exacted at its inception or later.
* Norman_Osborn shakes his head. "I don't have words for this.
V_> *quietly, not accusing* Why havne't you?
Norman_Osborn> *softly* There aren't words. S'why he had to show me, not tell me.
V_> *musing* A power greater than that of the most successful dictator?
V_> A power over life and reality and existence itself?
V_> What would one /do/ with such power?
Norman_Osborn> Mm. Potentially.
Norman_Osborn> Heh. Anything one wanted to.
V_> ... Such as?
Norman_Osborn> I would take down Fury and his kind.
V_> And then what?
* Norman_Osborn doesn't want to play the 'oh, be practical' game. "I thought I'd already come so far..."
V_> You've further to go? More to acheive? to acuire? To punish? To control?
Norman_Osborn> Yesss.
V_> Why stop at Fury, then? There are more, aren't there?
* V_ is standing over him, now.*
Norman_Osborn> Of course.
* Norman_Osborn is paying attention to his food, nominally.
V_> To what end?
Norman_Osborn> It doesn't matter yet.
V_> Hmmm. *takes a step or two back, seeming to consider the next course of action* Why doesn't it?
Norman_Osborn> Because once I reach that level, there will be more ends available to me, that I can't even see yet.
V_> Hmmm. Would you acheive those ends, if you could?
Norman_Osborn> Yess
V_> Whatever those ends were? Whatever might need to be done to bring you to those ends?
Norman_Osborn> Within reason.
V_> Hmm. Within reason. Yes. Reason. A term left open to such interpretation....
* Norman_Osborn nods.
V_> What constitutes reason, logic, /sense/ to one, may seem compltely insane... even monstrous, to others.
Norman_Osborn> Mm. But the one in control, you see, decides what constitutes reason. And insanity.
V_> ...
* V_ has walked a short distance along the floor and wasn't looking at Norman. He still doesn't turn as he answers.* And what do you consider reason, Mister Osborn? What do you consider sanity?
Norman_Osborn> I consider progress to define reason. Stagnation, insanity.
V_> Progress. *is his omnipresent nonchalance sounding a little forced? His voice a little colder and quieter than usual?* Progress of what kind? At what cost?
Norman_Osborn> Any cost.
V_> New forms of energy? Bigger buildings? Better information-wrangling?
Norman_Osborn> Yes, all of that. And better science, better humans.
V_> ...
V_> *you might see him stiffen*
* Norman_Osborn smiles that press conference smile that reveals nothing.
* V_ turns slowly to look at him, his mask more a rictus grin, now, than the slightly odd smile it was before, the eyes squinting, his posture coiled and ready to strike.* Is that so.... *cultured tones reduced to a hiss*
* Norman_Osborn hasn't even stood. Still sitting there with a plate of spaghetti balanced on one knee and the fork in his hand. "Why?"
V_> Tell me... *he tries to regain his urbane manner, but can't keep the edge from his voice.* Do you speak of a fond dream of yours?
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> Whatever the cost? *steps toward Norman*
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> Within your own brand of reason? Your own brand of sanity? Security? Decency? *closes in on Norman, now*
* Norman_Osborn sets the plate aside, beginning to get to his feet. "As all men do."
V_> No matter the dream?
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> *a knife suddenly appears at Norman's throat. One deep breath and he's almost completely recovered his cultured mellifluence.* Than I'm sure you can see, Mister Osborn, how the cost of lives cannot be countenanced.
* Norman_Osborn sweeps backwards, one hand shooting out to grab V's hand. "Fast, aren't you?"
V_> Yes, and I'm sure you'd be /fascinated/ to know why.
* Norman_Osborn would be! But that's a discussion for after the knife goes away.
V_> A pivot, cape and hair swirling, and he pulls Norman's hand backwards, twisting free, grabbing him from behind. The knife is at Norman's throat again.
* Norman_Osborn goes very, very still. His eyes seem to have changed colors, lookit that. "Who do you work for?" And another grab for the knife hand, frighteningly, inhumanly strong.
V_> The people. *Grasping V's wrist is like grasping iron. Another knife in the other hand.* I could ask the same of you.
Norman_Osborn> Are you here to kill me? *Nonetheless, Norman is pushing the hand away from his throat. And he seems to be growing... how strange.*
V_> *grates* I wasn't before .... I am now.... *his arm is pushed away and he steps back, readjusting his position, watching the transformation.*
* Norman_Osborn certainly sounds more and more mad. "I respect your intelligence. I do not want to kill you. But I am not a target!"
V_> So say all who make targets of themselves through their actions, their intents! *is balanced on the balls of his feet, knives sheathed again but hands ready to draw them.*
* Norman_Osborn crouches foward as he grows, 7', 8', and massive. "My intents are none of your business!"
V_> They became my business as soon as they were spoken with such relish! *knives. Minimal cool flipping, but hey, it works its way in there anyway*
* Norman_Osborn rawr, lunge! Watch out for the claws!
V_> *dodge, pivot, slash!*
* Norman_Osborn snarls, bleeding yellow. Clearly, some of his 'perfecting' has been done on himself. "Ggggrrrr..." And a snatch of a massive clawed hand, trying to grab the smaller man*
V_> *That proves more difficult than anticipated. V is /fast./ He's already vaulted the couch and is on Norman's other side. A quick strike--a kick to the knee, a slash to the arm that tris to grab him and he's away again, dancing out of range, forever smiling.*
* Norman_Osborn lunges again, driving V back towards the bar. He really doesn't seem to notice that he's bleeding.
V_> *his back slams against the wood, but he ducks, almost inhumanly low, slipping free.*
* Norman_Osborn picks up an easy chair and flings it at him.
* V_ throws himself to the floor, rolls, and comes up again in a single movement, charging Norman at almost blinding speed, knives poised*
* Norman_Osborn crouches to meet him, a little slow.
V_> *One knife comes up, aiming for the throat, the other moves laterally, aiming for the kidneys...*
* Norman_Osborn twists, and gets one to the shoulder, and one stuck in his side. ROAR! He grabs for V again, practically throwing himself on top of him.
* V_ is, indeed, captured this time, hands flying to the knives sheathed at his sides.
* Norman_Osborn wraps both arms around him, trying to pin his arms to his sides.
V_> *This doesn't sit well with his opponent and one foot lashes out, connecting with Norman's kneecap. Instantly reverses field and comes in again in a sweeping kick meant to take Norman's foot out from under him.*
* Norman_Osborn goes down, but so does V! And Norman's a lot bigger than he is.
* V_ attempts to twist free.*
* Norman_Osborn tries to keep hold, but ends up holding more cloak than man.
* V_ frees himself of the cloak, having also long since lost the hat. The wig is askew and it doesn't look as though his mask will take much more, but he recollects himself, catching his breath. Only an instant.*
* Norman_Osborn is still getting to his feet. Bigger. Less agile.
* V_ circles.
* Norman_Osborn gets a couch. Oh, it makes a good shield.
* V_ squints at it, even through the already vulpine eyes of the mask. Too low to slip under. Going around would take too much time. He charged, leaping to vaulr over it, then.*
* Norman_Osborn hefts, and swings it! Like a bat!
V_> *There is a satisfying crack and V goes flying, slams against the wall with a sickening thud, and slides to the floor. From which he doesn't move.
Norman_Osborn> HAH!
* Norman_Osborn drops the couch (On a table, just for added property damage, and lopes over to lift V by an arm.
* V_ is limp, his head lolling forward.
* Norman_Osborn slowly begins to shrink, fight over, and he drops V again, leaning against the bar to catch his breath.
* V_ flops where he's dropped, a heap of black clothing and hair.
* Norman_Osborn has lost his shirt. Damnit. And the pants are very barely decent. So, yes... he is going to borrow that cloak. And get a drink. And then take a look under that mask.
V_> *by the time he's finished doing all that, though, V still hasn't moved.*
* Norman_Osborn crouches beside him, setting his drink on the floor, and pulls up the mask.
V_> *Beneath it isn't a face he knows. It almost isn't a face at all. What he sees looks like complete third-degree burns having more or less healed with little to no medical attention at all. There is no hair, not even eyelashes, part of the nose is missing, as are most of the ears. The skin is the red of a fresh scar, tight and laced with white. Prying open en eye reveals a completely black eyeball.*
Norman_Osborn> My, my. I'm not the first person you've taken a disliking to, am I? tsk....
* V_ remains unconscious.
* Norman_Osborn checks his pulse under his throat.
* V_ is still alive, his pulse steady but a little weak.
Norman_Osborn> Well, I don't seem to have bashed your head in, though who could tell, so... *relieves the unconscious man of his knives, gets up, fetches a glass of water from the bar. Still dangling the mask from one hand, he comes back and dumps it on him.*
* V_ twitches and coughs, his eyes fluttering open. Once he sees who's standing over him, his head drops back onto the floor and he looks wearily up at him.*
* Norman_Osborn has a finger through the eye of the mask, just letting it swing there. "I don't know who sent you here after me, but they'll have to do better."
V_> *cough keff* No-one ... sent me.
Norman_Osborn> Then you're a failure all on your own.
* V_ coughs and doesn't say anything.
Norman_Osborn> I could kill you here, now. All your plans you spoke of would be nothing.
V_> You ... could... yes....
Norman_Osborn> Why did you attack me?
V_> *more coughing, and he almost splutters on it as he answers.* After what I've seen.... Couldn't stand back .... allow ... another England.... Another Larkhill.... *his voice is a rough gasp, far from its usual mellifluous purr.*
Norman_Osborn> Do you even know what I'm doing?
V_> The intent ... *more coughing* ... is clear enough.... human experimentation, for whatever end ... 's.... *his speech trails off*
* Norman_Osborn gives him a cold look. "On myself, you fool." Yes, he /has/ experimented on others, but leaving that detail out gives him the moral highground in this conversation.
V_> Yet you would not ... hesitate ... to use others....
Norman_Osborn> No.
V_> That is why... *he struggles to rise, again.*
* Norman_Osborn stands, looking down at him. "You're not still trying, are you?"
* V_ clearly is, struggling to his feet, though he sways dangerously.*
* Norman_Osborn puts a hand to his chest and shoves.
V_> *This proves too much for his tnouously attained equilibrium and he flops to the floor again with a bone-rattling thud. And then struggles to get up /again./*
* Norman_Osborn pushes him down again. Oh, hey, this is fun.
V_> Sadistic--AGH! *the foot against his sternum pushes him painfully againt the floor. He lies still for a few breaths, then graps the ankle of said foot and /twists./
Norman_Osborn> Grah! *down, beside V, and scrambling back up already.* Death wish...
* V_ is on top of him in an instant, forearm pressed against his neck, the ruin of his face twisted with desperate rage.* I will not allow you to do to anyone else what was done to me! What was done to /her!/
* Norman_Osborn kicks, still inhumanly strong. "Get off me!"
V_> *Rage lends its own strentght, and still-cloved hands fasten themselves around Norman's neck, squeezing*
* Norman_Osborn s hands reach for V's neck in turn, as he tries to roll and get the upper hand.
V_> *They roll, the gloved hands vise-like around Norman's throat, constricting his trachea, his bloodflow*
* Norman_Osborn begins to transform once again, slower, tired by the earlier one. But still, hard to choke a throat you can't get your hands all the way around.
* V_ 's hands do slip, spasmodic, his eyes rolling.*
* Norman_Osborn forces his head back. Deep growl. "You're a fool."
V_> ghhhkkk...
* Norman_Osborn smacks his head into the floor and shoves him aside. "We're done."
V_> *You could say that. He's unconscious again.*
* Norman_Osborn leaves him there this time. He takes the knives and thumbs his way upstairs to his loft.*
* Norman_Osborn gestures at the portal he left through. "My other self. Such a strange mirror...."
V_> It isn't often one has the opportunity to encounter mirros that show not what one is, but what one could be.
Norman_Osborn> Mmm. What I could be....
V_> Is it what you want to be, though?
Norman_Osborn> Mm? It's power.
V_> At what price?
Norman_Osborn> It's /power/.
V_> Power for its own sake rarely grants a person what they /truly/ want. The price is too high, whether exacted at its inception or later.
* Norman_Osborn shakes his head. "I don't have words for this.
V_> *quietly, not accusing* Why havne't you?
Norman_Osborn> *softly* There aren't words. S'why he had to show me, not tell me.
V_> *musing* A power greater than that of the most successful dictator?
V_> A power over life and reality and existence itself?
V_> What would one /do/ with such power?
Norman_Osborn> Mm. Potentially.
Norman_Osborn> Heh. Anything one wanted to.
V_> ... Such as?
Norman_Osborn> I would take down Fury and his kind.
V_> And then what?
* Norman_Osborn doesn't want to play the 'oh, be practical' game. "I thought I'd already come so far..."
V_> You've further to go? More to acheive? to acuire? To punish? To control?
Norman_Osborn> Yesss.
V_> Why stop at Fury, then? There are more, aren't there?
* V_ is standing over him, now.*
Norman_Osborn> Of course.
* Norman_Osborn is paying attention to his food, nominally.
V_> To what end?
Norman_Osborn> It doesn't matter yet.
V_> Hmmm. *takes a step or two back, seeming to consider the next course of action* Why doesn't it?
Norman_Osborn> Because once I reach that level, there will be more ends available to me, that I can't even see yet.
V_> Hmmm. Would you acheive those ends, if you could?
Norman_Osborn> Yess
V_> Whatever those ends were? Whatever might need to be done to bring you to those ends?
Norman_Osborn> Within reason.
V_> Hmm. Within reason. Yes. Reason. A term left open to such interpretation....
* Norman_Osborn nods.
V_> What constitutes reason, logic, /sense/ to one, may seem compltely insane... even monstrous, to others.
Norman_Osborn> Mm. But the one in control, you see, decides what constitutes reason. And insanity.
V_> ...
* V_ has walked a short distance along the floor and wasn't looking at Norman. He still doesn't turn as he answers.* And what do you consider reason, Mister Osborn? What do you consider sanity?
Norman_Osborn> I consider progress to define reason. Stagnation, insanity.
V_> Progress. *is his omnipresent nonchalance sounding a little forced? His voice a little colder and quieter than usual?* Progress of what kind? At what cost?
Norman_Osborn> Any cost.
V_> New forms of energy? Bigger buildings? Better information-wrangling?
Norman_Osborn> Yes, all of that. And better science, better humans.
V_> ...
V_> *you might see him stiffen*
* Norman_Osborn smiles that press conference smile that reveals nothing.
* V_ turns slowly to look at him, his mask more a rictus grin, now, than the slightly odd smile it was before, the eyes squinting, his posture coiled and ready to strike.* Is that so.... *cultured tones reduced to a hiss*
* Norman_Osborn hasn't even stood. Still sitting there with a plate of spaghetti balanced on one knee and the fork in his hand. "Why?"
V_> Tell me... *he tries to regain his urbane manner, but can't keep the edge from his voice.* Do you speak of a fond dream of yours?
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> Whatever the cost? *steps toward Norman*
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> Within your own brand of reason? Your own brand of sanity? Security? Decency? *closes in on Norman, now*
* Norman_Osborn sets the plate aside, beginning to get to his feet. "As all men do."
V_> No matter the dream?
Norman_Osborn> Yes.
V_> *a knife suddenly appears at Norman's throat. One deep breath and he's almost completely recovered his cultured mellifluence.* Than I'm sure you can see, Mister Osborn, how the cost of lives cannot be countenanced.
* Norman_Osborn sweeps backwards, one hand shooting out to grab V's hand. "Fast, aren't you?"
V_> Yes, and I'm sure you'd be /fascinated/ to know why.
* Norman_Osborn would be! But that's a discussion for after the knife goes away.
V_> A pivot, cape and hair swirling, and he pulls Norman's hand backwards, twisting free, grabbing him from behind. The knife is at Norman's throat again.
* Norman_Osborn goes very, very still. His eyes seem to have changed colors, lookit that. "Who do you work for?" And another grab for the knife hand, frighteningly, inhumanly strong.
V_> The people. *Grasping V's wrist is like grasping iron. Another knife in the other hand.* I could ask the same of you.
Norman_Osborn> Are you here to kill me? *Nonetheless, Norman is pushing the hand away from his throat. And he seems to be growing... how strange.*
V_> *grates* I wasn't before .... I am now.... *his arm is pushed away and he steps back, readjusting his position, watching the transformation.*
* Norman_Osborn certainly sounds more and more mad. "I respect your intelligence. I do not want to kill you. But I am not a target!"
V_> So say all who make targets of themselves through their actions, their intents! *is balanced on the balls of his feet, knives sheathed again but hands ready to draw them.*
* Norman_Osborn crouches foward as he grows, 7', 8', and massive. "My intents are none of your business!"
V_> They became my business as soon as they were spoken with such relish! *knives. Minimal cool flipping, but hey, it works its way in there anyway*
* Norman_Osborn rawr, lunge! Watch out for the claws!
V_> *dodge, pivot, slash!*
* Norman_Osborn snarls, bleeding yellow. Clearly, some of his 'perfecting' has been done on himself. "Ggggrrrr..." And a snatch of a massive clawed hand, trying to grab the smaller man*
V_> *That proves more difficult than anticipated. V is /fast./ He's already vaulted the couch and is on Norman's other side. A quick strike--a kick to the knee, a slash to the arm that tris to grab him and he's away again, dancing out of range, forever smiling.*
* Norman_Osborn lunges again, driving V back towards the bar. He really doesn't seem to notice that he's bleeding.
V_> *his back slams against the wood, but he ducks, almost inhumanly low, slipping free.*
* Norman_Osborn picks up an easy chair and flings it at him.
* V_ throws himself to the floor, rolls, and comes up again in a single movement, charging Norman at almost blinding speed, knives poised*
* Norman_Osborn crouches to meet him, a little slow.
V_> *One knife comes up, aiming for the throat, the other moves laterally, aiming for the kidneys...*
* Norman_Osborn twists, and gets one to the shoulder, and one stuck in his side. ROAR! He grabs for V again, practically throwing himself on top of him.
* V_ is, indeed, captured this time, hands flying to the knives sheathed at his sides.
* Norman_Osborn wraps both arms around him, trying to pin his arms to his sides.
V_> *This doesn't sit well with his opponent and one foot lashes out, connecting with Norman's kneecap. Instantly reverses field and comes in again in a sweeping kick meant to take Norman's foot out from under him.*
* Norman_Osborn goes down, but so does V! And Norman's a lot bigger than he is.
* V_ attempts to twist free.*
* Norman_Osborn tries to keep hold, but ends up holding more cloak than man.
* V_ frees himself of the cloak, having also long since lost the hat. The wig is askew and it doesn't look as though his mask will take much more, but he recollects himself, catching his breath. Only an instant.*
* Norman_Osborn is still getting to his feet. Bigger. Less agile.
* V_ circles.
* Norman_Osborn gets a couch. Oh, it makes a good shield.
* V_ squints at it, even through the already vulpine eyes of the mask. Too low to slip under. Going around would take too much time. He charged, leaping to vaulr over it, then.*
* Norman_Osborn hefts, and swings it! Like a bat!
V_> *There is a satisfying crack and V goes flying, slams against the wall with a sickening thud, and slides to the floor. From which he doesn't move.
Norman_Osborn> HAH!
* Norman_Osborn drops the couch (On a table, just for added property damage, and lopes over to lift V by an arm.
* V_ is limp, his head lolling forward.
* Norman_Osborn slowly begins to shrink, fight over, and he drops V again, leaning against the bar to catch his breath.
* V_ flops where he's dropped, a heap of black clothing and hair.
* Norman_Osborn has lost his shirt. Damnit. And the pants are very barely decent. So, yes... he is going to borrow that cloak. And get a drink. And then take a look under that mask.
V_> *by the time he's finished doing all that, though, V still hasn't moved.*
* Norman_Osborn crouches beside him, setting his drink on the floor, and pulls up the mask.
V_> *Beneath it isn't a face he knows. It almost isn't a face at all. What he sees looks like complete third-degree burns having more or less healed with little to no medical attention at all. There is no hair, not even eyelashes, part of the nose is missing, as are most of the ears. The skin is the red of a fresh scar, tight and laced with white. Prying open en eye reveals a completely black eyeball.*
Norman_Osborn> My, my. I'm not the first person you've taken a disliking to, am I? tsk....
* V_ remains unconscious.
* Norman_Osborn checks his pulse under his throat.
* V_ is still alive, his pulse steady but a little weak.
Norman_Osborn> Well, I don't seem to have bashed your head in, though who could tell, so... *relieves the unconscious man of his knives, gets up, fetches a glass of water from the bar. Still dangling the mask from one hand, he comes back and dumps it on him.*
* V_ twitches and coughs, his eyes fluttering open. Once he sees who's standing over him, his head drops back onto the floor and he looks wearily up at him.*
* Norman_Osborn has a finger through the eye of the mask, just letting it swing there. "I don't know who sent you here after me, but they'll have to do better."
V_> *cough keff* No-one ... sent me.
Norman_Osborn> Then you're a failure all on your own.
* V_ coughs and doesn't say anything.
Norman_Osborn> I could kill you here, now. All your plans you spoke of would be nothing.
V_> You ... could... yes....
Norman_Osborn> Why did you attack me?
V_> *more coughing, and he almost splutters on it as he answers.* After what I've seen.... Couldn't stand back .... allow ... another England.... Another Larkhill.... *his voice is a rough gasp, far from its usual mellifluous purr.*
Norman_Osborn> Do you even know what I'm doing?
V_> The intent ... *more coughing* ... is clear enough.... human experimentation, for whatever end ... 's.... *his speech trails off*
* Norman_Osborn gives him a cold look. "On myself, you fool." Yes, he /has/ experimented on others, but leaving that detail out gives him the moral highground in this conversation.
V_> Yet you would not ... hesitate ... to use others....
Norman_Osborn> No.
V_> That is why... *he struggles to rise, again.*
* Norman_Osborn stands, looking down at him. "You're not still trying, are you?"
* V_ clearly is, struggling to his feet, though he sways dangerously.*
* Norman_Osborn puts a hand to his chest and shoves.
V_> *This proves too much for his tnouously attained equilibrium and he flops to the floor again with a bone-rattling thud. And then struggles to get up /again./*
* Norman_Osborn pushes him down again. Oh, hey, this is fun.
V_> Sadistic--AGH! *the foot against his sternum pushes him painfully againt the floor. He lies still for a few breaths, then graps the ankle of said foot and /twists./
Norman_Osborn> Grah! *down, beside V, and scrambling back up already.* Death wish...
* V_ is on top of him in an instant, forearm pressed against his neck, the ruin of his face twisted with desperate rage.* I will not allow you to do to anyone else what was done to me! What was done to /her!/
* Norman_Osborn kicks, still inhumanly strong. "Get off me!"
V_> *Rage lends its own strentght, and still-cloved hands fasten themselves around Norman's neck, squeezing*
* Norman_Osborn s hands reach for V's neck in turn, as he tries to roll and get the upper hand.
V_> *They roll, the gloved hands vise-like around Norman's throat, constricting his trachea, his bloodflow*
* Norman_Osborn begins to transform once again, slower, tired by the earlier one. But still, hard to choke a throat you can't get your hands all the way around.
* V_ 's hands do slip, spasmodic, his eyes rolling.*
* Norman_Osborn forces his head back. Deep growl. "You're a fool."
V_> ghhhkkk...
* Norman_Osborn smacks his head into the floor and shoves him aside. "We're done."
V_> *You could say that. He's unconscious again.*
* Norman_Osborn leaves him there this time. He takes the knives and thumbs his way upstairs to his loft.*