Dr Archeville

Archeville shook his head slowly, "no, nothing at ArcheTech that can help me, and believe me, this is something I have worked on for many years. Besides, all the work I have done on my condition is in my home laboratory; I have kept all research on it off the ArcheTech servers." "I have worked with an assortment of psychiatrists and therapists," he said while running his fingers through her hair, "but all were of no help. My vast knowledge includes the behavioral sciences, and as such I know the techniques they would try to use in diagnosing and treating me... and thus know how to skew them in order to evade any real help. Which is what, on some level, I would do, preventing any therapist from even getting a solid diagnosis on exactly what my problems are in the first place. I have also tried a number of psychopharmacological treatments; I am currently on a mixture of carbamazepine, clonazepam, fluoxetine, and lithium carbonate -- all anti-anxiety agents, most used in the treatment of bipolar disorder, though that is not quite what my condition is. They seem to have little effect, though I believe that is due to the unique tolerance to chemicals and drugs I have built up over the years from both work in my laboratories and in fighting assorted supervillains. I even started some telepathic therapy," he gently touched his head to hers, "with Scarab, a month ago. She has known of my condition for some time -- we were on a short-lived team, and still keep in touch -- but so far there has been no real progress." When she looked at him, he felt that rarest of things: hope. "You have a few yourself, Mona Teymourian. You seem to be taking all this far better that I had anticipated. No, no, that is not the right word," he shook his head, then locked eyes on hers again, "you are taking it far better than I feared you would, but, deep down, I knew you could handle this. Which is one reason why I told you." "And... to answer your question..." He bit his lower lip, "we have twenty six minutes and thirty two seconds left. I..." He turned away slightly, "... had to broker a deal. 30 minutes uninterrupted time with you now, in return my Other gets three bottles of my good brandy..." He chewed his lower lip more, and exhaled slowly, "and thirty minutes uninterrupted time with you. And my Other did not indicate when it would take those 30 minutes." He winced, briefly.

Courage! Yes... that's what I said... >_> And CT shakes off the Shaken after one minute. Which, coincidentally, is when Push's and Dead Head's Fearless-ness returns.

"Not your size, I am afraid," the Doktor replied with a smirk, then clapped his hands sharply three times. "But my staff should be able to find something for you." One panel on the nearby wall slid back, and a rack of assorted hospital gowns slid out. The top of the rack was covered in small golden spheres; two wriggled and detached, revealing themselves to be beetle-like robots. One sprouted wings and flew over to and around Vivian, while the other sorted through the gowns. When it received the last of the measurements the other one was taking via their wireless link, the one on Vivian returned to the rack, then both beetle-bots brought a gown to her, holding it up by the shoulders as they flew it over. They even helped her tie it on before returning to the retracting rack. It fit perfectly, and felt smooth as silk. Better yet, the back part actually closed, and didn't leave her backside exposed. "The fact you are even able to stand," the Doktor said, back to a more clinical tone, "shows remarkable recovery on your part. But I would advise you to not strain yourself, not right away. What happened in there?"

Eddie neither saw nor heard anyone behind them, and his enhanced audio senses also detected no one. But there were other boxes around; perhaps one of the patrons in them had been shushing him? No, the sounds had to have come from closer by. The usher passing by in the hallway behind their box seat? Possibly, though surely Eddie would have heard him enter and exit the area. Now was a short intermission (approx time now 10:00pm), giving the audience time to stretch and absorb the fight from Act II and prepare for Act III. Rift's monitor duty was as dull tonight as it was last night. All was working as it should, and if he'd brought anything to read during his shift he was probably done with it by now. Fassbinder's empty box was no longer so, as a woman -- early 50s, 5'5", and somewhat heavyset (but with a presence that more than made up for any lack of height), with short, dark brown hair going gray in front and blue eyes with a hint of steel in them, in a conservative dress, wedding ring, and locket -- entered from the hallway behind it. "Ah, hello! Enjoying the show?"

"Bigger? Well..." He grabbed his head and removed it, holding it as high as he could, then brought it down to chest-level. [bg=#000000]"How's this?"[/bg] Gina's psionic sensors detected the same faint traces of telepathic and telekinetic energy, still at levels far too low to manipulate an object of mass equal to that of Dead Head's head. [bg=#000000]"Gettin' anythin' good?"[/bg] he asked, smiling. And now another sensor detected something: transdimensional activity, centered on the head, specifically the throat area. The signal pulsed in rhythm to Dead Head's speech, but that was all she was able to get with her basic dimensional scanner.

And thus the Angel of Death and his Zombie Herald went forth through the park, and- Wait, no. Dead Head raced on, pointing before turning or leaping over another fence. Most of his warnings came too late for Gabriel to do any good, though. Moments later, they were in one of the nicer parts of Southside, across the street from a small day spa, behind which the white van Dead Head had been chasing has just parked. Dead Head turned back to Gabriel, "looks like this is one'a their safe-houses, or where they funnel the stolen organs. I was just gonna barge in an' rough 'em up, but... " The zombie cocked its head slightly, "I got a feelin' ya'd wanna do things more subtly."

After one minute, the first save (with a +1 bonus) improves her to Shaken. She's no longer under the sure belief that Blake's in horrible danger, but she is, well, shaken by it all. The shaken condition fades... one hour 25 minutes later.

24 hits! Toughness save, DC 24 (1d20=7) He explodes! Yeah, he's a glass cannon, but he already fired his shot Rav, KD, give me Will saves to see how long your conditions last. DC's still 21, you get a cumulative +1 bonus with each one; roll until you meet or beat 21, then tell me how many rolls it took (preferably with links to all rolls).

"Ha-" the Horned One began to laugh, but then Dragonfly's shockwave hit it head-on -- and blew its head clear off! The clawed hands reached out to grasp at Cobalt Templar, but the body was already melting into a foul-smelling goo that quickly evaporated into a greenish mist, which blew away to nothing. A trick? Or was it just that fears tended to go away when faced boldly? Corbin and Jessica both still felt fear in their hearts, and Push and Dead Head both felt that tingle still with them. Speaking of Jessica, the RA she was roughing up fearfully told her that Blake was probably off in the library studying for some exams.

I'm not seeing anything on your char sheet or descriptors allowing you True Sight. True Hearing is slightly more plausible, but I'm fiating and saying you sense nothing. Have an HP. And with my next post, things will happen! Horrible things!

The first two spots the team hit went a lot smoother. At the first, another run-down apartment, they found a handful of gangbangers trying to clear out the drugs, cash, guns, and other loot from the not-so-safe safehouse. At the second, a pizza delivery hut that doubled as a drug distributor, the crooks were just leaving with the last of their assorted ill-gotten gains when the MAVERIC rolled up. This left three more spots -- all labs, two for Diablos Rojos and one for Diavoli Neri -- but they were all cleared out by the time the team got to them. Well, mostly cleared; there was enough trace evidence to confirm that there had been major drug operations here, both the routine kind (i.e., making known drugs) and more experimental work. Disturbingly, the basements of all three labs had the heavy smell of rot and decay, and dried blood and other biological stains. Zombies -- lots of zombies -- had been holed up there, but now were all gone. Both gangs were still out there, though both had taken heavy hits. And a mad vigilante with a "burn first, ask questions never" policy had been brought down, so that was another definite plus. Over the next several months, the team would fight more drug- and gang-related crimes, all with an undercurrent of the undead; they would learn both gangs had powerful necromancers in their organizations. But they would fight, and fight, and fight, never wavering in their stand against the forces, both mundane and supernatural, behind this tide of darkness and corruption.

I do believe it's your turn to post IC.

I believe so, but I'm still not seeing it (excuse the pun). Even if he's moving fast while shooting, it's not a super-speed thing; he's not running so fast the eye can't track him, he's just doing a death-blossom... and is still mostly in the same 5-foot square.

"You should probably watch what you say around her," Archeville said, opening his arms to the Grim!Manikin as an uncle would to his niece. "We do not know how impressionable i- she is. Come here, little one, let me get a good look at you!" "It is probably best if -- to be on the cautious side -- we treat this little wunder as you would your own child." Archeville grinned, "speaking of, how are things with you and Bill? Not planning to move out of the Brownstone and into your own place anytime soon, are you?"

"Hold him down!," Archeville barked. Three assistants leaped into action, one at either arm and the third at the young man's shins. The Doktor moved like a well-trained bartender, mixing medications and compounds. "If we cannot administer intravenously, we will do so nasally, since the lungs are the best way to get things into the blood, and his need to breathe implies some continued exchange of gases. I am combining the anti-tumor medication and human rabies immunoglobulin with dimethyl sulfoxide, which will open certain cellular channels and permit a more rapid absorption of the medications." Moments later, Archeville approached the patient with a syringe (lacking a needle) in the other. "Sir, I am going to spray this up your nose; you need to inhale it." He looked to the three men, "hold hm steady, please." Without waiting for answer, he stuck the nasal syringe up Powerhouse's nose, and sprayed the medicated mist.

"Shhhh!" the two lovers heard again from behind them. But, looking back, they saw no one in the seats immediately behind them. ACT II Wotan is standing on a rocky mountainside with Brünnhilde, his Valkyrie daughter. He instructs Brünnhilde to protect Siegmund in his coming fight with Hunding. Fricka, Wotan's wife and the guardian of wedlock, arrives demanding the punishment of Siegmund and Sieglinde, who have committed adultery and incest. She knows that Wotan, disguised as the mortal man Wälse, had fathered Siegmund and Sieglinde, and that he, as the Wanderer/Old Man, left the sword in the trunk of the ash tree for Siegmund to find. Wotan protests that he requires a free hero -- that is, one that is not ruled by him -- to aid his plans, but Fricka retorts that Siegmund is not a free hero, but an unwitting pawn of Wotan. Backed into a corner, Wotan promises Fricka that Siegmund is to die. Fricka leaves, leaving Brünnhilde with a despairing Wotan. Wotan explains his problems: troubled by the warning delivered by Erda (at the end of Das Rheingold), he had seduced the earth-goddess to learn more of the prophesied doom; Brünnhilde was born to him by Erda. He had raised Brünnhilde and eight other daughters as the Valkyries, warrior maidens who gather the souls of fallen heroes to form an army against Alberich. Valhalla's army will fail if Alberich should ever wield the Ring, which is in Fafner's possession. Using the Tarnhelm the giant has transformed himself into a dragon, lurking in a forest with the Nibelung treasure. Wotan cannot wrest the Ring from Fafner, who is bound to him by contract; he needs a free hero to defeat Fafner in his stead. However, as Fricka pointed out, he can only create thralls (servants) to himself. Bitterly, Wotan orders Brünnhilde to obey Fricka and ensure the death of his beloved child Siegmund. Having fled from Hunding's hall Siegmund and Sieglinde enter the mountain pass, where Sieglinde faints in guilt and exhaustion. Brünnhilde approaches Siegmund, telling him of his impending death. Siegmund refuses to follow Brünnhilde to Valhalla when he finds out that Sieglinde cannot accompany him there. Impressed by his courage, Brünnhilde relents and agrees to protect Siegmund instead. Hunding arrives and attacks Siegmund. Blessed by Brünnhilde, Siegmund begins to overpower Hunding, but Wotan appears and shatters Notung (Siegmund's sword) with his spear. Disarmed, Siegmund is slain by Hunding. Brünnhilde seizes Sieglinde and the shards of Notung, and flees on horseback. Wotan looks down on Siegmund's body, grieving. He strikes Hunding dead with a contemptuous gesture, and angrily sets out in pursuit of his lawless daughter.

"You really should reign that in," Archeville offered as he made adjustments to his Electromagnetic Screwdriver. "You do not want to get on her bad side... well, any further on her bad side, believe you me." "I do recognize that non-stop verbal quips can be a psychological defense mechanism," he continued, riding from his crouched position and looking about the room, "but if someone asks you to to stop making lewd comments of a sexual nature -- especially when that person is tying to help you -- it is typically polite and proper to respect their request and either change the subject, or sit there quietly." "So, where are you from, and how did you come to have these abilities? I can usually pick up from a person's accent where they grew up, but the neuradio communicator does not carry those inflections very well. Were you born with your abilities, or did they manifest later, after some traumatic encounter?"

Made a slight edit to the IC post to include what Blozan got off Dead Head with his Detect Fears power. And once Rav posts IC for Ironclad, it'll be Dragonfly's turn.

"Almost human. Mit... just a bit... of a headache" Viktor did not refuse Mona's aid, but he only sat up, he did not rise from the couch. "You... haff questions, I am sure. I will... try to answer dem as best I can." When he looked up at her, it was a face she'd never seen before. He was vulnerable, completely open to her... or, at least, as open as he'd ever allowed himself to be. "I..." he turned away slightly, "I cannot imagine vhat you must be dinking of me... but..." He turned back to her, "but please know, Mona, that I love you, and I would never, ever want to -- want my Other Self to -- to hurt you. You are one of the few people who knows about my... condition, and the only one whom I have actually volunteered that secret to. I will tell you whatever you wish to know, whatever I can... while I am still of a mind to do so."

Archeville nodded, and manipulated more controls. The tank began to drain, and the cool air made Vivian wish she'd stayed in the warmed fluid. As soon as he head was clear, she reflexively began coughing up the fluid; she might later liken the experience to "like puking up after a long, hard night of drinking, but much, much worse." By the time she was done, the tank was drained, and all that remained was the harness. Archeville input a few more commands, and the restraints loosened, then he stepped in and undid the final fasteners. "Now, take it easy, you may not be able to stand steadily yet," the Doktor advised, "they did quite a number on your... well, on everything, really."

He is. He really, really is.

... "they can't see me" is what Concealment is for, not Obscure. And not Obscure that you don't have Personal Immunity to (i.e., as-written, Colt can't see out of it, and is blind when using it).

Vivian realized something else: she wasn't breathing! Or, rather, she was 'breathing' the warm fluid that surrounded her! "What? That should not be-" Archeville's voice trailed off as he turned and saw that she was indeed active. He walked over and began adjusting controls on it, "Well! Either she is hardier than I thought, or my latest upgrades to the Healing Tank are working better than anticipated!" Vivian heard the Doktor's calm, even voice from an intercom. "Ms. Kriger, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You have been through a lot, but I have worked on most of the trauma. This is a healing tank you are floating in, and the restraints are a part of the healing process; they are keeping your body still so your bones heal correctly. The liquid you are breathing is also part of it; you are not going to drown in it, you are as safe as a fetus in the womb, but you will be unable to speak until it is flushed out. Normally I would advocate staying in there longer, but since you have already regained consciousness, it is evident your recovery is going well ahead of a standard schedule. If you wish, I can drain the tank, so you can talk and see John, but when I do so you will need to cough up all the liquid in your lungs, and that will be an... unpleasant experience. Do you wish to be released now?"

... so you're paying points to blind yourself?

As I have zero interest in running two conflicts at once, and since Ironclad is recognizable as a heroine, easy enough to say the Claremonter's realize who it is, don't open fire on her, and she gets to Blake's dorm with no problem. And she finds the dorm room's empty.