Dr Archeville

"Whaaat do you mean?," Archeville asked innocently. After all the gifts were passed out, Archeville was wearing the scarf from Lynn, the hat from Billy (replacing his Santa hat), and the apron from Erik. His eyes darted between the 'bottled time' from Eli and the portrait by Mona; the wind-up robot marched at his feet, amidst a maze of candy. The Doktor was clearly flabbergasted at it all. Eventually the loop in his brain broke, and he looked up to the others, eyes wet with tears. "I... I do not know quite what to say, but... thank you. Thank you all so very, very much for this! I..." Emotion overwhelmed and choked off his words. He took a moment to compose himself, then looked back out to the group. "Alright," he said, gently laying down the lightning-bottle and hovering over to Mona, "let me take a peek at that photo album..."

Protectron had handed over Skyhook-3's black box to Sharl as Miss Americana had instructed. While it carried Dragonfly to The Lab, many thoughts went through its strange mind. Miss Americana's request for surveillance of the affected/infected was met with Protectron's usual flat "Affirmative." It took off and followed the crowd.

"Nah, got it mostly cleared," the revenant called up, "an' I got some piles'a junk that'll need haulin' out. Say, ya know who used t'own this place? Why they left it? The location don't seem that bad..." Push could see several large garbage bags filled with... something. Most looked filled with solid bits, metal and whatnot, but one looked decidedly squishier. Mercifully, it was not leaking. Then Push noticed Dead Head's hands were a dark rainbow of colors. The zombie noticed Push's noticing, and looked down himself. "Ah, yeah, lots'a gunk, what I couldn't get by hand I had to use my shovel on, then scrape it off the shovel's blade. Uh...," he looked up at his host, "ya mind liftin' me up outta here? Kinda defeats the purpose of all mah work if'n I get the rungs'a the ladder messed up on mah way out."

"I am receiving something, Friend-Americana," Protectron said in its typical flat tone, "though I do not know how, as my internal communications are still nonfunctional. The message is as follows:" -must-the-. You-obey-Mind. -Mind-all. -are-Mind. -with-Voice-the-. -must-the-. You-obey-Mind. -Mind-all. -are-Mind. -with-Voice-the-. -must-the-. You-obey-Mind. -Mind-all. -are-Mind. -with-Voice-the-. "I feel no compulsions to act one way or another aside from those which my own directives impose, but that is the message I am receiving."

"A... mild headache," he said, then paused. "Not a splitting one... which could mean my brain and body are acclimating to these splits." Another pause. The haunted look in his eyes deepened. "I am not sure if that is a good thing or bad."

As the dancing got underway, Mona suddenly felt a familiar presence behind her, and a familiar hand on her shoulder. "Pardon me, Miss Epstein," Archeville said with a broad smile, "but I must steal mein liebchen away for a few minutes." "Shall we dance?," he asked, extending a hand to the Persian Amazon. "We cannot let young Mr. Lucas have all the fun!"

Yes, and your char will be getting into combat at some point. Just because he's Sherlock Holmes doesn't mean he can't kick ass. That said, Assessment isn't that great a feat, so you'll not be missing out on much for not having it.

"Affirmative, Friend-de Havilland," the strange robot said flatly, then turned sharply and marched towards the rack of test tubes. It picked up several, then marched towards the autoclave and began to process them.

Archeville was silent, letting Eli explain things in his own words. He was quiet for what seemed an eternity after Eli was done, though given how fast both their mental processes went, that seeming eternity was really not long at all. At last the Doktor spoke. "Hunh." He took a sip of water, "that sounds in keeping with my predictions for your current ability with doing magnetic tricks, but now I am more curious about your speed. Are you saying it requires a great deal of brainpower, of concentration, to maintain your higher speeds? That is fairly atypical; most speedsters I have worked with barely put any thought into it."

"Come by my office someday -- or my home," he replied while shifting attack angles in an effort to find some opening, and finding none, "and I will see what I can do about boosting your intellect. Temporarily, at least." "As for... 'Billynn'," Archeville continued, shifting to an odd over-under strike combo, "well, yes, I do agree they are an unexpected pairing, but more to the point, is that there is a pairing. I mean, no that it is exactly uncommon among teams such as this -- close quarters, shared interests, shared stresses, and so on -- but there is always the concern that such a relationship would compromise missions. That, for example," he suddenly lashed out with a strike to the left side, "that Billy might focus overly long on Lynn and not see the threats coming towards you or Eli or Mona. Have you noticed anything like that?"

Toughness save, DC 28 (1d20+17=36) awww yeah Also, recall this line in DH's description:

Dead Head just stared blankly as Lukos' pack showed up. That's a heck of a lot'a werewolves.... But he had no time to dwell on that: there were crazed loa to oppose! Dead Head rushed in, following the mental map Crow's description had provided, and soon arrived at the room with Marinette. Alright, 'Head, let's see if'n I can pull this off. "What you doin' 'ere, Marinette?!," Dead Head shouted, trying to imitate the peculiar accent of his former head-mate, Papa Ghede, mixed with "angry father upset at what he found in his daughter's room." "Did dat no good Samedi put you up to t'is? Hrm?"

Dead Dead Move Action: Move to room with Marinette Standard Action: Intimidate to Demoralize Intimidate check (1d20+13=22) Reaction: HP to reroll Intimidate check; HP re-roll (1d20+13=25) hrm

"I feel I have found something of value," Protectron flatly announce over the comms. "After careful examination of damage to exterior and interior of the station, and exclusion of damage caused by the atmospheric re-entry and the crash into the lake, I have detected several breaches along the exterior and interior indicating Skyhook-3 sustained several micrometeorite impacts. Damage by projectiles breached the station's outer and inner shielding, exposing the interior to Cosmic Rays. Furthermore, my calculations of their trajectories indicate that the projectiles ruptured both biological containment units, which allowed the LV-13 and Grue biomaterial samples to interact with one another." The robot did another quick sweep of the labs, "no other samples located." "Proceeding to Command & Control in search of useful computer files." The strange robot continued on into the station's C&C, and, amongst the burned and waterlogged wreckage, found the station's 'black box' backup. "Backup drive located. Returning to base camp."

Done by Geez, marked as done by Ecal 11pp for Dead Head, who's now PL 12! 3pp for Skills: +5r Know (Arcane), +2r Know (Pop Culture), +5r Know (theology) 1pp to raise Protection (to 17), and 1pp to raise Impervious Toughness by 2 (to Imp 12) 6pp to recreate (a tiny) Magic Array Necromantic Powers 2 (4pp; PFs: 2 Alternate Power) [6PP] BE: Enhanced Anatomic Separation 1 (Extra: Variable Split; brings total to Anatomic Separation 2 [Variable Split]) AP: Enhanced Feats 4 (Fearsome Presence 4 [20 feet, DC 14]) AP: Morph 2 (any humanoid, +10 Disguise; Flaw: Limited [only into people who have died, excluding himself]; PFs: Covers Scent, Precise) And I'm going to truncate his background/history/powers fluff, since it's all up in his earlier char sheet and on his Wiki page. Click the spoiler box for a codeblock.

All chars except those in red have had their posts tallied and awards awarded. Twelve PL bumps, and two new Gold Status players! And four chars in the 100+ Club! Arranged by Player, it looks like this: alderwitch no IC posts in 2+ months; archive'd Bombshell: --- Phantom: --- Psyche: --- angrydurf no IC posts in 2+ months; archive'd Ouroboros: --- Partisan: --- Phalanx: --- Aoiroo Changeling: 5pp and is now PL 12 :clap: Silhouette: 4pp Arichamus King of Suits: 1pp AvengerAssembled Citizen: 4pp and is now PL 11 :clap: Edge: 4pp Fusion: 4pp Harrier: 2pp Azuth65 Wisp: 3pp Carces Creature Feature: 1pp cosmicarus no IC posts in 2+ months; archive'd Seventh Solider: --- Cubist Jubatus: 3pp Cyroa no IC posts in 2+ months; archive'd Dark Star: --- Hellion: --- Doleth Scion: 1pp Dariusprime Fulcrum: 4pp Darksider42 Lady Winter: 2pp Rift: 3pp Dr Archeville Dead Head: 5pp and is now PL 12 :clap: Doktor Archeville [maxed]: 3pp Protectron: 2pp Doleth Scion: 1pp Dream no IC posts all month Shadow Man: --- Ecalsneerg Equinox: 1pp Geckoman: 2pp Scholar: 2pp Electra Fleur de Joie: 7pp Miss Americana: 6pp and is now PL 14 :clap: Wander [maxed]: 6pp ex3lev3n no IC posts all month Pax: --- Razoring: --- Fox Dragonfly: 6pp and is now PL 10 :clap: Gaian Knight: 3pp Geez3r Atlas: 1pp and is now PL 14 :clap: Dynamo: 1pp Gizmo Jack of all Blades: 8pp and is now Gold Midnight (II): 6pp GranspearZX Arcturus: 4pp and is now PL 11 :clap: Crusader: 3pp Griffalo Mercury: 10pp and is now PL 8 :clap: Heritage Gossamer: 2pp Grimalkin: 4pp JackgarPrime Victory: 2pp and is now PL 12 :clap: Kavonde no IC posts all month Gravestone: --- Volcano: --- KnightDisciple Cobalt Templar: 5pp and is now PL 9 :clap: Fenris: 2pp Gabriel: 5pp Limos Jello-Man: 0pp El Sapo: 1pp Lone Star Kid Cthulhu/Warlock: 3pp Mad Dog: 3pp Northstar Beacon: 0pp Doctor Titan: 1pp Quinn Crow: 4pp Push: 8pp Quotemyname Blueshift: 3pp Breakdown: 2pp Colt: 2pp and is now a Gold status player Raveled Glowstar: 1pp Ironclad: 3pp Sandman XI Muse: 1pp Wesley Knight: 1pp and is now PL 14 :clap: Shift X no IC posts in 2 months; archiving Gibraltar: --- Shockwasp no IC posts in 2 months; archiving Calliope: --- Shockwasp: --- Sorus Sage: 3pp Willow: 1pp Supercape Rene de Saens: 4pp Slick: NPC'd! Supercape: 6pp trollthumper Cannonade: 4pp and is now PL 9 :clap: Nick Cimitiere: 6pp The 100+ Posts per Month Club Dragonfly & Fleur de Joie (118) Midnight & Wander (114) And if you've not done so, check out this month's Vignettes!

Still need threads lists for AvengerAssembled Sandman XI Also, Gizmo and Supercape have PMs re: pp awards to answer.

NPC'd (Tier 2) at player request

And here they are! Cannonade: Just You and Me, Punk Rock Girl Cobalt Templar: The Importance of Understanding Your Feelings Colt: Why All At Once My Heart Took Flight (joint w/ Grimalkin) Dead Head: Two Minutes To Midnight Dragonfly: 'What Is This Thing You Call...Love?' Edge: Coming Home Fleur de Joie: Family Meeting Fulcrum: Doktor Liebermacher Gabriel: Former Life, Former Love Grimalkin: Why All At Once My Heart Took Flight (joint w/ Colt) Harrier: Keep Love Alive Jack of all Blades: Brotherly Love Midnight: Love At First Sight Miss Americana/Gina: One of You Nick Cimitiere: Midnight in the Pastry Shop of Good and Evil Push: Snapshots Supercape: Cambridge Man Wander: What You Leave Behind In cases where a title was not included with the submission I received via PM/saw in the RefCave, I assigned one. If you do not like the title assigned, then be sure to include a title the next time you submit a vignette, rather than leaving it up to me. (And, if you ask nicely, maybe one of the Refs will edit it.)

Why All At Once My Heart Took Flight October 24th, 2009 The Interceptor's Brownstone It was Saturday night, and Colt had a date. Even though it was just with the girl that lived upstairs, to him it was still a big deal. He liked Grim. He liked her a lot, and he was planning on making sure she had a good time. Although Colt's normal attire was decidedly western, this was a special occasion, and he'd be damned if he'd be wearing cowboy boots with spurs on them. A few more buttons and he'd be all dressed. He looked in the mirror, and a different man looked back. He was no longer the twenty-two year old casually dressed cowboy gunslinger. Somewhere between the loafers, slacks, shiny belt buckle, button down shirt, and blazer, something about his looks had changed. Change, he thought, wasn't always bad. He looked damn good. He flipped on the new hat he'd bought (It was smaller than his usual wide-brimmed cowboy hat, similar to a bowler) and was out the door. Within a few moments he was outside Grim's door, ready to knock. He hadn't had a cigar all day, and though it was killing him, he was hoping she wouldn't smell him this time... This is pretty cool, Grim thought to herself as she made ready for a night out with her handsome cowboy teammate; so far, they’d pretty much just hung out or made out in the Brownstone, or snuck a quick kiss while out on patrol, but tonight Colt had asked to do something special. Not quite knowing what to expect, she played with a wide variety of looks, from fancy to flirty and everywhere in-between until she’d settled on a cute flapper look inspired by one of her favorite films, Chicago. With her hair in a Lulu bob and dressed in a sexy little black dress with pumps to match, she was confidant she would knock the cowboy’s socks off. Not wanting to delay things any longer, Colt gave a knock on the door, noting that she hadn't noticed his presence yet, or if she had she hadn't said anything. Three light knocks and he said, "Grim? S'me, Colt. y'almost ready'n there?" They still had some time before their dinner reservations. Certainly enough time to get there, but not really enough time to waste. To be honest, she'd sensed him before he knocked, but she was nice enough not to mention it. "Hi Colt! Gimme a sec, okay?" She took one final look in the standing mirror before dismissing it with a wave of her hand, then opened the door with a saucy grin. "Hey there, big boy! I..oh! Wow, look at you! You're all classy and stuff." Peering down at her own flirty little dress, she frowned. "Mmm, I think I outghta change." The shapeshifter closed her eyes and her body was wrapped in pale mist, which coalesced into a sleek red dress, still very sexy but much more sophisticated. "There, that's better! You ready to go?" "Y'know," Colt smiled at her, "I reckon I know'a few girls that'd kill fer'a power like that'n. An' I ain't talkin' bout th'changin' clothes thing. I'm talkin' bout th'bility t'know what ya wanna wear right away." Colt placed his hands on his hips in mock judgement, "It took me longer'n that't git ready." Once Colt was done being a pain, he led Grim down the stairs to the front door of the brownstone. By this time, Grim was so accustomed to simply hopping on Colt's motorcycle whenever they went anywhere that she was surprised when she didn't see it by the curb. Colt smiled, "Close yer eyes," A few seconds passed, and though Grim's nose told her exactly what was going on, she indulged him anyway. "Alright, I reckon ya c'n open'em now." When she did, she saw a limousine parked in front of their house with a driver standing by an open back door. Colt bowed, and waved towards the vehicle, "Afta you, miss." Lynn opened her eyes and laughed giddily; yep, it was a limo. “Oh my God, this is awesome!” Then she stopped and cocked an eyebrow, and started to tick points off on her fingers. “Wait a sec; limo, fancy duds…are you taking me to prom?!” Colt wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, because the way she was jumping up and down like a maniac…well, to be honest with Grim it could be either way. A corsage magically blossomed on her wrist as she waited for the handsome young man to open the door for her, still bouncing in her heels. "Well, it ain't prom, but..." He hesitated as he opened the door, allowing her to climb in. "No," he told her, as he followed her into the back of the limo and shut the door. "I reckon it won't do t'just ruin th'surprise like that. Ya gon' have't wait'n see." Colt let a big smile run across his face. After a few minutes of driving, the two arrived at one of the fancier restaurants in Freedom City. It was in the middle of town, right where all the most popular night spots were. As he helped her out of the limo, he waved his hand at the entrance. The only thing missing was a red carpet. The entrance a large, towering Tremont Hotel stood before them. "Look up," Colt pointed. Grim followed his gaze, and saw the rotating structure atop the tower. The Starlight Room. It was one of the most upscale restaurants in town, and it had a wonderful view to boot. "Whoa, cool! I've always wanted to dine in a revolving restaurant!" Lynn ditched the corsage in a puff of vapor and eagerly headed into the lobby after Colt held open the door for her. "Thank you, kind sir!" Inside the hotel was a huge atrium lined with balconies, with glass elevators gliding up and down. The tiny Interceptor openly gawked as her eyes wandered the interior panorama. "This...this is awesome!" She took the cowboy's hand and held it tight, like a child on her first trip to Disney World. "Don't get too excited, now," Colt told her as he led her to one of the glass elevators. "I reckon we ain't even sat down't dinner yet. Th'night c'n on'y get better from'ere." Even the elevators had a wonderful view. The lights of Freedom City shone like stars across the night sky as the ascended to the revolving restaurant in the sky. When they arrived at the top, the Maitre d greeted them with a smile. Colt shook his hand, thanking him for the warm welcome, and they followed him to a table waiting right next to one of the windows. There was a salad bar, a live band, a dance floor near the center of the room, and an incredible view. There was a reason this was one of the premier restaurants in Freedom City, and Grim was beginning to find out why. When Grim had first got her powers several years ago, her initial reaction was to use them fairly selfishly, taking advantage of rich young ‘studs’ and using them for a few dates at swanky restaurants before ripping of their stereo equipment, a life that she was not proud of now that she’d chosen the more heroic path. During that time, she’d never been to somewhere as nice as the Starlight Room, too scared that she’d slip up and break her assumed cover. Now she was glad she’d never made it here before, because she was able to experience it the way a girl was meant to, on the arm of nice sweet guy. As she took her seat (which her teammate was nice enough to pull out for her), she could only shake her head in wonder. “Wow, this is…thank you, Colt. This is really nice.” She leaned across the table and kissed him lightly on the cheek before having a look at the rather impressive wine list. "Well, I reckon yer worth't." Colt responded to the kiss. "I'm just glad y'agreed to't. I've been wantin' t'take ya out like this fer'a while. Just wasn't sure where till now." They ordered drinks. Colt allowed Grim to pick the wine, trusting her tastes more than his own, which were much more rough when it came to the subject of alcohols. They sat and chatted back and forth for a few minutes before ordering entrées. Once their orders were placed, Colt stood from the table, and held his hand out to Grim, "Would'ya like't dance?" “Would I? Heck yeah!” Lynn carelessly tossed the wine list over her shoulder, where an attentive busboy caught it in mid-air and quickly returned it to the table. The diminutive Interceptor rose to her feet and extended her arm towards Colt crooked at the elbow, a huge smile plastered across her face. “Shall we?” And so they did; as they glided as one across the polished wooden dance floor, the music of the small house band filled the air, and the young shapeshifter felt transported away from her own mundane existence like she was floating on a cloud. And somehow she knew Colt felt the same way, too.

Place: Gear City The blast cratered in the metal as Wyrd’s latest magitek monstrosity crashed to the ground, kicking up dust and wind that set Push’s coat and scarf to billow. The cheers of the nearby citizens made him grin underneath the wool, and he raised his fist in the air, planting a foot on the metal. With a dramatic flourish, he pointed at the sputtering mad scientist, who was vainly hammering away at a remote. “Weird! How many times have I got to tell you, leave your toys at home!” “It’s not Weird, it’s Wyrd! W-y-r-d! As in wired! Yooooouuuu…..oooh, how dare you! That robot was one of my finest creations, the prototype for a new line of robotic police!” “Dude, when it beats the snot out of anyone who so much as jaywalks, I think that’s a bit overboard!” “So it needs a bit of work, I’ll get it next time!” “Uh, no, you won’t. You’ve got a date with the Gear City Penitentiary, Doc.” “PROFESSOR! PROFESSOR, YOU…YOUUUU…OOOOOOH…next time, Push! Next time, you won’t stop progress! I swear it!” As Push charged forward to finish the job, Wyrd slapped a rune on his belt buckle and vanished with a crack. Push stopped, let out a long line of curses himself, then stopped abruptly as a van roared by, Wyrd visibly in the front seat cackling…and a young lady at the driver’s seat. He couldn’t quite make out her face, but what he could make out was a pair of eyes that stopped him cold. The van roared off, and he shook his head, then took off after it. No rest for the wicked… Quinn stepped out of the coffee shop, laden down with a hot chocolate in one hand and a coffee in the other. He made a face. Coffee, blech. He hated the stuff. As he turned to hoof it over to the waiting van, he bumped into a woman who was hurrying full-bore straight towards the shop. Well, bumped into might not have been the most accurate term. Crashing into and causing the coffee to fall on her head and the hot chocolate onto his shirt-front was more accurate. They both tumbled to the ground, her landing flat on his stomach while he gasped for air and felt a steady burn across his chest. “Ai-yi-yi-yi! Hot! Hot! Oowowowowowo…o…ooo…” The burning sensation seemed to pass as he got a look at her face, and hers into his. Big brown eyes. Black hair with what looked like pink and blue highlights. Soft features. She stared at him with what looked like a similar expression. The term “gobsmacked” came to mind. Then the pain returned, and they both howled simultaneously and scrambled to their feet, charging back inside and racing towards the bathrooms. So Wyrd had an assistant? And she definitely was as crazy as he was, given the insane devices she was firing at him through…what looked like a toaster. Her speech had a thick Russian accent, and her face was obscured by a gas mask, but given the fact that the room was rapidly filling with this mental-clouding-thingamabob gas, he couldn’t quite blame her. “And you thought it’d be a good idea to spread this into the city why?!” “Simple! It’d be easier to apply ze good professor’s inventions if people aren’t running about and shouting so much vhen ve do eet! Once zey are all calm and quiet, zen ve can vork in peace and get ze job done faster!” “What?! That’s the…you know, that’s actually not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. The Prof’s said weirder.” “Stop moving so I can hit you!” Anna laughed out loud as Quinn mimed Sharpe’s expression when he found out he’d taken this one client’s car out for a “test spin”. “Honestly, who could blame me? It was an old-school Caddy, absolutely gorgeous, and I needed to know if the engine was working. And, confidentially…Mike took it out right after he sent me up to do the paperwork.” He winked, and she grinned. Not to be outdone, Anna started relating a story of how her boss once busted her trying to play this new MMO on her laptop. Of course, he’d stopped abruptly when he’d seen that she was on the same server as he was, twice her level, and had magic items out the wazoo. Quinn smiled, quite glad that she’d agreed to let him take her out in apology for dropping the coffee on her head. Although they weren’t using the same coffee shop this time… The building began to collapse, Push racing hell-for-leather by the exploding tanks that, until then, had held extremely volatile gases for use in the Professor’s experiments. Whatever Wyrd had been working on, this time something had gone wrong even before he had dropped it on the populace. Push would have asked him what it was, but given the old man was slung over his shoulders unconscious, he decided to save it for later. As he raced towards the door, he spotted another lab-coated figure running towards it. The assistant! She carried a strange object in her hand, and for a moment, he began to raise his hand to fire…then she hit a button, and a rear wall folded outwards to reveal a back alleyway. They stared at each other, then both raced out side-by-side as the building exploded. Quinn twisted the wrench over the engine as Anna screwed in the last bolt on the dashboard, the girl looking through the windshield as she gave him a thumbs up… Push kicked the door in, Associate Professor Wyrd opening fire with the glue-gun as the crooks tried to make their getaway with Wyrd’s stolen tech… She looked at Quinn with blazing eyes as she yanked him forward by his collar, locking lips while his arms flailed briefly. As she let him go, he blinked and looked about, seeing nobody, then returned the favour… Push looked at the Associate with her oversized goggles, and she stared at him, as he held up a warp-covered arm and her some toaster-shaped device (he’d sworn he’d seen that before), pointing them first at each other, and then at the WyrdTech robot rampaging through the bank… Quinn lay beside her, the blanket covering them both, enjoying the sound of her breathing, her soft skin, and her prescence beside him as he drifted off to sleep… Push dragged Wyrd to the police car, chucking him in with a grunt. The Professor, for his part, was his usual surly and complaining self, insisting his latest invention was not a hazard, but a benefit to mankind. The kineticist simply shook his head, motioning for the car to drive off…then realized that policewoman driving the car had a rather odd pair of…he took off in pursuit. Quinn walked to the doorway of Anna’s apartment building, his heart as light as a feather…then everything went black. The building was on fire and collapsing. Anna…the Associate…she stood there, eyes wide as saucers as Quinn…Push stood on the other side of the operating table. Her eyes began to fill with tears, and he thanked whatever deity was smiling on him that his were obscured by his hat. The device that was the Associate’s…Anna’s brainchild, to merge Quinn and Push, the two she couldn’t choose, hung over the table, gauges hitting red zones, steam bursting from points and electricity crackling. He opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t. His admission after breaking free from the table shook her to her core. Her actions had driven him to break the shackles, even after trying to talk his way out as best he could. They knew each other’s secrets. She stared at him, then slowly stepped backwards. He roared her name, vaulting over the table and running, as part of the roof gave way and fell in front of him. Through the flames and burning wreckage, he spotted her face, one half the Anna he knew, the other half obscured by the Associate’s goggles. The flames rose higher, and try as he might, he couldn’t push through. Push stared at the building across the street where the police cars surrounded it, wreckage now. Twisted girders, ash, piles of scrap and rubble. He stared at it. And sat there, on the corner of the warehouse, waiting, and watching. No movement in the rubble, save a few cops with flashlights. He sat there as the hours passed by. Still no movement. He sat there a whole day, as the police cordoned off the site then drove away. No movement. He sat there a whole night, just watching. Nothing. Finally, he stood. And he turned. And he took off his coat, his hat and his scarf, laying them down on the roof beside him. And then, only then…Gabriel Quinn, not Push, cried.

Diary of Mona Teymourian, 14 February 2011 Viktor should be here in a few minutes. I planned a relatively quiet evening, starting with dinner at Champion’s. After that an art house movie. Beyond that who knows, but I’m guessing that Viktor has something up his sleeve. Romantically, he is wonderful, but as a companion he really shines. He has a child-like exuberance that helps bring me out of my shell. I know I’m a retiring person, even shy, and he is a good foil for my solitary instincts. Our relationship has matured steadily over the last year. Has it really been a year? Over actually, now that I think about it. I never really felt this way about anyone. Many of my past relationships were, I don’t know, just rote. As if having a significant other was expected, and I was just going through the motions. My last one was three years ago: my only post-powers hook up. The little green monster of jealousy reared it’s ugly head very quickly in that one. Two months. Viktor is a much sweeter man than any I have dated in the past. He isn’t jealous. Strangely, even his Other side, when he still exhibited it, seemed surprisingly nonchalant compared to the typical guy I’ve dated. Nor is he controlling. Sad to say I’ve had a couple of male chauvinist pigs in the past. One of them, Tyler, is the reason I was arrested for assault and battery in college. He actually thought he could get away with raising a hand to me. I may not have had super powers, but I damn well could take care of myself. No, Viktor is much better. He respects me as a person, a woman, a lover and a friend. He respects my opinion. He appreciates my input and our conversations. He wants me to be happy and us to be happy. That he is a fabulous lover and a great cook doesn’t hurt either. He- I just realized I can’t imagine my life without him.

Travis Hunter opened the glass door of the grandfather clock with a sureness of hand that belied his advanced years, and pushed the hands counter clockwise to both point directly upward. Conversely, the serious expression of rapt attention worn by his young grandson suggested maturity beyond his years. As Trevor watched, the tall antique timepiece slid into the wall with a soft click before the entire corner of the room moved out of the way to reveal a downward staircase. The passage down into the earth below the estate was cool and dark, smooth surfaces that had clearly gone unused for years cut into the rock. At the bottom, the elder Hunter flipped a series of switches, illuminating the massive cavern secreted underneath the mansion. "Welcome to the Midnight Manor." Stepping forward, Trevor walked in a broad arc, craning his neck to try to take everything in at once. The closest wall was almost entirely taken up with massive monitors and computers the size of a small room, diodes blinking to life as the Manor’s systems came back on line after decades of slumber. A row of utilitarian lockers held pitch black uniforms and specialised equipment, with nearby workbenches for repairs. A chemistry lab beyond even the scope of the one his grandfather kept upstairs sat in one corner, rows of beakers and glass tubing glinting as the overhead lights turned on bank by bank. What captured the youth's interest most, however, sat at the back of the manor. Row upon row of oh objects covered in white tarps sat lined up nearby a a tunnel further into the distance. Walking slowly over to the closest of them he paused, looking back over his shoulder at Travis. The old man chuckled quietly and followed his grandson over. "Thought those might get your attention," he admitted, pulling the tarp back in a single smooth pull. "Always were mechanically inclined. This... is the Night Cruiser." The classic car was an inky black that seemed to swallow light rather than reflect it, still in pristine condition despite the years. Dark red glass covered the headlights while subtle openings and flush compartments suggested all manner of hidden gadgetry. Trevor moved in a tentative circle around the vehicle, awe in his expression, when a smaller, tarp covered object caught his eye. Pulling the sheet to the stone floor revealed what had at one point been a motorcycle in the same sleek, pitch black style of the car. The years had been less kind to it, pieces of its inner working sitting partially disassembled next to the frame, dents marring its metallic surfaces. "And this?" he asked without looking away. Travis quirked a thick eyebrow and brought a hand up to stroke his greying goatee. "That would be the Night Cycle," he replied. The younger Hunter ran his hand over the damaged arc of the bike's fuel tank, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his reserved expression, as he murmured, "The Night Cycle..."

Ellie Espadas sat at the desk in her bedroom with a thick textbook borrowed from one of the public libraries downtown open on one side while she carefully poured the contents of one small glass bottle into another, reaching for a third as she reread a passage. Her mother had once again thrown out the last of her black nail polish that morning, forcing the vocally morose teen to mix together whatever other colours she had lying around. Still, even righteous rebellion couldn't interfere with her studying; the book had to be back by the end of the week, and there was a lot of material left to cover. A sudden noise from downstairs startled her, sending magenta spilling over the lip of the bottle and over her fingers. Swearing irritably under her breath, she nudged the book further out of the way with her elbow and grabbed a handful of nearby tissues to wipe off her hand before jogging into the hallway and down the stairs to see what was going on. "Oh, Dios!" In the kitchen she found her older brother leaning heavily against a cabinet, his expression pained. Erik more a royal blue greatcoat, one sleeve dangling uselessly at his side, while his crimson bandanna mask and wig were already lying on the floor, revealing an already swollen bruise around one of his eyes above a split lip. "Oh, uh... hey, hermanita," he managed thickly with a grimace. "I told you this was going to happen!" Ellie scolded furiously as she rushed over to her sibling. "You can’t just go around picking fights and... argh!" At a loss for words, she balled her hands into fists and began pounding his uninjured side. "Hey, hey!" Erik protested, trying to raise his good arm to fend her off and succeeding only in nearly stumbling to the floor. "Man, I’d be safer - ngh - with the dealers." Glaring at him, his sister took a step around him and began examining the arm hanging limply at his side, probing it gently despite a grunt of pain. "It’s dislocated, not broken, at least. Ugh, idiota! Alright, this is going to hurt," she warned him. "What? What's going t- gaugh!" he exclaimed unintelligibly as Ellie slammed her shoulder into his own with surprising precision. "Ghn! What the hell are you... huh." With a considerable amount of pain and difficulty, the fencer managed to roll his shoulder and lift his injured arm. "That's actually better. How did you know how to do that?" Failing to completely conceal a relieved look, Ellie scoffed. "What did you think I'd been reading all those books for?" "I guess, but, nhn, that was a little beyond basic first aid," Erik insisted, putting his back to the cupboard and sliding down its length to sit heavily on the kitchen floor. "That's pretty cool." Despite his bloodied face and strained voice, there was a definite note of pride in his voice. "You know what would be cooler? Not getting beat into a pulp!" Stepping over to the fridge, Ellie emptied a pile of ice cubes into a dishrag and handed it to her brother. Sitting down beside him with a irritable huff, she put her arms around her knees. "...so, did you get them? The drug dealers, I mean," she clarified off of his perplexed look. "Heh, those guys? Yeah, do sweat. They look way worse'n me," Erik assured her with a lopsided smirk he immediately regretted as it pulled at his split lip. Trying not to move too much, he held the makeshift ice pack over his eye. "Probably don't have a genius hemanita to patch them up, either." "Yeah, you kinda lucked out," Ellie agreed with a small grin. "And, y'know... good job." Erik grinned again, ignoring the pain. "Heh. Thanks." For a few long moments, the siblings simply sat in silence. Finally, he asked, "So why's your hand all purple?" "It's magenta." "Oh, well then."

Midnight in the Pastry Shop of Good and Evil Time: October 22nd, 2007 Place: Savannah, Georgia His hair was slicked back. His breath was minty fresh. His teeth were flossed to the point where they squeaked. His shirt was well-ironed, his jeans were clean, and his boots were polished. So why was Eric LaCroix so nervous? He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. You’ve done this plenty of times before, he thought. There was Christy, Linda, Jane… what makes this time so different? He knocked once more, and Adam Duquesne answered. He was wearing a white short sleeved shirt, ripped jeans, and Chuck Taylors. He looked like he’d gone through the same preparations as Eric – though maybe not with the same level of angst. “Glad you could make it,” he said. “Me, too,” said Eric. He gave Adam a quick peck on the cheek. “So, where to?” “There’s a place on Harris and Abercorn,” Adam said. “Sandwiches are pretty good, dessert’s even better. Then I thought maybe Club One – I mean, if you’re cool with that…” “I’ve seen drag before,” Eric said. “I’d be up for it.” “Cool.” Andy walked out into the hall. “Let’s hit the town.” --- Eric had known he was bi since high school. He just didn’t really find much of a chance to explore it back then. Sure, he’d been in the school’s Gay/Straight Alliance, but that had pretty much been it. Besides, he’d been with Linda back then, and everything was cool until they decided to go their separate ways at graduation. He’d come to SCAD and enjoyed a brief thing with Jane freshman year – at least, until his “nightly activities” left him with little time for her, and had resulted in a screaming fight that sent the relationship down in flames. After that, he decided to focus more on helping the dead and less on romance. All that changed when Adam came along. They shared a class on art theory together, and Eric stuck around after a queer student group meeting to talk to him. They shared similar tastes in music and the slightly morbid – Adam was a big fan of Fifties horror movies – and had decided to make a date. Even after Adam agreed to it, Eric was still nervous; he didn’t exactly know the protocol on this one. There were so many ways it could go wrong… And those are just the mundane ways… --- Reflections was a small café with a Southern home atmosphere. The smell of chocolate and croissants wafted out of the kitchen, mingled with more savory scents like bacon and mustard. Eric sampled his mocha as he and Adam talked about things – life back home, plans for the next semester, even old movies. A discussion of White Zombie had somehow turned around to voodoo. “My aunt swears that she shares blood with Marie Laveau,” Adam said, downing his latte. “Mind you, the only spirits she tends to see are bourbon.” "There anything to it?” Eric asked. “I don’t know; family genealogy got a bit hazy around the war period. I just think it’s one of those things she does. She said she saw Elvis once.” Adam considered the glass. “I’m telling you, I’ve grown up in this city, and I’ve never really seen the strangeness. There’s always this… feeling, I guess. Like antiquity. But for all the talk of ghosts and gods, it just seems like any other city. A bit wetter, a bit hotter, but any other.” Eric didn’t say anything about the Confederate war dead he’d seen in Ellis Square, or the girl who flung herself from the clocktower nightly and did not want to go anywhere else, or the visitation by Baron LaCroix to an old church a few months back. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it’s just the Southern mystique.” ‘Well, I guess it was the book,” Adam said. “That couldn’t have helped. But strange travelogues aside, Savannah’s not a bad place to live. How’s Freedom?” “It’s probably where all your strangeness went,” Eric said. “Aliens, gods, heroes -- ” “Hey, Savannah’s got heroes, too.” “Yeah, I’m not knocking Zenith. It’s just when you’re in Freedom, it’s like being nowhere else. It’s risky, sure – we had supervillain drills growing up. Just in case someone set fire to the school, or decided to take us hostage.” “How’d those go?” “Something like -- ” Eric was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and the roar of flames. Panic descended on the café as a voice split the night. “COME OUT, FAGGOTS!” it yelled in a clarion call. “COME OUT AND BE PURGED!” Adam and Eric quickly hit the ground as the diners panicked and ran for the rear entrance. “What the hell is that?” yelled Adam. “I think I’ve got a good idea.” Eric raised his head to look out the window. Sure enough, there standing in the street was a man in a white tabard with a red cross, wearing a similarly decored hood. White flames jumped off his body, not consuming his clothes but turning the asphalt under him into tar. “White Knight,” he spat. “Big name bigot back home. God, what’s he doing down here? Shouldn’t he still be in Freedom?” “How would I know?” Adam yelled. “We should get out of here -- ” A second blast of flame came roaring in, splitting the timbers over head and setting off the sprinklers. Eric looked up to see a large part of the roof about to collapse onto their table. He pushed Adam away just as it came crashing down, separating the two. “Get out!” he yelled to Adam. “Just get out now!” “But what about you?” “I’ll find a way. Just go before the door gets blocked!” Adam nodded and ran. Eric surveyed the scene; the concussion from the first blast had knocked down a few patrons, and the falling pieces of ceiling had knocked out a few who’d been making their way for the door. They’d be sitting ducks when White Knight came in. God, what can I work with here? he thought. No ghosts, no shadow, nothing. Just a lot of pastries and some ash – Oh. Oh, there we go. Eric made his way over to the pastry case. Despite the falling wreckage, it was mostly in tact, and the goods within were protected from the sprinkler system. He found a dry place in the kitchen, carrying a box full of éclairs and cupcakes in one hand and a mound of soot in the other. He sat down, opened the box, and drew the veve on the floor. “Erzulie Freda,” he intoned, “beloved of the three, mother of fineries, she of the sweet and the bitter, come. Mother Dahomey, your children call for salvation in the face of hatred. Maitresse Mambo, come!” Eric’s senses flooded with the scent of expensive perfume. It had worked. Out in the main restaurant, he heard the sound of combat boots treading over wood. White Knight had entered. “Looks like I fared better than I thought.” He picked up a young woman and roused her awake. She looked on his masked visage with fear, and tried to get away. “You know what they used to do to you in the old days?” He opened his free hand, and fire leapt to life in his palm. “They did what was right.” He brought it close to her. “Time to bring back that old time religion…” A woman’s trilling laugh split the air, distracting White Knight from his quarry. From out of the flames emerged a woman with skin like black coffee and eyes like emeralds. She was dressed in a pink gown that left little to the imagination, especially under the torrent from the sprinklers. The fire around her only served to radiate her beauty, dancing around her like a band of suitors. “Old time religion?” she asked. “Funny thing, that. Me, I’m in one of the oldest in the book.” White Knight dropped his quarry, and looked towards the loa. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted. “I,” she said, “am the maiden of the three rings. Beloved of serpents, of iron, of the sea. The guardian of lovers, whether they find joy in men’s or women’s arms.” She slinked forward. “You did a bad thing tonight.” Even from here, Eric could hear her pout. “Why would you do something like that? You almost broke my heart…” “I… I…” White Knight was frozen, unable to do much more than stutter. Eric watched as Erzulie danced around him, tracing her finger down his tabard. He’d heard about using sex like a weapon, but Erzulie Freda tended to use it like a rocket launcher. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t hate you. Entirely. I mean, there is so much to work with here. You must be so strong…” “Guh… uh…” She brought her hands up to his mask. “Why don’t we see what you look like under that cheap little cloth,” she said, “and you can give me a kiss?” She lifted her hands to the edge of the mask. “G… get…” White Knight lifted his hand, wreathed in flame, and struck Erzulie Freda across the side of the face with it, sending her reeling. “Get your hands off me, you unholy black bitch!” Erzulie picked her head up off the floor… and even through the smoke, even across the room, Eric could see her eyes glow red. “Bitch?” she hissed. The scars from the burn seemed to grow unnaturally, coating the sides of her face. “Oh, honey… you don’t know anything about how much of a bitch I can be.” She raised her head and turned to White Knight. Panic welled up in his eyes, and he let out a terrified scream. Eric knew that, like some of the loa, Erzulie had two aspects – the Rada, the benevolent and merciful side… and the Petro, the aggressive side. Erzulie Dantor, like Erzulie Freda, was a protector of the queer, favoring lesbians where her other half favored gay men. She was also fierce, strong, and fond of blades. After that, there wasn’t much besides screaming, and that soon gave way to the sound of fists on flesh. Eric watched as Erzulie Dantor picked up the unconscious White Knight – his tabard torn and blood-stained, his mask torn away to reveal a scarred and ugly face – with one hand and tossed him back out into the street. She looked back to the kitchen. “Well, child?” she asked. “These ones will need help.” Eric helped the loa move the unconscious patrons out into the street, just as the fire department arrived. The paramedics were on them, checking for smoke inhalation, as Erzulie turned to Eric. “Thank you, my child,” she said. “I hope the rest of your night goes better.” She faded away with the smoke, leaving Eric there. “Eric!” Adam ran across the street and grabbed Eric by the shoulders. “Jesus, what happened in there?” “I don’t know,” he said. “The woman… she just came out of nowhere and started kicking the crap out of White Knight. I didn’t even get her name…” “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Adam gave Eric a firm kiss on the lips; Eric no longer seemed to mind the fire, the smoke, or the sirens. He broke off. “Well, I guess that’s the night.” “I… had a great time, y’know,” Eric said. "Well, except for this part…” “Me, too,” Adam said. “Some other time?” “Yeah. I’d like that.”