Sophistemon

The ex-con huffed. "This thing that you're doing? The constant putdowns? They're not helpful." He then stroked his fingers through his goatee and thought. "I've never... I mean, you know that I've never run a drug-lab, right? You seem to know everything and you judge me for it, so you'd know that. But every drug-lab that I've ever seen, real or not, has been in a basement." Then, he looked skywards. "Of course, if they're dealing with fumes, it might make sense to have it in an upper level. Do we have time to look for ventilation pipes?" Suddenly, he smirked. "Of course, since you're so sure that I'm going to go back to my Big Bad Wolf days, maybe I should just huff, and puff, and blow the house in. That'd solve the problem pretty neatly, huh? Bury the whole operation beneath tons of brick and rubble." The smirk vanished. "Or we could split up. You could go high, I could go low. That's about what you'd expect, anyway."

Presto gave Warne a glare and then scoffed at the ineffective assault. "Maybe they sent their best men to kill me earlier?" he suggested. "If that's the case, we've got nothing to worry about!" His wand, already drawn and primed for battled, twirled effortlessly between his fingers. He took aim at the thug on his side with an intentionally insulting nonchalance and fired off a sizzling bolt of electricity. The resulting thunderclap was nearly deafening, but one could still make out the chattering sound of pain emitted by the gunman as his nervous system was seized and shaken by the shock. The man slumped forward, his weapon dropped from paralyzed fingers as he collapsed to the ground. "That was only fifty-thousand volts," chirped the magician, a slightly eerie grin spread wide across his face. "It took me a while to learn, but I can restrain my lightning to be no more dangerous than a taser." He moved, then, behind Warne and around to the other side of the floating car, and pointed his silver-tipped wand at the remaining thug. "It's all about restraint, I've learned. Being a good person, I mean. Don't rob banks. Don't electrocute the guys that are trying to kill you. Don't-" his wand released a gust of gale-force wind that caught up the mercenary, spun him about in mid-air, and dropped him unconscious to the ground. "-use your fire magic when throwing out a miniature tornado is just as effective." He brought the wand to his lips and blew across it as though it were an old revolver in a western. "We've been through a lot together, agent Warne. Do you think that you might start trusting me, soon?" He looked at the other man, eyes slightly narrowed. "I'm telling you, I've changed. Are you ever going to believe me?"

You are the best.

I'm going to make the most of your offer and Take 10 to return fire, resulting in an attack roll of 20.

Initiative Check: 1d20+3 12. Oh, good. We're back to this now.

Good idea, Blarghy; I have no issue with that.

"Former criminal," Presto said, pointedly. "Former should be the operative word there." He grunted and shrugged his shoulders, then gaped open-mouthed as Warne telekinetically lifted a truck. His powers of levitation, it seemed, were at least as strong as Presto's magic, and it looked as though he possessed even greater control. "That's... that's incredible," he breathed. "Where did you learn to do that, Warne?" He followed after the other man, then moved forward to walk beside him, matching step for step. If the AEGIS agent wanted to be impressed, so be it. Let no one say that Presto the Preposterous stood down from a challenge. "What's the plan, then? Take the car through the front door, or get within striking range and take them out from a distance?" There was a moment of consideration. "What is your range, Warne?"

Presto -- he was wearing his mask, after all -- smiled at the agent and nodded his head. "I can," he boasted. "Among other things. Don't worry, I'll have this handled in no time and then we can-" He stopped dead silent as Warne's simple, understated denial hit him like a punch to the stomach. He twitched, slightly, affronted. "What do you... what do you mean, 'no?' Warne, Agent, I can help! Stop underestimating me for a second and-" He was interrupted, again, when the bullet burst through the wall and showered them with chips of masonry. The conversation ended when Cobb started his call. Presto stood there a moment, arms crossed over his chest, a look of consternation on his face. That look changed to one of shock, and then amazement, as Warne demonstrated his powers for the very first time. That look of amazement then faded, returning to one of annoyance. "This... entire time?" he asked the other man. "This entire time you've had power like this and didn't think to tell me?"

Oh boy, one post in and I'm already bad at this. I've made the change; please forgive me for the error. Everyone, don't hesitate to let me know when I've flubbed something; I'm happy to edit my posts so that they're more sensible.

This is the Out-of-Character Discussion thread for Lights, Camera, Action!

Rhekgar gazed across the bone-scattered plain at his opponent, ash-gray eyes narrowed against the pale red glare of Urth's dying sun. A slight breeze, little more than a weak exhalation of wind, shook the dust from his tangled mane. Never, not once in all his years of wandering had the barbarian seen such a man as this. He stood tall, armored from head to foot in beetle-black carapace, his face obscured by a fearsome mask. A cape of blood-red crimson hung from the man's shoulders; a fortune in cloth, a king's ransom in dye. The fabric alone would buy the barbarian a lifetime of comforts and the armor, he thought, was a prize beyond price. He adjusted his grip on the haft of his club, calloused fingers finding purchase on the well-worn hardwood. He raised his truncheon so that the heavy, iron-shod head glinted cruelly in the sun and light danced like a flame along the knobs. “By the horns of Tauran,” he boasted. “Prepare yourself for battle, Dark One! Today you face Rhekgar, heir to the throne of Eagland-of-Old!” There was a sizzling flash of scintillating energy and his club, his father's club, was forced from his grasp to spin through the air and land ignominiously in the dirt. Rhekgar stared, aghast, at his armored foe. “Sorcery,” he breathed, his blood boiling. “Coward!” he shouted. “Fight me like a man!” His muscles tensed for battle and he crouched, preparing to dart for the mace. The other man, corpse-like in his silence, raised a hand; the barbarian's brow furrowed as he saw magic coalesce in his enemy's palm. The warrior leaped, hands outstretched to grab his weapon, but the bolt of energy struck him in the ribs. His body numbed, his vision blurred, and Rhekgar of Old Eagland wheezed like a leper on the ground. === The armored man strode forward, cape flapping behind him like a flag, until he stood triumphantly over the prostrate body of the defeated barbarian. He posed for a moment, hands on hips, and then looked into the camera. “I have beaten your hero,” he said, his voice a hissing growl. “If you want him back alive you will do exactly as I say. Bring ten million dollars in unmarked, non-sequential bills to the following address...” The screen dissolved into static and then went dead as Colonel Chalmers (an agent of AEGIS's increasingly-labyrinthine bureaucratic division) pressed a button on the remote. He turned to the assembled group of protagonists with a look of annoyance writ large across his craggy face, which resembled that of a particularly grumpy bulldog – if perhaps not so friendly-looking. “This is the third one this week,” he grumbled. “All three of the 'victims' are the main characters of major, blockbuster film franchises – each one poised for a summer release. At first we thought he was kidnapping actors, but local police looked into it and they're all okay. Confused, but okay. So then we assumed that it was just some weird hoax; a bit of artfully edited video sent to the producers to spook them. But the footage of the characters is new, and when they tried to shoot more scenes it didn't work. The directors directed, the actors acted, the best boys best boyed their friggin' hearts out but the characters didn't show up on film. They're missing, and this weirdo has them… somehow.” He sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “So, that's why you're here.” He turned to each member of the strange group and spoke to them one at a time to facilitate the obligatory, plot-essential introductions. “Adept,” he said. “You're an agent of AEGIS, a decorated veteran of countless engagements, all of which you've handled with unfailing professionalism in spite of the weirdness that you deal with.” He looked to Doctor Deoxy and nodded. “Doctor, you were recommended in the hopes that your technological expertise – and pure brainpower – will be useful in countering whatever weird science this madman is using to abduct people who aren't even real.” He turned, then, to Aquaria and shuffled his feet. Although a native of Earth, the girl was still so alien. “Sea Devil, you've been working a long time to clear the black mark from your record. You've done good, and we've asked you for your help in the hopes that you'll continue doing good.” Finally he looked to Miracle Girl, who was a breath of fresh air in a room so otherwise dominated by the strange. “And, last but not least, the organization feels that your balanced power-set will help shore up whatever deficiencies may or may not exist in the team dynamic.” The fact that the young woman's father was also an agent of AEGIS didn't hurt either, but that was largely incidental. He shook his head. “Right, so: despite the very unusual circumstances, this is a kidnapping we're dealing with and these… people need help getting back to, ah, wherever it is they come from.” He reached down to the table and opened a folder to display its contents to the group. “This is the drop-off point specified by the kidnapper. His terms were pretty simple: the studios deliver the money and he frees his hostages so they can go back to making movies. Thirty million dollars total for a bunch of fictional characters. What's weirder, though, is that this address belongs to an everyday run-of-the-mill electronics outlet in Millennium Mall, and he specifies that the exchange is to be made at the rear of the store, by the television display.” He glanced up at Adept. “It kind of makes you nostalgic for when the whack-jobs did their business in dark alleys, huh?” He sighed. “Okay, then. I'm sure that you all have questions – I know that I do – so let's hear them. We're running out of time, though, so make it quick.”

Okay, the decision has been made. Our four players, and their characters, are: Avengers_Assembled, as Sea Devil. Blarghy, as Adept. Exxacus, as Doctor Deoxy. Heritage, as Miracle Girl. I want to thank everyone, again, for expressing interest in my first plot. I really hope that I don't disappoint. And, for those of you who won't be participating this time, I really do appreciate your interest. Thank you so much. My players can expect messages linking you to the IC and OOC threads shortly.

Ethan looked over at Warne and inclined his head. "I'm with you, man," he said. He'd correctly interpreted his partner's feelings on the matter. "I want him in chains as much you do, believe me." He arced a thumb at the wall, indication 'out there.' "But he's a crook, and he'll screw up again. Let's use him now to catch the big fish, and then net him later when he does." He looked over at Bonfire. "So, he's nothing special?" He blew air from his mouth in a raspberry. "What a joke! I'm going to wear a battle-tank to take down some doofus with a gas grenade?" He chuckled. "I hope he wears his brown pants, or this'll be embarrassing for everyone."

Samuel smiled at the new arrivals, and especially at Lawrence. He was already planning to pull a silver dollar out of the boy's ear at some point or another; that one had always killed at the birthday parties. Then, he shuddered. The birthday parties. The lowest point in a career that had included a five-year stint in Blackstone Prison. In any case, introductions were in order. "Hello!" he called out from his seat on the couch. "It's nice to meet you!"

The magician nodded, smiling, all the while wondering if he'd made the right decision. Magical artifacts didn't just fall into your possession every day, and here he was willingly restricting his access. Still, it felt like the right thing to. He looked down at the glowing gem, its light leaking through his fingers, and held it out to Gretchen. "It really... just makes sense," he told her. "Al-Kazar boxed it away for a reason. It might not be safe to remove it from the room without knowing what it is, first." He breathed in and caught a whiff of Lynn's mine mocha. "Huh. That smells pretty amazing," he chimed. "If you ladies will excuse me, I think that I'm going to get some use out of my employee discount." He passed the gem to the young vigilante and left the room, already missing the stone's heat in his hand. He felt that it might be wise to give the two women a chance to talk, face to face, without relying on their telepathy to communicate. Telepathy, he thought. I should read up on it. Plenty of my spells have mental components; it shouldn't be that difficult to learn...

Samuel, open mouthed, fumbled with the amulet when it landed in his hands. He nearly dropped it but managed to grasp the glowing stone, undamaged, to his chest. Eyes wide, he smiled at the implications of the gift -- but then noticed the silent communication commencing between his employer and her girlfriend. The smile faded; you didn't have to be a genius to deduce what was going on between them, and his suspicions were confirmed when Gretchen said her piece and left the room. He watched her go, and held the amulet loosely in one hand. "Lynn," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I... look, I appreciate this. I really do. But Gretchen..." He shook his head. "It's not my legacy," he concluded. "It's not my right to take this from you, or from her." He held the ruby out to her. "It means a lot, Lynn, really. But I'm content to read his work; I don't need to carry his things. And even if I wasn't reading his work, the kindness that you've shown me these last few weeks is just..." He paused. "Lynn, I don't deserve this."

Sam looked over at the driver and shot him an apologetic glance. "Sorry," he muttered. "Stupid thing to say." He gripped the arm-rest as the car reversed, out of the hail of gunfire, to find temporary shelter behind the stone wall. The magician followed the second prompt and left the vehicle, his face set with grim determination. With an almost imperceptible gesture he conjured his wand from its mystic pocket and stood with one arm outstretched, fingers spread, to the agents. "Stay here," he told them. He looked up, over the wall, at the roof of the building. "I think that I can fly around without them seeing and maybe take them by surprise. I could clear the way for us to get inside the house." His mask appeared on his face as his eyes narrowed, and he hoped that he was striking a suitable heroic pose.

The magician sunk deeper and deeper into his seat as Warne spoke, first about his financial compensation (insufficient, so far as he was concerned, compared to the things he'd had to do to earn it) and his failure to apprehend Bailey. Still, he couldn't help but chuckle when the AEGIS agent commented on the shapeshifter's fear. And then light and noise and danger destroyed whatever levity there had been. Sam threw up his hands as the bullets tore through the hood of the car, a rather filthy swear erupting from his mouth as he did so. "God!" he shouted after. "Why'd we think coming in from the front was a good idea?" He covered his head with both hands, though such a gesture was made useless by the magic sewn into his clothing. "Warne!" he shouted over the hail of gunfire. "You're the soldier -- what do we do!?"

"Well," said Samuel, alternating between staring while Gretchen demonstrated her new powers and inspecting the ruby for any other weirdness. "As a master of the mystic arts -- a man who has traveled through several alternate dimensions in search of greater and greater magical knowledge and arcane power -- I can conclude beyond the shadow of a doubt that this ruby... glows." He chuckled, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know about you guys, but I've never developed the ability to sense magic. I don't... well. My spark is weak. I know a lot, I've got a bit of power, but I'm not, ah, naturally inclined towards magic." He gestured towards Lynn. "Not like you are, anyway."

Sam gave Warne another look. It was slightly hurt, but also tinged with a bit of irritation. "Actually," he said. "Yes, Warne, I do have a spell for protection against bullets. I'm wearing it." He motioned to his clothing, the impeccable suit that he wore. "I've sewn symbols of protection into the lining of my clothes -- symbols of protection and other things." He shook his head. "What I've done for us is more than magical coffee. I don't think you understand: if properly maintained, this spell would ensure that you never need to sleep again. A little appreciation for my genius, if you please." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the windshield with narrowed eyes. "Honestly, I fought off three gunmen and a big lizard thing. You'd think I'd get a little appreciation."

Samuel gave Agent Warne a look, raised eyebrow and all, before accepting the plastic substitute from the helpful subordinate. "Thank you," he said, and then flicked the Bic. He then uttered a short, barking incantation before lighting both napkins on fire and stuffing them into one of the cup-holders to burn. They did so, producing no smoke, until they were gone. Sam leaned back into his seat and smiled, feeling oddly refreshed. "Well then," he said. "That takes care of that. We don't have quite so much to worry about now, Agent." He dusted his hands. "That little spell just made it so that we won't need to sleep again for, ah, a day or so. More importantly, we're also incapable of being mystically coerced into falling asleep. Our enemy has one fewer weapon!"

Right, right. I need to read the rules again, it seems.

Assuming you're taking that into account, the resulting roll would be 28.

Recruitment is now closed. A warm, heart-felt thank you to everyone that's applied. I'll take a few days to go through the sheets and let everyone know who's been accepted.

Sam, who had kept his eyes averted from the public display of affection so as to not embarrasses his employer and her girlfriend-slash-employee, returned his eyes to them and smiled knowingly. "No need to apologize, ladies," he said. "Remember, I toured in Las Vegas; I've seen things that would make your heads spin." He cleared his throat and looked back at the crate. "Things are all right over here, I think. It looks like one of Al-Kazar's old brooches, attached to... one of his capes." His eyes widened, and he got a different, funny little smile. Sure, Gretchen was using one of the old magician's effects, but this one was unaccounted for! "Let me just, ah... take a closer look." He pointed his wand at the crate and, using a spell of levitation, lifted the jewelry and attendant cape from its resting place. The gemstone took his breath away. "Lord," he whispered. "Look at the size of that ruby! It must be worth a fortune!"