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Could anything be better than someone sending cookies to you? I was having a rough day when I opened my mailbox to find a box in the mail from my friend Brenda in Ohio! Several of us had exchanged names for birthday cookies and as I pulled each masterpiece out of the box, I started crying. I was so touched by the thought that someone had designed something special for me............now I know who people feel when I make cookies for them. They are just gorgeous and my picture does not do them justice, nor can you smell them - they smell heavenly, like birthday cake!!! Now that the photo is has been taken, I'll let my family dive in (except for the bouquet - I'm saving it forever!) I call dibs on the pink and green striped candle!
Brenda also surprised me with three other cookies that are so outrageously special that were inspired by something I collect. They were a little damaged in shipping, so I am attaching the photo she took! www.flickr.com/photos/brenscakes/6800623160/in/photostream
Be sure to leave her a comment! They're soooo incredible!!!
THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH BRENDA!!!
I've never felt more special!!!!!!!!!!
Developed at home with the Tetenal Colortech C-41 kit using the 30°c method.
Leica II Mini
Elmar 35mm f/3.5
Kodak Gold 200
Converted to B&W using LR5 & Nik Software
Thanks for taking the time to view my image. Your comments & faves are greatly appreciated.
"HAVE A GO AT OUR OPEN MONTHLY CHALLENGE"
The subjects for this month and details on how to take part can be found here.
Anyone, anywhere with any camera can take part.
edward enjoys a hot cuppa in an officially sanctioned ani difranco mug...
jennerator's edward scissorhands doll
an older one from the first of the year,that i seem to have forgotten to upload here. it was a quick 20 min piece, purely for making a tutorial that many people had asked about.
to view the video,go here -
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tji2l4nIPoQ&feature=youtu.be
© Drumroll studios 2015
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Send your words in
I want to be right with Life. I want to be on the right side of Love (and God) and give my energy to the living. I haven’t returned to the pond since the babies died, though every day I consider it. It’s the toughest Love I’ve ever mustered, and it’s killing me but it seems right.
There’s so much death in that pond, I think Bella can do better. If I show up she’ll never leave. If she didn’t have Buzz, I would be even more conflicted. I’m eternally grateful for their partnership (he so resembles William). Dear, sweet William. It’s been a year, and I miss him terribly but not like the acutely visceral beginning. Not like I am missing Maxie, like someone has kicked me in the ribs. It does get easier in time.
This, then, is my definition of poetry (I was telling a friend, I rarely post poems on Flickr, as folks don’t quite know what to make of them (they will never be formulaic, my musings). “Nice essay, story, thoughts, prose, soliloquy, verbiage.” A poem has a mission. Words are foot soldiers, sent into sometimes awful situations, and they report back what they have found there. They prefer the fields of wild flowers, the camp fires at the beach, the stunning vista after a long climb up the mountain but they go dutifully where sent, with one criterion ~ that they are un-merci-fully honest (or why bother going?)
The Peonies are in bloom, and I can’t get enough of them. Their beauty defies words, so I won’t even ask that of them but it makes me think of how bleakly I grew up, in my parents tiny apartment. Dull and drab and ugly. Lifeless. I’ve devoted my life to Beauty, as a contradiction to those formative years. Now that I have my own home to love and care for (family, friends, pets, creatures, garden, all that comes with it), I am committed to sharing Beauty.
I was thinking of Snitty telling the police that I “threaten” her. I weigh 100 pounds and have a heart of Jello. Really? But if you’re committed to living in darkness, so much Light would disturb your mission. So more Light, then. Shine it brightly into the dark places. Send your words in to bring back the glittering jewel, found in the black muck of sorrow.
LBM 6/11/2019
Hikosan Station, Fukuoka, JR Kyushu, Hita-Hikosan line,
July 2013
JR九州、日田彦山線、彦山駅
Carl Zeiss Makro-Planar T* 2/50 ZE
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On the last day of the Nine Emperor Gods Festival (九皇爷诞) , many of the major temples such as Leong Nam Temple in Singapore send off the Nine Emperors back through the sea at East Coast Park in a grand ceremony.
As one of the important Taoist festivals on the Chinese lunar calandar, it is very interesting to witness the whole process for the first time. It almost feels mystical in some parts!
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The evening sun sends some last spots to earth when Gt 5794 arrived at the shores of Valnesfjord on northern norwegian Nordlandsbane. The Kistrandfjell mountains in background were fallen totaly in shadow.
It's a scan. The Slide was taken 06.09.2000.
"porque cada vez que me ves, siento como si fuese por primera vez, que los dos cruzamos miradas y en vez, de ver a ver quienes somos, ya nos conocemos, ya nos hemos visto una vez... aquella vez..."
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The foreground is the moorland summit plateau of Steel Fell, the hill on the western side of the Dunmail Pass between Grasmere and Keswick, passing Thirlmere Reservoir.
The growth of Manchester as the world's first industrialised city coincided with the Victorian era of 'heroic' civil engineering, including such schemes as damming a Lakeland valley and sending the captured water to the city via a (non-continuous) pipe 154 km long: the UK's longest gravity-fed aqueduct.
Despite local opposition, Manchester Corporation Waterworks built a 20m-tall dam at the northern (far) end of the valley between 1890 and 1894, raising the level of Leathes Water and Wythburn Water by 15 m to create a single 3.29 km² lake holding 37,440,000 m³. The first water reached Manchester in October 1894, but the Thirlmere Aqueduct, with the nominal capacity to deliver 250,000 m³ per day (though the 41.0 km² catchment area has a dry-weather yield of ~162,820 m³ per day), wasn't fully completed until 1925.
To the immediate left of the lake are the Wythburn Fells, with Brown Rigg (452 m asl) descending to the lakeshore at Hause Point, which hides two islands, Hawes How and Deergarth How. Behind, Raven Crag (461 m) overlooks the left end of the lake, ~7½ km away, whilst the low, rounded hill to the right of the dam is Great How (at 332 m asl, though the lake is at ~190 m). Nearer on the right bank is Highpark Wood below Helvellyn Screes, which rise to 859 m off the edge of the photo, on the route to the 950 m summit of Helvellyn, the third highest point in the Lake District and hence England (though the taller two, Sca Fell and Scafell Pike, are arguably two summits of the same hill).
Stenkin farm, in the left of the foreground (km away), stands beside the minor road around the west side of the lake; following the other bank is
The A591 main road between Windermere and Keswick, apparently voted 'Britain's Favourite Road' follows the right lakeshore through Highpark Wood then passes between Great How and the sunlit ridge behind (beyond that is the quiet valley of St John's in the Vale.
The background is dominated by the largest hills of the Northern Fells. Cloud just covers the summit of Skiddaw (sixth tallest in England, at 931 m), which extends rightwards to steep-sided Lonscale Fell (715 m). After the gap of the Glenderaterra valley (through which one can see Great Calva (690 m) 20 km away, with Knott (710 m) behind), Blencathra (868 m) is distinct on the right.
20170307-5821
De Haagse Strandhuisjes staan er weer.
Eigenlijk zijn het gewoon mooie caravans die in het voorjaar geplaatst worden en aan het eind van het seizoen hun winterstalling weer opzoeken.
==Panessa Studios, Now==
"That was a no, was it?" Pitt finished, dressed in Cluemaster's orange jumpsuit, a yellow scarf around his neck.
'I wouldn't have thought it, but Brad does play a good Cluemaster,' Gar admitted, as he turned a dial on the console.
At the side, Booker stood mouthing his counterpart's closing words.
"A very polite one, but yes."
The director rose from his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Not bad people, great work! We'll resume after lunch."
Gar nodded, removing his headset. 'Beats working for Billings, that's for sure,' he murmured, as he made a beeline for the breakroom.
"Actually-" the director called out, "Gar, can I talk to you for a minute? I brought in a construction consultant- bit of a mouthful I know, hah. I was hoping you'd give the 101 tour, the basic lay of the land."
"Oh, uh, sure," Gar said, as he zipped his jacket up.
"Great! She'll be here in a few minutes, ok. I'll send her to you."
===My Alibi. Years Ago===
Gar opened the door with a rusty creak, taking particular notice of the sign in the front window. "Private Function."
Assembled around a round table of sorts (simply several stools pushed together) were the Misfits. As the rest of the group joked about with each other, Drury, sitting at the far end, sat fiddling with his engagement ring. *His* engagement ring. Didn't even feel real. As Chuck nudged his elbow to get his attention, his eyes lit up.
"Gar! Did you see the suits I ordered?" he yelled out cheerfully.
"Yeah, they're... colourful. You, uh, seem excited," Gar noted, scratching a patch of dry skin on his neck.
"Love them! Got the bridesmaids in mellow yellow, but us lads, the OGs, we've got purple... Nothing, uh, nothing rhymes with purple, but you get my point," Drury smiled bashfully.
"Uh, sure."
"We get to pick our own logos, right?" Chuck chimed in. "For the breast pocket."
"Oh, aye, custom made. Whatever kites, calendars or flames that take your fancy. C'mon, sit down, sit down," Drury continued, as he grabbed another stool for Gar. He didn't sit down.
"Christ, Drury, you don't even have a date set," Wist gasped, a tad off put by his enthusiasm.
"We can't all elope in Vegas, Dave," Drury chuckled.
"Ha! You'd think he'd priotise that. Fortunately," Julian began. "He has me." He continued, now turning to Drury. "Now, I know you'll want to do it on Valentine's Day, all aspiring couples do, but it's cliché. Think of all the other potential holidays. Father's Day, Mother's Day-"
"Oh, I dunno, I heard Maxie Zeus made a booking then," Blake smirked.
"An Oedipus joke, Blake? Didn't know you could read..." Fiasco murmured, handing him their next round of drinks.
"Oddie who?"
"Look," Gar growled. "I just came by to let you know... Don't worry about a plus one."
Drury frowned, and turned to the group. "... Guys, give us a minute, will ya?"
"Sure thing, Drury, see you in five," Chuck nodded, as he led the group out, the wind slamming the door shut behind them.
The duo were quiet for a minute, until Drury looked up from the table, lowering his voice. "Clair said no?"
"I didn't ask."
"Gar-" he began, resting his head in his hands, exasperated.
Gar sighed, taking his gloves off, rolling up his sleeves and pointing to his face, exposing his burn marks. "How could I, looking like this Dru?"
"I-" Drury stammered, lost for words.
"Just... give it to Blake will ya?" he groaned. "I heard he's been collecting them anyway. Something about a harem, I don't know."
Drury shook his head. "Yeah, no, that's not happening. Blake, well... He's a predator."
...
Gar's jaw opened in disgust. "*Shit.*"
"Not like that!" he added hastily. "Well, a little like *ahem* He likes to hunt, is what I meant."
'You're not helping his case," Gar smirked, as he slid onto a stool.
"I don't exactly want to!" Drury stammered back, the two of them now laughing together. As the laughter fades, Drury slides a beer along the makeshift tables and Gar catches it, the duo sipping their drinks quietly. "You'll find someone, Gar, I know it."
"Oh, yeah?" Gar sipped. "What makes you so sure?"
"Easy. I did."
"You, my friend," Gar said, "still have a face."
"Ach, well-"
"Even if it's ugly as hell."
Drury looked across the table, Gar now fully smiling. "Well, we can't *all* have your smouldering good looks," he shot back.
"I," Gar grinned, "Wasn't stupid enough to pass my genes on."
===Panessa- Break Room===
Gar looked up at the TV, frowning. Lois Lane was on a tirade about Arkham, and that, that worried him. “Today marks one year since the destruction of Arkham City claimed the lives of over 100 inmates within the open-air supermax. The man-made earthquake was triggered by a machine designed by a cabal of US elites known as the Court of Owls, and facilitated by the eco-terrorist organisation, The League of Assassins. Reports on the League have been sparse; it is understood that most perished during The Society’s assault on their stronghold this past summer. The Society, a union of over two-hundred supervillains of varying levels of notoriety, was itself fragmented during the three-way confrontation between themselves, the League of Assassins, and the Justice League in the Hindu Kush Valley. Most of its leadership, including Bane, are presently incarcerated in Slabside Penitentiary, the remote metahuman prison in the South Pole. Several questions remain; how many Society members are still out there? And is Slabside Penitentiary secure enough to keep the rest contained? Doubtful. Earlier this year, Slabside was the site of Mayor Marion Grange’s death at the hands of Onomatopoeia, who at the time was meant to be securely locked away in the prison's east wing. This is Lois Lane on behalf of The Daily Planet, signing off.”
‘Drury, wherever you are, I hope you’re not watching,’ he thought, glancing over to the trio of Injustice Leaguers in the corner, clearly enjoying their newfound success- even if it was born from their ridicule.
"We're big, right?" Disaster was saying. "Why don't we get our own trailers? Or personal assistants?"
"We've still got Big Sir," Bruce said supportively, his long hair being braided by Ratchett's enormous hands.
"You'll *always* have Big Sir, Mr Major!" he interjected cheerfully.
Ignoring him, Maj. sighed. "Small comfort, Sir's as much of an actor as... Nic Cage is."
"You better take that back," one of the stage hands snapped back.
Disaster groaned. "Have you *seen* how many of those strawberries-"
"Razzies."
"- he has? I think I was being kind! ...I don't see why they have to separate us, that's all."
"Gee, why would they keep Brad Pitt away from a bunch of ex-supervillains?" a voice called out. Gar looked up, this must've been the building consultant they'd called.
She sauntered in, toolbox in her hand, belt hoisted high, and headphones resting around her neck. She liked music. 'I can work with that,' he thought.
"Gar, this, is Jenna Duffy," the director announced, following in behind her.
"Pleasure," Gar said.
"Naturally," she winked back.
"Gar, before we resume, I want you and Jenna to run point on health and safety on the set. Check those barricades. Safe, but functional yeah?" the director said, as he grabbed a coffee from the machine, and handed one to Duffy. "See you in ten."
"Got it, Edison," he called back, as his boss disappeared into his trailer. "So, Jenna! This, is the team. That's Bruce, that's Paul, you'll know Dufus, obviously."
Duffy nodded, and waved at him.
"Big Sir is saving up all his pocket money, Mrs Lady. Big Sir is going to buy a biiiiiig tricycle and a bigger wagon to carry all of his friends!" he announced proudly, blushing slightly. Gar couldn't help smile.
"Ah, Ratchett, never grow up."
"I'm gonna buy a boat!" Disaster declared loudly, putting on a pair of sunglasses excitedly. "Gonna sail the high seas!"
"Maj, the price tag's still- uh," Gar begins, sharing a smile with Duffy. At this, Booker hastily stuffs the $2.00 plastic glasses into his pocket, and straightens his tie awkwardly.
"Dammit, Bruce, you told me they were fine," he snapped.
===The Moth Cave===
Chuck rested his hand against an old picture. Heh. The Misfits were all gathered around a table in My Alibi, Len pointing a finger up at the cameraman. 'Poor Rigger,' he smiled. In the front, Drury and Miranda sat hand in hand, fresh from their wedding- her yellow dress tainted slightly by Zodiac's blood. Or maybe that Larson fellow's... 'Julian, Blake, Drury... Miranda... so few of us left,' he sighed to himself, and placed it in a cardboard box.
"Give me a hand with this, will you?" a voice called out from above.
Chuck looked up. Coming down the stairs, was Gar, with his arms laden with wine glasses, tablecloths and a thatched picnic basket. Rushing into action, he took a pair of chairs from him, and guided him to the bottom. As they laid their labours along the ground, he came across a glass bottle, nestled in a paper bag.
"Dom Pérignon... That's expensive stuff. What's the occasion?" Chuck asks, as he runs his finger along the label. Instinctively, Gar takes the bottle from his hands, and slides it back in its' box.
"Met someone," he mumbles, his cracked skin blushing slightly.
"What? Not the person you've invited to the manor for some Mothmobile themed tune-ups-?" Chuck grins, placing a hand on his back.
"Lynns, you dog," Chancer smirks.
"Speak from the heart, man!" Firebug smiles, placing an approving hand on his shoulder.
Gar shrugs it off, and he turns to the trio. "It's not- that's not- Drury's gone. Someone needs to make sure his stuff's looked after, and she just so happens to like his toys."
"Bet she's got some sick toys of her ow- Ow, why'd you hit me?!" Sharpe complains.
"Because you dissed his girlfriend-" Rigger interjects. "Not cool, man."
"I did not! T'was a compliment, Gar honest! Really, I bet she's stack- Ow! Next time, I'm gonna fuckin' shoot you!" Chancer snarls, rubbing his bruised skin. Rigger grabs him by his lapels, and drags him away.
"She's not my girlfriend-! ... Not yet anyway," Gar yells after them. "What, you not joining them" he asked, turning back to Chuck.
He sat down, perching on a particular homely looking boulder. "It's just us now, Gar. The originals. What was it Drury called us?"
"The OGs..." Gar winced slightly.
"God, we got old," Brown chuckles slightly. "Morty's still skirting his taxes, Len's been tending that bar for half our careers, Julian went Lightning Bug on us, Drury..."
"- Is Drury," Gar warned.
"And Blake... Blake was possessed by a sex demon... Look, Gar, I know I'm not him-"
Gar cocked his head to one side. "I never said you were."
"But let's just say one of us deserves to be happy, eh?" he smiles, as he pats him on the back, and joins the others.
"Gar? You down here?" Duffy calls out, as she makes her way down the stairs.
"Yeah, uh, mind the step will you?" he calls back. "18, maybe 17, is a bitch."
As she lands at the bottom, Jenna takes a look around the cave, toolbox in hand, and stops at a small bench. "Did you, um, is that, uh, a picnic basket?"
Gar turns to the spread, and nods. "Yes. Yes it is. I thought you might want, uh, a sandwich. Or something! I got miniature quiches too. And wine."
"Wine and power drills don't exactly tend to work so good, honey."
"Yes! Right," Gar turns his head, and notices Rigger in the corner, raising a proud thumb. "*Ahem.* You, uh, look... I like your skin."
The trio pause, huddling together. "Do we reckon that was *meant* to sound racist?" Chancer asks.
"What? Nah, I reckon it was self deprecating," Rigger explains, a little off put.
"Right, right. Cause his face is fucked," Sharpe says, satisfied.
"Can you guys give us some privacy, please?" an exasperated Gar asks.
"Right you are!" Chuck calls back, as he pulls the other two to their feet.
"Jenna-" Gar begins, swallowing.
"Yeah, Gar?" she asks back, a slight Irish twang in her voice.
"I-" he continues, before a loud ringtone echoes through the cave. "Oh, what now?" he growls.
"It's going down, I'm yelling timber-" the phone rings, before a gloved hand grabs it, in a desperate attempt to silence it.
"Sorry," Chancer adds sheepishly. "My phone," he explains, as he clambers back up the stairs, and puts it to his ear. "Hi, Gramps. No, yeah, on my way!"
Gar glowered, before turning back to Duffy. "Do you want to maybe instead grab a-"
"Coffee? Love to."
After a missed attempt at a salmon running the shallows of the inlet, a brown bear shakes off excess water, sending off a plume of droplets into the air. The chilly waters, a combination of salty Alaskan sea and ice-melt from the mountains, doesn't keep these burly bears from spending long periods of time partially immersed and dripping wet. Thick fur and heavy fat layers help keep them warm.
#BrownBears
Leica M11
Carl Zeiss Makro-Planar T*2/100
When I owned Canon EOS 5DMkII more than 10 years ago, I used to shoot with macro lens EF100mm F2.8L macro IS USM for a short time. But when I started shooting with a Leica, I gave up on that lens. At the time, I had no interest in flowers at all, so I gave it up without any hesitation. I don't know if it's due to global warming, but the four seasons in Japan are definitely different than before. Opportunities to admire plants and insects as ever may decrease in the future. So I decided to take pictures of flowers and insects now. Take a JPEG and send it out.
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Built for Andromeda's Gates on Eurobricks. Check it out! www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?showtopic=127956
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The Branch Lines Society charter using the last three Class 170 DMU employed by TP Express is seen approaching Brightside Station.
The charter was running as the 0925 1Z70 Manchester Airport - Cleethorpes and used 170302/306/307, having visited a number of freight only lines on the other side of the pennines earlier the unit has just left Brightside up/Down sidings often used by the Peak Forest - Attercliffe stone trains and the less often Attercliffe - Cardiff Tidal scrap metal.
3 7 16
==The Hindu Kush Valley==
Walking through the desert, a group of heroes look over at a nearby village. Orange flames lick and spit, civilians run for cover. At their leader's insistence, one, a red and yellow android creates a cyclone, extinguishing the blaze. Another, a Magician in a top hat utters the spell "Wolf Retaw," a stream of water bursting from her wand. Their leader, a blond haired, handsome man, looks up at a nearby jet and puts his finger to his ear. "This is Aquaman, we've arrived at the drop sight. Over."
Onboard the Javelin, Mr Terrific answers back. "Understood. What do you see?"
Aquaman pauses. The recent sandstorm had made it difficult to see much of anything, even with his heightened senses. A few yards away, he notices something. A series of immobile, black figures, pointed ears atop their masks. "Talons... I see... God."
They're all dead, impaled on their own swords, unable to move. He looks at his boot, drenched in their bizarre, greyish blood. They're freshly killed.
Suddenly, the nearest Talon reaches out, unable to take the sword out it's chest, instead it begs, silently, in the hopes Arthur might slay it.
"They're still alive..." he gasps.
At this, Terrific looks at the scanners, zooming in on the heroes below them. "Aquaman, get out of there."
"I don't understand," Arthur replies.
"The blood, Arthur, look at the blood!" Holt yells, as the other heroes join him on the bridge. Without uttering a word, the other Leaguers nod at Holt, and exit the Javelin.
Aquaman steps back, and looks down at the ground. "What the hell?"
Written in the Talon's blood, a single word. "Aquaman."
"Tornado, Zatanna, get out of here," he yells, before a plasma ray sends him flying through a building. Walking towards him, in a black and silver suit, his red eyes glowing with energy, is Black Manta, beside him a man in a red and black tuxedo, a camera mounted on his head. "He actually delivered... Start filming."
=The League of Assassins Archives. Nanda Parbat=
Ra's looked at the case. Inside it, *her* costume- a bright orange and black leotard, wings protruding from it's back, long red boots and gloves, and a black domino mask. He opened the cabinet, and held the blade in his hand. It must've been fifteen years since he last held it in his hand. The day he gave it to her.
"Master, you wanted to speak with the informant?" Ubu asks.
Ra's stroked the blade. Nostalgia was not something he often let himself feel, but this, this was different. He'd written it off at first, the effects of the new Lazarus strain, but he couldn't ignore it any longer. He turned his head to his servant, blade in hand. "Ah, yes."
"Father, is this wise?"
"Talia, enough," Ra's says, raising a hand to his daughter. "Ubu, let him in. Leave us," he adds, as Talia heads towards the door.
Complying, he opens the door, and lets him in. The man who sold out the Misfits, the man who told the League of their plans, and where to find them. In a hushed, gruff voice, the figure mutters, pointing an annoyed finger at Ra's. "That sword. 'Doesn't belong to you."
"No." Ra's smiles, turning to face Doctor Gaige. Gone was the red mask and snappy suit, traded for his old scuba gear. His mask may obscure his face, but there was no mistaking his demeanor. Ra's gestures to his trophy cases, dozens of them, as he continues. "It doesn't. None of them do. This place, this shrine was built three hundred years ago. I oversaw it's construction personally. It honours all my fallen warriors. Sons, daughters. The finest assassins the world has ever known..."
Gaige stirs. "Did you murder *them,* too?"
Ra's turns his head slightly. "Some, yes. But it will never be said they died without honour.
You must think me a monster. A butcher. It's true, yes, I've buried children before, Doctor Gaige, my own, and, I will continue to do so long after your death. I can *just* handle the effects of the Lazarus Pit centuries on, but the toll it takes on them... It is better, sometimes, to let them die. So, I do what anyone who has lived as long as I should do. Move on."
"Yes, well, that's always been my issue," Gaige growls.
Ra's nods. "Hmm. Of course. But, thank you, regardless of our histories, I have a tremendous amount of respect for you. Rest assured, Mr Walker and his friends will be dealt with."
Gaige walks forwards, a finger pointed at Ra's throat, bitterness in his words. "Please, I've seen how you treat those you respect."
"You speak of Miranda?"
"I *speak* of my daughter."
...
Ra's moves Gaige's hand away. "My condolences."
Gaige nods, as he pushes towards the shrine. "I just want her body, and her gear. Do whatever the hell you want with them."
Again, Ra's nods, but he can't help look at Gaige. He was quieter, and he hadn't even swore. At last, the pirate chuckles to himself.
"Heh. It wouldn't have worked anyway. Walker's plan. They'd be dead before they even made it to you. Funny that," he nods. "But... imagine, say, if they actually got in here," he says, as he pulls out a harpoon, and fires it into Ra's hand.
==Ra's Palace. The Courtyard==
"You say hell yeah, and I'll kill you myself."
Chuck turns to Gar, a sly smile on his face. "Never," he says cheekily.
Lined on the cobblestones, were the Misfits. Gar, Chuck, Rigger, Chancer and Needham. Their hands were tied, and they were forced onto their knees, by the surrounding Ninja. One mans a camera, aiming it at the five of them, while several more draw their swords.
"The Master wants Walker to watch," one of them says, dressed in a yellow and brown outfit.
The cameraman nods, donning a black and green outfit. Though he doesn't say a word, his message is simple enough to understand. 'Of course, Shrike.'
"Cypher-?" Gar calls out suddenly. "You son of a bitch!"
"You're making a scene," Needham murmurs.
"Oh no, first Gaige now you?! I'm going to roast you alive you fuckin' traitor!" Gar screams, as another two ninja rush to restrain him
"Hell yeah!" Chuck adds encouragingly, before muttering a feeble apology. "Sorry."
"The Master offered you mercy," Shrike says warningly, as he begins to sharpen his blade. "You should've taken it."
"Your master dropped a city on us, personally, I'm not a fan," Chancer mutters to himself.
"Enough. Kill him first," Shrike says, as a ninja pulls Chancer in front of the camera.
"Oh, fuck you, buddy, I didn't even fucking swear!" Sharpe screams out, as his neck is placed on a stone slab.
"Oh, Jeez," Rigger moans. Needham sighs, and turns his head away. Gar looks on in horror. Chuck whispers a "Hell no," as the ninja raises the blade above his head, and- the sword shatters on Chancer's neck. The ninja steps back in confusion. Chancer grins as confidence surges through him. As he rises to his feet, the cuffs slide off. The first ninja runs at him, but slips and falls on their face. A second trips over the body, their sword flying through the air, hitting a third in the chest. A fourth hurls a throwing star at Sharpe that he ducks under, landing in a fifth's forehead. Cypher looks at the carnage, and runs off, abandoning the camera. When all's done. The Misfits look at Sharpe incredulously.
"Guess who's back in business," he exclaims proudly, before Shrike punches him in the back of the head, as he collapses to the ground
Gar looks down disappointedly. "Huh. That was almost impressive," as Shrike pulls Chancer off the ground, and unsheathes his blades.
"Oh, you're dead," he smirks, as suddenly, an orange fireball hits him from behind.
As Volcana lands on the ground, Shrike lunges for her, but he's quickly dispatched with with a blast of yellow flames. Turning to Gar, she smiles uncharacteristically sweetly. "Hi honey!"
===The Dungeons===
"My god... Norbert. Norbert, I'm sorry. I let you down. I'm always doing that."
Drury looks at his brother, chained up, bloody. No doubt in his months of captivity, Ra's agents had reprogrammed him. Just another failure of his, Drury thought. When would they stop?
As Norbert's chains are undone, Drury closes his eyes. This was it wasn't it? Not on the battlefield, not by Ra's or Bane's hand... Just him, trapped in a dungeon, with the Killer Wasp.
"Drury..."
Norbert looks down at him, cocks his head to one side, then kneels beside him. Holding his brother's head in his hand, he whispers hoarsely. "Still me."
Drury opens his eyes, and stares at him incredulously... those were *his* eyes. Warm, kind, alive.
Norbert turns round, and with an energy blast, tears the stone wall apart, offering Drury his hand, they barrel down the hall, taking down every Ninja in their way.
"Y-you... You fought it? You fought the brainwashing," Drury asks, struggling to keep up.
As they arrive at the laboratory, Norbert stops, and picks up a pair of bloodied pliers. His own.
For the first time since Drury had been reunited with him, he winks. "I made promise, Drury. Never again."
"No!" a metallic voice echoed, as Darhk marches towards them from the other side of the room. "You belong to me! You do what I say."
Norbert pauses, raises Darhk above his head, and smashes his glass visor. As he struggles to breathe, Norbert rests a hand on his shoulder, helping him lie down. "Never."
"Not bad, kid," a voice calls down to them, as Deathstroke turns to his comms. "The shields are down, the codes are yours. It's showtime."
=======
"This is Javelin-Theta, our systems have been compromised, we're being pulled apart up here!" Ollie yells as he attempts to steer the ship away from the village.
Flying beside them, a purple clad assailant uses his powers to rip the ship apart, and hurl it at another.
"Gotta say, this is so cool!" he yells to himself.
Passing by him, Sinestro barks a word of warning at him. "Nichol, please focus," as he creates a yellow buzzsaw to take on another jet.
Deflecting, Polaris laughs heartily. "C'mon, boss, have to admit, this is a lotta fun," he calls out, using his metallurgy to pull a steel clad man out of the jet.
"Hey Plug Boi, pick on someone your own size!" Guy Gardner, yells, as he hits Polaris with an oversized mallet, and catches Steel in a catcher's mitt.
"That's the wrong one, Guy," Hal calls back, as he creates an emerald net around Evil Star.
"Same difference Jordan!"
As Nichols rises back into the air, he calls out, confused. "What's a Plug Boy?"
Nearby, the Batwing weaves in and out of the airborne superheroes and villains. A strike from Black Adam's lightning immediately overcharges it's systems, spinning it out of control. "Batwing's hit, switching to auxiliary power," Bruce calls out, as he hits a few levers in an attempt to keep himself airborne.
"I don't understand, it's like they knew we were coming..." Clark calls, as he swoops in and catches the crew from the downed Javelin.
Bruce growls over comms. "Kenyon. Goldface baited us, and we fell for it."
"This is Flash," Barry says as he runs through the battlefield, "Bats, something's not right, Bane and half his goons are a no-show. Hell, I think saw Bivalo for crying out loud! Reckon it's some kind of a diversion."
"Understood," Batman replies. "Bane's there somewhere, Flash, keep at it. Any Society member we take down is progress, I'll have Cyborg increase the scanners."
"I'm all dark here, Bats. Whatever they've got, it's got a hell of a jammer," Cyborg chimes in.
====Society Field Headquarters====
Bane watches the battle from above. Hundreds of the society's underlings, *his* underlings, battle the Justice League and Ra's ninja. He felt something unfamiliar, something swelling in his chest. Pride. "Thinker, I think it's time we make our introduction. Lower shields," he says turning to the holographic display beside him.
The Leagues look at the sky, emerging from the clouds, a massive skull-like spacecraft. Brainiac's.
Bane smirks, as he addresses the ground forces. "We recovered this from an ARGUS blacksite from one of his last invasions. Primary shrink ray has been disabled, secondary weapons at maximum capacity. Let's begin."
~
Across the world, people watch the battle unfold, as heroes and villains alike fall.
In their slabside cells, Harvey Dent and David Clinton watch on enthralled. As Two-Face argues with himself, Chronos raises a finger to the screen. He knew them all, didn't he?
Bound to a wheelchair, Jonathan Crane trundles through the Asylum gardens, "That should have been me," he thinks to himself longing to wield a yellow ring once more.
Julian Day watches in his new hideout, concerned. Wherever the Misfits had gone, they weren't on the front lines.
In his funhouse, the Joker lets out a maniacal laugh. Let them have their fun. They'll see, it's all a joke anyway.
In Italy, Roman Sionis rests his tennis racket on the ground, and reaches for his phone. "Those idiots are really gonna destroy the world aren't they?" he mutters to his assistant.
In his penthouse, Oswald Cobblepot shares a drink with the Great White Shark. Turning to the TV, he can't help smiling knowing those Talons are suffering.
In the Batcave, Alfred Pennyworth watches on the oversized monitor, and sighs as he continues dusting. His attention turns to the Watchtower teleporter, as a high pitched beeping starts to ring out. "What on Earth?" he wonders.
In Lexcorp, already in the midst of his own masterplan, Luthor checks his smartwatch. "So they actually did it, did they? Morons."
On the streets of Central City, money in hand, the Rogues pause in front of a computer shop, all the screens displaying Simm's footage. His phone buzzing, Mirror Master answers it.
"Yo, McCulloch, you seeing this?" the voice on the other end asks.
"Aye, kid. I am."
"Good," Axel says, as he puts on his domino mask and turns to his sister.
On the battlefield, Disaster points at Simms, and pulls the Mighty Bruce to his side. "Hey, Bruce, that guy's got a camera *on his head*"
"Major, that's Mr Camera-" Tockman begins.
"Why didn't you ever think of that? Certainly beats lugging all this gear around" Disaster continues, ignoring both Bruce and Tockman's protests.
"I'm claustrophobic, Major," Bruce mutters.
At this, Artie taps Disaster on the shoulder and whispers harshly into his ear.
"Maj, please don't stuff the kid's head inside a camera."
Lastly, in Butchinsky's, Len looks at the bar. Empty. With the Society's video on every station, everyone else had already gone to fight. His picked his rag off the table, and smiled. "Fuck it." And walked out the door.