#i’m not tagging the other TCs cause they’re not the focus here

[stormvanari]

Titan’s Council Patch Notes time:

Changed Loopy’s hat (plus her new render), edited Darian’s original sprite (but removed the tail part of his suit), and simplified Cherry’s color palette and design (plus their new render):

the TC height chart with their new renders:

[vmheadquarters]

VMHQ DADS WEEK

Jeff Ratner here, your possibly-cursed Neptune Grand hotel manager.  Did the VMHQ librarians learn NOTHING from the Mother’s Day fiasco? Obviously, not because now they’re sponsoring this… this… debacle they’re calling a Father’s Day Charity Poker Tournament! I KNEW I should’ve taken up smoking… or heavy drinking… or drugs.

Maybe I can get some from one of the participants. Tom Griffith’s acting a little suspicious, if you know what I mean. He keeps excusing himself to run to the bathroom, and I seriously doubt, based on all the sniffing, it’s got anything to do with a tiny bladder.

The game got off to an inauspicious start when Jake Kane showed up 30 minutes late, bodyguard in tow, only to balk when he discovered the roster had changed.

JK: Who the hell are you? Guys, where’s Bone? My assistant told me Bone was supposed to be here.

TG: (nervously, sniffing) Why do you want to know? You’re not a cop, right? Because that guy behind you looks like a homicide detective, and I prefer to operate in a...cop-free environment.

DICK CASABLANCAS SENIOR: (examining fresh card pack on table with interest, shuffling and dealing) Bone couldn’t make it, he had some…producing thing. Hey, can we get a deck of Bicycle cards over here? I only play with that brand.

AARON ECHOLLS: (lighting cigar with relish as he examines his hand, despite restaurant’s strict no-smoking code) Bone’s burning the midnight oil mixing Beiber’s latest single. Apparently it needed extra autotuning.

TERRENCE COOK: Why only Bicycle cards, Dick? Is this kind bad luck? Because I need GOOD luck cards, I’m on a ROLL tonight 

See what I mean? Neither Casablancas nor Cook seems clear on the concept that this is for CHARITY. And Echolls’ only focus is getting a glass of some brandy that’s not available in the United States--he wants to send his JET to pick it up. Plus he keeps asking, repeatedly, if the photographer from Esquire has shown. He thinks he’s getting the cover.

Meanwhile, the good ‘Doctor Studio 54’ is steadily headed for the stratosphere in the paranoia department. I hope I don’t have to call EMS.

TG: There’s nothing wrong with those cards, right? Like there aren’t any missing? Because if some were missing, how could the game be fair? We’d lose all our money and have to owe each other favors! Who KNOWS where that could lead?

TC: Hey I’m not here to lose money, I’m here to WIN money. LOTS of money, hopefully. Daddy needs a new automobile.

JK: (wearily) Guys, you do remember the proceeds will be donated, right? Like they won’t go into your pockets at the end of the night?

DCS: Well, there’s charity, and then there’s CHARITY. When smart guys like us play, we can always find a little wiggle room.

AE: So who’s getting the cash, then? Because I run an organization that can always use more press. Aaron’s Kids. Helping kids in need, because that’s just the kind of man I am.

JK: It’s for some hospital that helps save... brains, maybe? Bleeding brains? No clue, Celeste made me come.

TG: Bleeding BRAINS? Like hematomas? Or like Ebola, where your brain melts and you bleed out your nose?

For the record, the charity is Clean Up the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. I have no clue where Mr. Kane came up with bleeding brains, but frankly, I’m concerned.

AE: So what is it you do, Tom? Film insurance broker? No offense, but you seem kind of…tense.

TG: I’m a plastic surgeon--I actually performed your eye tuck three years ago. It still looks great, by the way. No distortion of shape, which can be a thing if the surgeon’s not meticulous, and THAT often causes terrible…

AE: You must be mistaken. I would never damage my instrument by going under the knife. And besides, I’m far too young to have more than a few character wrinkles.

JK: (receives text, scrutinizes, puts phone away) Knock it off, Aaron, you’re forty-seven. You haven’t been young enough to lack wrinkles since you were that Sixties bombshell’s boy toy.

AE: A profound relationship which transcended societal expectations. Plus you would not BELIEVE how much exposure dating her got me. (Sits back in chair to better expound). You know, I’ve always felt age is just a number.

TG: (as Mr. Kane receives another text) Who are you texting anyway? You don’t have someone watching over a hidden camera, do you? Someone who can see all our cards, to make sure you win and we lose?

DCS: (raking in proceeds and dealing another hand) It’s probably just Lianne Mars. She got wasted at my Christmas party and told everyone in the ballroom Jake is her true love. Then she hid behind a potted fern to cry.

At least Mrs. Mars didn’t end up in a pool fully clothed. Unlike at some OTHER social events I could name.

JK: Don’t make me deck you, Dick. I’m a married man, albeit unhappily.

AE: And Lianne got herself hitched to Dudley Do Right--so all’s fair after a few cocktails. You shouldn’t be so hard on Celeste though. I’m sure she’d thaw right out given…more active encouragement.

JK: Why do I speak to you? You don’t know squat about marriage. Or parenting, isn’t your kid on probation? Really, your only skill is knowing how to look buff while buildings explode behind you.

AE: Hey, the Academy of Motion Pictures disagrees, and so does the viewing public. Three Oscars and twenty mil a picture, those stats don’t lie. Besides, you’re one to talk, with that hot-to-trot daughter and a weirdo son who spies on everyone. I’m afraid Dad of the Year will always elude you, no matter how many billions you make. Just like Sexiest Man Alive.

TC: Wait, I don’t need to worry about you guys’ kids, do I? My daughter’s coming down here senior year to go to school, and she’s had enough bad influences in her life.

AE: This is the girl that’s almost legal right? You got a picture? (T Cook frowns). What? What parent doesn’t love to show snaps of their kids? I sell pap ops regularly to People magazine!

DCS: I don’t really carry pictures of my sons. Or take them. I leave that to my wife…ex-wife, actually. Only I don’t think she ever took any either. Anyway, I’m in for five hundred.

TC: Call. And let’s leave my daughter out of this conversation.

TG: You can’t call. You don’t have enough chips left. Unless you’re HIDING chips? Are you? Hiding some? And if so, where?

TC: No...comment. How about this; I’ll throw in a promissory note for my Rolls. That thing’s worth at least a hundred grand.

AE: Terrence for God’s sake, it’s a charity. Bleeding hearts or whatever, you can’t bet your CAR.

TC: How about my Rolex?

DCS: You know, Terrence, if you want to invest your money in something substantial with great returns, I have an excellent portfolio of REIT’s I could show you.

JK: Why do you need to sell him squat, Dick? You’ve won every hand so far. You could take this skillset to Vegas and make more than you do on those inflated hotel scams.

AE: And why DO you keep winning so much, anyway? Logically, I should be cleaning you all out. I mean, I trained for months for my role as a world poker champion in ‘High Stakes’. There’s really nothing about this game I don’t know.

TG: Yet you keep losing. Which doesn’t make sense. Could your brain be bleeding? Or maybe it’s the cigar. I’ve heard of people being murdered by strychnine in cigars. Oh, God, the smoke could be killing us all slowly. Put it out! Put it out NOW!

I’d say ‘I’m sure you know what happens next’, but how could you POSSIBLY guess? The cokehead lunges across the table, yanks the cigar from Echolls’ mouth, and stubs it out while covering his face with his shirt. In the process, his nose connects with Casablancas’ elbow, causing an Ace to fall out of his sleeve (Bicycle deck, natch). Cook begins yelling about disqualification and wanting his Rolex back, and Echolls flips the table in a rage.

Jake Kane’s bodyguard drags him backwards out of the room, gun drawn, yelling at the gathered crowd to ‘remain calm’. Casablancas, trapped beneath the table, begins screaming about lawsuits. His cries are drowned out by Griffith however, who, convinced he’s contracted Ebola due to the nosebleed, begins to shriek and hyperventilate.

Needless to say, no oceans will be saved. And a certain dining room has sustained damage to the tune of seven grand. On the plus side, I’ve talked Casablancas out of the lawsuit by agreeing to meet about my investment portfolio. And Griffith just gave me his card, after I made him breathe into a paper bag, in case I ever need to fix ‘the problem with my face’.

So all you VMHQ readers, feel free to create meta or fan art about these awful human beings all you want, and tag it #vmhq dads week. Personally, I plan to drink to forget. And maybe volunteer for that Pacific Garbage Patch project somewhere FAR, FAR away from Neptune, starting tomorrow.