Dr Archeville

Archived due to inactivity.

Archived due to inactivity.

Archived due to inactivity.

Archived due to inactivity.

Archived due to inactivity

Thanks and congratulations to everyone who participated in the April 2010 Vignette! Avenger: Daybreak Breakdown: April Frags! (joint w/ Geckoman) Dark Star: Dark Star's Vignette Dead Head: Mournin' Mess Doctor Archeville: Destructive Testing Dynamo: Morning Jog Fleur: Fleur's Vignette Geckoman: April Frags! (joint w/ Breakdown) Gossamer: Bang Your Head Grimalkin: Trading Faces Hellion: Hellion's Vignette Jack of All Blades: Jack's Vignette Midnight II: Midnight II's Vignette Phalanx: Palanx's WC Woes Physicus: Physicus' Vignette Wander: Wander's Vignette

Time: March 31st, 1999. Late evening. Place: Hanover Institute of Technology, Freedom City, USA "Red team, how’s it going, over," the walkie-talkie crackled. "Three down, von to go," Viktor Archeville replied as his two cohorts stood by. Rose and Jenet were both very nervous, and very excited, not only at what they were about to do but with whom they were doing it. "Everyding is set dere, over?" "Yeah, landing pad is clear," Steve replied, "and the dampers are in place." He looked to Veronica and Ted, and both nodded back. “Blue Team out.†The "landing pad" the Blue Team referred to was the roof of the five-story Panettiere Memorial Library, an area not meant to receive airborne vehicles. But it was not an aircraft that was expected to arrive: it was Provost Michael Moses’ car. To that end, kinetic dampers had been set up over the entire roof. At Provost Moses’ car in the Administrative Building’s parking lot, the Read Team worked to make that happen, by setting up wormhole generators around the car. If their calculations were correct, the four beacons set on the pavement would open a portal under the car, large enough for it to fall through, appearing in the air a few inches above the roof of the building and landing there. The kinetic dampers would deflect much of the force of the impact, preventing the car from crashing through the roof. The prank had been the idea of Steve Nighton, a financial whiz, but he wanted to do so in a way that showcased the advanced science of HIT’s students, which he himself lacked. He had covertly asked others for assistance, and got the aid of Jenet Kyln (a cybernetics expert from San Francisco, who was as fiery as her red hair), Veronica Hawkes (another businesswoman with a stunning knack for PR and spin), and Ted Lineman (a lighthearted scientific omnidisciplinarian). Steve was shocked with Viktor approached him about the project; Steve had wanted to ask the odd German student, but never knew quite how to do so. Viktor had learned of it by overhearing some snippets from Ted, and was interested; he brought along his girlfriend of the past two weeks, Rose Morganite (a Chicago native studying manufacturing efficiency). Viktor had come up with the wormhole idea, but Ted pointed out the need for the kinetic dampers. Their team names were taken from redshift and blue shift, the phenomenon which caused a source of light to appear redder when it moves away from an observer, or bluer when it moves towards an observer. "You sure this is gonna work, Vic?," Rose asked. She knew Viktor would have already made up his mind by know on whether or not to go ahead, but she also knew he often needed an outside voice to make him slow down and see things. "If he drove a respectable car, like an Audi, or even a Bimmer, I vould take a bit more care," Archeville replied. He looked up from the toaster-sized generator he was adjusting, to the Provost's car, to Jenet who was monitoring the other three generators, then to Rose, and smirked. "But since our esteemed Provost drives a Renault Clio, I am less inclined to care if it gets roughed up in transit." Archeville set the last generator in place, and it and the other three began to a cycle of blinking. "Blue Team, come in, ve are ready for transport. Over." "Blue Team here, we are ready to receive," the walkie-talkie crackled, "Over." "Den stand back!," he shouted; the force of his words alone made Jenet jump back. Archeville pressed a button on one of the generators, then leaped back to be well clear of the vehicle. The cycling lights of the four generators spun faster and faster, and a bubble of light blue energy grew out of them to engulf the car. Sparks and then bolts of blue lightning leaped off the bubble, scorching but not severely damaging nearby vehicles and structures. The bubble then appeared to abruptly collapse in on itself, vanishing with a loud POP! Viktor, Rose and Jenet all cheered and jumped for joy, and Rose gave Viktor a quick kiss. Before he got too into it, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Red Leader! Red Leader, this is Blue Team! You almost took Ted's head off, and we've got a part of the parking lot's asphalt here... but we did it, the car is here! And in one piece!"

Date: April 4th, 2008 (Friday). Afternoon. Place: Alexandria, Virginia Rain fell softly at Mt. Comfort Cemetery, as it often did during funerals. The funeral itself had ended an hour ago, and the body of Joanna Lee was well interred. Three friends, all high school seniors, gathered around, their extreme grief serving as a good mask for their gnawing guilt. "We… we didn’t know… couldn’t have known," Chris, a doughy redheaded boy sobbed, "how could we have known?!" "Pull it together, man," Ben, a less doughy boy with obvious Manahoac Indian heritage, snapped. "It’s not our fault she didn’t tell us! But if you keep talking like that, someone’ll suspect we did!" "But why didn’t she?," Kelly, the lone living girl around, sobbed out. She was half the size of either Chris or Ben, but she as more the ‘leader’ of their little group than any other. "Why would she hide that from me- from us? And what else was she hiding?" "She weren’t hidin’ anythin’," a tall, lean figure said; all three turned to look. It approached from the south, hands in the pockets of its long duster, face obscured by the shadows of a wide-brimmed hat, though the three could make out an eerie green glow from under it. "An’ she didn’t tell y’all because she didn’t wanna ruin th’ moment." "Shove off, man, this is a private affair," Ben snapped while taking a step forward. The figure stopped, "Don’t mean no disrespect, Benji. I’m jes passin’ through, an’ passin’ on a message." "... what’d you call me?," Ben said, guarded. Chris and Kelly took a step up, so they presented a unified front. "’Benji’," the figure repeated, “that’s what she said to call ya. She said you other two, Chris an’ Kelly, don’t have no nicknames, but-“ “’She’? She who?,” Kelly demanded. “Yer friend Joanna, of course,” the figure replied in an exasperated “you should know this already” tone. "An’ she wanted t’pass on word that she don’t blame you three for her death. Yeah, th’ trick y’all pulled with th’ bungee cord, makin’ her think it weren’t attached when she pushed off, gave her a fatal heart attack, but the chemo therapy she’d been on for her renal cancer – which she hadn’t told anyone about, not even her closest friends – was what made her heart so weak in th’ first place." “That’s not true!,” Chris spat. He was almost shaking with rage at the stranger’s word, “she never would’ve kept something like that from us! We’ve all been friends since elementary school! Who the hell do you think you are telling us this?” "She didn’t tell y’all because she didn’t want to worry y’all. She knows yer her friends, an’ would want t’be there for her, but she also knows y’all just started college, an’ didn’t wanna distract y’all from yer studies with news of her illness. She’d hoped the chemo would take care of it, but... well, at her last visit the docs said the chemo wasn’t helping an’ she had less than a few months, an’ that’s why she’d been pushin’ yall so much to do all those activities, the raftin’ and the mountain climbin’, and the bungee jumpin’. But she had no idea about that stunt y’all were gonna pull. I’m sorry y’all won’t be able to see her anymore, fer now, at least, but take comfort in knowin’ she don’t blame y’all, an’ she wants y’all to continue on with yer lives, yer dreams.” While the stranger had been speaking, the light rain stopped and the clouds began to part, allowing the sun to shine through. Chris had fallen to his knees, sobbing. Ben continued to glare at the stranger, and now he was shaking with rage. Kelly glared, too, but her demeanor was all ice. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded. The stranger was said nothing, but started walking again, north. "She asked you a question, you f-" Ben exclaimed as he moved to block the stranger, then pushed him back. The jolt knocked the figure’s hat off, revealing a hideously cadaverous face frozen in a rictus grin. Its eyes burned with emerald flame, and its long white hair flowed like the ephemeral tail of a ghost. "I’m someone who’ll speak for the dead," it said, picking its hat up off the ground. It put it back on, then continued to head north, leaving three very scared and confused teens at the grave of their friend. [ Inspired in part by this video ]

3 or 4 years ago, April Fool’s Day; early morning at the Prophet Mansion: James slowly and gently closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief. He looked around the door carefully, making sure that no sign of his little ‘trick’ could be seen. Satisfied, he slumped his shoulders in exhaustion as he quickly walked down the corridor. Sure, didn’t seem to need much sleep anymore but that was relatively new. And he’d been up all night arranging this little practical joke. He finally got his room, the smallest and most removed room in the entire place. It was in the basement unsurprisingly. Getting there, he flopped down onto his bed, reviewing the plan in his head one last time. It had taken him weeks and weeks to quietly collect whipped cream and keep it hidden, not mention relatively fresh. Then, filling hundreds and hundred of balloons with it and leaving them out long enough for the cream to go bad had been a real trick. It wasn’t like they left him unattended for long. Or that they didn’t search his room regularly. Well, he couldn’t prove the last one, but he suspected it. The actual placing all of them outside the various doors was easy by comparison as was rigging them to pop/explode when the door was opened. Now, hopefully when his ‘loving family’ **scoff scoff** opened their doors in the morning, they’d be treating with one heck of a stinky bath. He just had to make sure he was somewhere far from there when it happened. Which brought him to his second plan. He reached over and picked up a set of shiny keys off the dresser and smiled. He thought his Uncle’s car was pretty cool but had never been allowed near the thing shockingly enough. But now…now was the time for a test spin. After another moment, he got up and stretched. He’d never get out of the house without being noticed. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t been noticed setting up his little ‘prank’. But as he’d recently discovered, he had new abilities to help. He concentrated and a moment later he appeared in the large garage, staggering a little. He was still getting used to that. He moved over to his Uncle’s prized car. A beautifully restored red and white muscle car. A Chevelle. Very nice. He twirled the keys in his hand as he approached the car, grinning. He crouched down and placed a little something under the car before getting in the driver’s seat. Starting the car up, he slowly backed out. Where the car had been was now empty, save a tiny matchbox replica that is. He was just gonna drive it around a little, and then park it somewhere else. It’d drive his Uncle nuts to see just the little toy car and go looking. And what could go wrong with James just driving it around a little?

It was a beautiful day outside, much too nice a day to be so ridiculously busy. But April weddings brought April flowers, and April flowers were Stesha's stock-in-trade at the moment. The bride in this case had way more money than sense, wanting to give flowers to every female guest at her huge wedding, but they aimed to please at Flowers by Design. Making up five dozen tussy-mussies wasn't exactly Stesha's idea of a great artistic or creative endeavor, but it had to be done, and quickly. She looked up at the clock. Nine A.M. She'd be done by three, probably, hopefully. Time seemed to be speeding by as she worked. Maybe she was losing her touch, she thought worriedly. She'd never meant to let the hero work be more than a sideline, something to do because it was fun and interesting. Now not only was it far more dangerous than she'd ever thought, but it was eating up tons of time as well. As it turned out, danger didn't always happen at night or on holidays, and it really, really liked to show up right when she was prepping for weddings. Her boss wasn't happy with her, but Stesha's undeniable talent for turning out amazing flowers had kept her job safe so far. But was the hero work eroding her skills, too? Maybe she wasn't as good a florist, now that she was spending so much time making plants attack things instead of making them beautiful... She tied another three tussy-mussies, looked at the clock again. Nine forty-five? Her jaw dropped. How could time be getting away from her like this? She wasn't anywhere near on the schedule she should be on, and damned if she was going to beg for help. Almost as if summoned, her coworker Amy stuck her head in the door. "Hey Stesha, how's the bouquet-a-thon coming? Haven't been hearing much progress from in here," she said cheerfully. "You're not falling behind, are you?" A frown creased Stesha's usually pleasant face. "I'm just fine," she promised, "there's just a lot of work to do. How much noise do you expect, anyway?" Amy laughed. "All right, just checking. Call if you need some help!" A little desperate now, Stesha looked around at the seemingly acres of pink and white roses left to be prepared and tied. Closing her eyes, she unleashed concentrated desperation into the plants, which cooperated by helpfully dropping all their thorns. There, that should help. Relieved, Stesha went back to work, tying as fast as she possibly could, even as thoughts kept crowding her head. Maybe she would end up having to give up one or the other of her vocations, but how could she choose now? Not only did she love being a florist, but it was what paid her bills, not to mention what she put on her tax forms. She loved helping people, and being with her friends, and making a difference, but she knew she couldn't only do hero work, she'd be homeless within months. With another five extremely rapid bouquets done, she made the mistake of looking at the clock again, and nearly fainted. "Eleven o'clock?" she croaked. "No way! No way!" She still had four dozen left to do! Stesha went to work with feverish intensity, pushing all other thoughts from her mind. Amy stuck her head back in the door and watched her silently for a moment, grinning. "You look busy," she commented laconically. Stesha responded with an uncharacteristically rude comment, making Amy laugh. "Guess time flies when you're having fun." "Since when are we having fun?" Stesha muttered, sweat beading on her brow. She was never going to get these done, and that would be the end of her job, and where would she be then? "Oh, I dunno, sometime," Amy drawled. "Speaking of time, if you've got your phone handy, you should check the time. And the date." She sauntered out, laughing, even as Stesha dove in her pocket for her cell phone and flipped it open. _Eight_ forty-five am... on April 1. Her gaze flew up to the clock, which had advanced another ten minutes in the few moments she'd been talking to Amy. "AMY!" she yelled, standing up from her stool. "April fooooooools..." Amy caroled back from the other prep room, still laughing. With a growl, Stesha sat down and began tying tussy-mussies again. She still had to get the damn things finished, but oh, there would be a reckoning. Stesha concentrated on that idea for the three hours it took her to finish the rest of the mini-bouquets, and finally had her answer. Revenge was sweet indeed when she heard Amy shriek from the other room and saw her come racing in. "Green!" Amy shouted. "All my roses are bright green! It looks like a Saint Patrick's Day parade in there, and I've got a baby shower first thing in the morning! You did this, didn't you?" "Me?" Stesha asked, all wide eyed innocence. "I've been in here the whole _time,_ remember?" Grinning, she went back to her work with a happy heart.

Those books. Those movies. You've all read about them, you've all seen previews for them, even if you think the writer is an incompetent hack. Horror fans all over the world have condemned Her writing as just petty, stupid teenage romance that takes the terror out of some of the legendary monsters of worldwide folklore. But you've never really stopped to think about them, have you? Who'd have an interest in promoting a series of books that depict murderous, blood-soaked monsters as perfect lovers and the ideal soulmates for weepy teenage girls? That's right Us. I used to hate that writer too, and how embarrassingly cliched and pathetic she made us look. Until I started talking to people; especially until I started talking to superheroes. Jokes about glitter and Edward used to annoy me, you know? They really did. Until I started thinking about what it really meant. Let me start by saying a few words about what I am. I am the damned undead; a soul rejected by God that walks the Earth by night to feast on the blood of the living. I am a juggernaut of my kind, barely affected by the worst of our weaknesses, with only the power of faith to repel me and the Sun, that damnable sun overhead weakening a few of my abilities. There are no doors that can stand against me, no eyes that can see me, even of people with superpowers and super-science. And I should know, I've tested them all. I think about killing people not because I hate them, not because I fear them, but because when my mind wanders I think they might taste really good. Make no mistake. I've made a choice, an ethical decision, to put aside what I am to build a better world for my people and my city. Through great good luck and what I hope is good example, I've persuaded a dozen of my kind in this town to put aside what they are so they can keep what humanity they have. But I have no illusions about what I'm clinging to here, and no illusions about the thing I am at the core of my being. I'm a husband, a father, a superhero, and I am not a man. I am a thing that hunts and feeds on men. I've done it. And though I regret the killing now, there were times when I enjoyed it very much. But no one really cares. I mean sure, Stesha despises me for what I did to her before my control was better, and Taylor's not happy about the times I fed on her, and Ace is certainly keeping a watchful eye on me. Dark Star's kind of pissed too,. But everyone else? It's all jokes about those books and that hero, about glitter and sparkling. And I go on being what I am, doing what I do, and no one really seems to give a damn. All because somebody, somewhere, had the best idea in the history of anything. How do you make people let vampires into their lives, their home, their world? Get the humans to laugh at us first. April Fool's.

Erin woke that morning to the sight of the sticky note she'd pasted to the bottom of Alex's bunk the night before. April 1. That was good to keep in mind. Back in the old days, her family had liked to try and get her before she was really awake, when her brain was fuzzy and she was vulnerable. She remembered the year her dad had woken her up, telling her she had ten minutes before it was time to leave for school, and had her racing around the house like a madwoman before she realized that not only was it six in the morning, it was also Saturday. Dad had laughed so hard, but she'd gotten him back later when she'd filled the sugar bowl with salt before his after-dinner coffee. But that was a long time ago. Today she mostly wanted to be cognizant of the fact that weird things might be happening, so she didn't freak out and do something stupid over nothing. With a sigh, she rose from her bed and stretched, rolling her shoulders as she grabbed her bath caddy and headed for the shower. She restrung the shower curtain that had been rigged to fall, then took a quick shower and dressed, screwing the aerator back onto the sink faucet before she left. Somebody had had a busy morning already. On her way down to breakfast, she disarmed a bucket of foam peanuts left on top of a door, and cocked her head to listen to a muffled explosion that didn't seem to be too close. Odd. She carefully checked her food in the cafeteria, but it was unadulterated, if a little boring. Not that she wasn't grateful to have the food, but maybe she needed to branch out a little. She was shelling out a lot of money for Oliver's food, but she probably had room in the budget for something for herself as well. Several students said hi to her in the cafeteria, and Erin had gotten used to that by now. Lots of people were friendly here, and she did her best to be friendly back, even if it was sometimes a little awkward or stilted. She'd never get better if she didn't practice. She saw several pranks playing out, but no one seemed to be trying anything on her. She wondered if it was because somebody had something bigger planned, or if no one had decided to try and prank her today. That was fair enough, she guessed. She hadn't been able to think of anything good to do herself. April Fool's Day just wasn't as fun as it used to be before she got her powers, or before everything really. Most things didn't surprise her anymore. Chemistry was her first class of the day, and today was a lab. She suspected any fooling around would be frowned on there. This teacher hadn't been there long, since the one with all the hair left, but he ran a tight ship. She tossed her backpack against the wall with everyone else's and got to work trying to turn some clear stuff pink for the good of science. Erin was not really that good at science, but with a few whispered hints from her lab partner, eventually the liquid in her beaker turned pink and she would have something to write about in her report. She closed her notebook as class ended and headed back to get her backpack and stow her things. She'd have to get moving if she didn't want to be late for her training session, since she'd have to change-- Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as something sprang out of her backpack, directly towards her face! Erin leapt backwards and bumped into a lab table, tensing automatically as she wrapped her hands around the thing that had sprung at her. It was soft, she noticed, and... crinkly? Studying it, she realized it was a fabric snake, the kind that usually popped out of cans of peanut brittle. Looked liked she'd been pranked after all. She started to smile at the silliness of it, when she realized the whole room had gone silent. Looking around, she noticed that everyone was staring at her, and holding quite still. Kevin, one of the sophomores in the class, had gone bone-white. “Um, sorry Erin, really sorry,” he stammered. “I got the wrong backpack. It was just an accident!” He looked like he thought she was about to snap and jump on him. He did think that, she realized, and so did everyone else. “No problem,” she muttered, putting the fake snake down on the lab table. Grabbing her backpack, she headed for the door. “April fools.”

Lots of folks have finals around now, some slowing is to be expected. ;)

This year, floating about the Earth Derrick floated above the Earth, watching it slowly rotate beneath him as he remember days gone by. April Fools Day. Not something he was particularly good at. He never had been good at pulling jokes and pranks upon others. He either just couldn’t do it or simply couldn’t keep a straight face long enough for the joke to work. But he always seemed to be the recipient of the jokes on these days. To his credit, he took it all rather well. Some might have been rather annoying, but it was all in good fun. Frustrating fun though it seemed. He remembered one particular day, before he ever became Dark Star. He’d just been a regular guy back then. A hard working, and rather straight laced, scientist. One among many. But the jokes those fellows pulled. He smiled in remembrance. Those were the days. There was this one time Derrick had been running an experiment. He had come in a little early, to get an early start. But his coworkers had preempted him. He had gone to the supply cabinet to get the XT3-45J with Ionizer but his fellow employees had played a joke on him. His coworkers had switched out the plugs with the XT3-45Z. It had been quite difficult to plug that in! And then when they had mixed up the chemical solutions! Switching out saline solution for a heavy water mixture. Oh those wacky scientists! It wasn’t really normal humor jokes but then Derrick had been something of a science nerd/geek. I still am I suppose, he mused to himself with a smile. He looked down at the item he was ‘carrying’ in his telekinetic fist. He had been quite content being Dark Star. He had some responsibilities but not much beyond his personal beliefs and code of honor. He would have stayed around for a few year, 10 or 20 maybe, before moving on. He hadn’t really been connected with people anymore. But that was alright. He was still there to help. He was just helping on a grander scale and little things like friendship and family were minor losses in comparison; worth it in his opinion. He had been all set to accept that Derrick was gone and only Dark Star remained. But the universe had played a little joke on him it seemed. Against the odds, a surprising twist of fate from the universe, he had found someone very special. Dark Star had been the butt of joke by the universe, making him secondary and reviving Derrick from the metaphorical dead. Of course, this joke he was happy with. More than happy really. He couldn’t imagine life without her anymore. So strange considering only a few months ago he was closed off and separate from the world. He looked down at the ring floating before him. This was one surprise he was going to keep forever. As soon as the moment was right, he was going to keep this one forever.

Trading Faces April 1st, 2010 6:55 am The Interceptors' Brownstone Vince came down for breakfast in a navy blue blazer, still toweling off his impressive coiffure from the shower as he flashed Colt an incandescent grin. "Hey there buddy, good morning!" He grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and poured himself a cup of joe, which he took black with two sugars. After his first sip, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and sighed with deep satisfaction. "Mmm, that is just as tasty as it looks! I've always wanted to try coffee! Hey, do we still have any of those Eggo waffles? Those just look so darn good. Did the paper come yet?" Slurping his java loudly, the formerly noncorporeal AI sauntered into the hall, whistling a jaunty tune. Yep, it was going to be one of those days... :roll: At that very instant, GRIM appeared on all the monitors in the Brownstone as well as underground, a maniacal grin on her pretty little face. "There is nothing wrong with your television set! Do not attempt to adjust the picture! I am controlling transmission. If I wish to make it louder, I will blast your freakin' eardrums! If I wish to make it softer, I will turn it so low...well, if I already made you deaf, I guess it doesn't really matter, but you get the general idea. And if I want to give little kids seizures, I will do so! Mwah-ha-ha-ha!" Okay, this was getting even weirder... :? From 7am until a little after ten, it appeared that somehow, impossibly, the AI and the shapeshifter had swapped places; when asked how this was possible, the now digital GRIM merely shrugged as she peered around inside the flatscreen. "I dunno, it's some new thing that Doc's been working on, I guess; me and Vince thought it would be fun to try it out." Then the Jersey girl leaned closer to the glass to whisper out the corner of her mouth. "Plus the guy was going on and on about all the food he was gonna eat, maybe take in a show..." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Computers; what are gonna do? Hey, do you want me to do the weather report?" She spun around and was suddenly wearing some fancy boating clothes, with a windbreaker carelessly tossed over one shoulder, sunglasses perched on her head and an over-the-top smile plastered on her face. "Today is going to be sunny and warmer, with a high in the low 70s..." For his part, Vince seemed content to loaf around the house, slurping his coffee and gobbling down toaster waffles as he read the sports page. "I can't believe they're trading Thompson; he's the whole darn team! Mmm-mmm I love you, Mrs. Butterworth! And this OJ is darn tasty, too!" Thankfully, reality returned in a few short hours, with Grim wandering into the kitchen to make herself a sickly sweet cup of coffee and hopping up onto a stool with a sigh. "Well that was weird; never again, though!" VINCE popped up on a nearby monitor, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "I'd have to agree with you there, Grim, but hey, those waffles were worth it!" Neither shapeshifter nor AI ever copped to the prank, and swore up and down it really happened. Spooky… :shock:

“Ah Dude! What the hell!? Eli was convinced there were no sweeter words in the English language. He was never really much of a prankster, but this year, he had all the time in the world for set up; some might even say it was his duty to play as many pranks as he could, it was his calling. And Eli was more than happy to milk it for all it was worth. He knew full well that he was going to regret this course of action when the next April Fool’s rolled around and every last one of his friends ganged up on him for revenge. But that would have to wait, right now he had a much more important mission to attend to: holding his sides together and trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. Eli had planned it all out so that, roughly speaking, one of his roommates would be pranked more or less every half hour. Eli’s personal favorite of the day was actually the very first one of the day. His actual roommate, as opposed to housemate, Derrick was one of those giant football players that was about as sharp as a bag of wet mice, and always went on about how macho he was. This meant of course that Derrick was prime pickin’s for prankin’s. During the night, being the great friend that he was, Eli did laundry for poor Derrick here. However, fate interviened and Derrick’s underwear got mixed up with ladies underwear. Not the good kind neither, grannie panties. Now, while the idea of this little gem was pretty darn satisfying, in application it actually went a lot further than Eli even dared dream it would. See, this all happened because Derrick always had to get up bright and early for practice, right? FYI, I’m told all of this later on in the day, didn’t sees any of this all first hand like. So anyways, Derrick here ain’t exactly running at full steam first thing in the morning right? So ya see, Derrick gets up way too early in the morning, goes and takes his morning shower right. He comes back in, still not banging on all cylinders apparently and he actually throws on a pair of these grannie panties. Now, that mental image alone, while incredibly scarring, is well worth the price of admission. But, the story doesn’t end there, oh no. See after standing there for a minute or two in grannie panties, Derrick finally realizes that something’s a miss. He screams in surprise, and has quite a few profanities to go along with it. He hastily takes off the grannie panties. However, there is just one little problem with that course of action: Derrick’s roommate Paul. So imagine you’re Derrick’s roommate. You’re trying to do your best sleeping through a bull in a china shop mulling around first thing in the morning. You ain’t got class for at least another 4 or 5 hours, so as soon as this yahoo wanders off to practice you can get some serious sleep. And then, for no reason at all, you’re already loud roommate starts screaming at the top of his lungs. So you’ve had enough by this point, you throw on the lights to tell this guy off and then bam; wedding tackle. After a bit more screaming and averted eyes, Paul decides he ain’t gonna be able to get that image out of his head soon enough for him to get any decent sleep, so he throws on his shower shoes, only to find that he just squished some eggs with his feet. It’s about this time that dumb and dumber notice the sign on the door that says “Eil was here” Derrick having apparently missed it in the dark, and Paul not wanting to look around the room. So now Eli was being chased around campus by a tall dorky guy with yolky shower shoes and a jock wearing grannie panties. Eli could outrun either of them without any effort, but staying just a bit out of reach was so much funnier. “Wait till you see what I did to the fridge!” Eli taunts over his shoulder.

Claremont Academy, 1st April 2010. Some point in the morning. Chris awoke with a start and glanced at his clock. 1st April. "Woah!" He leapt over and started shaking his roommate. "Eddie! April Fool's Day! Get up!" "I swear to god, Chris." Eddie groaned, reluctantly pulling the sheets up over his head. "If it's like 4am or something, there are going to be murders." The early mornings were one of the few times when Eddie wasn't incredibly personable. "Nah, only 6am! We need to pull pranks to keep true to April Fool's Day!" pronounced Chris with a happy grin. "C'moooon, we need to irritate Mike!" Eddie peeked out from under the covers to see a ray of sunlight shining in between their shades. "Fiiiiine." Eddie threw the covers off of him and sat up rubbing his eyes. "But if it were for any one else, I totally would have said no." Eddie swung his legs over the side of the bed, and gave Chris a mischievous look. "So... What did you have in mind?" Chris reached down to a yellow utility belt and picked it up. He then pulled a hand grenade from one of the pockets. "We blow up his toilet... while he's on it." "Chris!" Eddie cried out, "Where the hell did you get that hand grenade?!" He quickly shook his head and held up his hand. "Wait...wait...For a second there, I thought I heard you say you were going to blow up Mike's toilet while he was on it." "Let's not focus on the grenade. Let's focus on the blowing up the toilet," said Chris, casually spinning the explosive device by the pin. "It's not like it'll injure him. And Mark won't be in the room at the time." "I love it." Eddie said, grinning broadly. He threw the sheets off of himself and hopped out of bed. "When do we start?" he asked. Eddie grabbed the pair of jeans that was hanging over his desk chair. He pulled them on over the boxers he'd worn to bed last night. "I can shower after we prank him. This needs to happen. Now." He was hopping on one leg as he said this, trying to get his other foot through his pants in a hurry. "You get dressed, I'll fit the motion sensor. Then you 'port us in, I quickly rig it so the first person to sit on it detonates it, then we make our escape!" Chris somehow produced some wires and diodes from his belt, and raising them triumphantly. "That'll work." Eddie said, muffled by the t-shirt he was pulling over his head. He quickly spread some deodorant on, tightened his belt, and found a new shirt. Pulling the green "Dispatch" t-shirt from in between the rungs of his bed, he smelled it, shrugged, and pulled it over his head. After smoothing out the wrinkles, he turned to Chris. "Ready when you are." Chris finished tweaking some wires on the grenade, now encrusted in an assortment of glowy lights and sensors. "Ok, Operation: Exploding Poop is a-go-go. Music Man, get us to the objective!" "Right away, Explosives Man." Eddie quickly scooped an iPod off of his desk. While he was throwing the headphones around his neck, he turned the dial with his other hand. "This should do the trick," He said, selecting the song. "Mike's bathroom, here we come!" He laid a hand on Chris' shoulder and the two teens disappeared from their dorm room. Appearing in Mike and Mark's tiny bathroom, Chris quickly went to work wiring the device up in the toilet bowl, tucked in the pipes so it couldn't be seen from above. "Ok, evacuate. The toilet is now rigged," he whispered. "Awesomesauce." Eddie replied, quietly. He looked over Chris' shoulder and glimpsed his handiwork. "Nice job," He whispered. "Now let's get out of here." He laid his hand on Chris' shoulder again. Vanishing, it was like the two teens were never there. "So..." asked Chris. "How long do we need to wait for him to-" There came a deafening explosion from a few rooms away. "Hells yes!" "Prank successful!" Eddie cheered. With a big smile on his face, he high fived Chris. "Man, what I wouldn't give to have seen the look on his face!" Chris laughed along before realisation slowly dawned and he abruptly stopped. "Mike can see through walls." He burst into a sprint towards the stairs. "Run!" "Crap!" Eddie cried out, "You're right!" Eddie made a dash for the door, as he scrambled, he grabbed Chris and pulled him backwards, trying to get to the door first. "Damn it, Chris! Why do I let you talk me into these things?"

I really don’t get April Fool’s Day, Trevor Hunter sighed inwardly as he bounced the clown’s head off of the convenience store’s cash register. The lanky teen understood the concept, certainly, on a purely intellectual level. In practice, however, he’d never really seen the appeal of pranks. The day had passed largely uncelebrated at the Hunter manor, and his classmates had quickly realised that his relaxed, unexpressive demeanour made him an unsatisfying target. Even so, his grandfather had advised him that there were always those who would seize the slightest excuse to act in what would normally be socially unacceptable behaviour. The quartet of robbers in rubber masks adorned with red noses and neon hair demonstrated that principle rather effectively. Shrouded by the darkness of his midnight mist, the young vigilante easily avoided the comically attired criminals’ blind slashes, well placed blows sending switch blades clattering to the floor. Stepping out of their way, Midnight let the pair crash into each other, then reached out to crack their heads back together as they began to stumble backward. He’d honestly been reluctant to leave his dorm room that morning. His new peers at Claremont had already demonstrated a certain penchant for what could only be described as chaos, not to mention a talent for applying their varied powers in unexpected ways. He’d had a brief but vivid vision of telekinetics hanging buckets of water in the air, super-speedsters tripping on banana peels and shapeshifter running generally amok. Trevor had convinced himself he was simply being paranoid until he heard a muffled explosion coming from another room, at which point he decided that it might be safer to spend some time in the city. Well, safer for me, anyway, he reflected. The last of the would-be hold-up artists wasn’t faring quite so well. The man tossed his clown mask to the floor and began stumbling around in abject terror, crashing into racks of candy bars and magazines in his search for the exit. Silently moving to stand in front of the criminal, Midnight let the impenetrable cloud dissipate just enough that his quarry could see the black gloved fist rocketing at his nose. The shadowy vigilante noted the expression of dawning realisation and horror on his face with some satisfaction as the punch sent him sprawling across the floor to join his similarly dispatched accomplices. "Heh." The filter in his mask made the laugh sound closer to a grunt. Maybe there was something to be said for providing nasty surprises after all.

April 1st, 2006 "Ellie!" Eric Espadas ducked his head into his family’s kitchen, dufflebag in one hand and a long piece of colourful foam in the other. Seated at the table, his younger sister looked up, her expression the picture of innocent inquiry. "I’m late for practice and all of my foils have been replaced with pool noodles," Eric continued through gritted teeth. "You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?" "Couldn’t tell you," Ellie replied lightly, busying herself with her breakfast. Her brother gave her a flat look. "Right. How’s the cereal?" The younger Espadas let her mouthful drop back into the bowl with a grimace. "Switched the salt and sugar? Really?" Eric shrugged. "I’m a traditionalist," he noted through a broad grin. April 1st, 2008 "You threw out all my black nail polish!" Ellie accused as her brother moved about the kitchen. Closing the fridge, Eric quirked an eyebrow. "Pretty sure that was the good taste fairy, hermanita." His sister crossed her arms with a huff. "How’s the cereal?" she asked smugly. "Please, like I didn’t check all the food first." Eric rummaged through the drawer in vain for nearly a full minute before staring at it, nonplussed. "You’ve hidden all of the spoons," he observed flatly. Behind him, Ellie waved her fingers in emphatic jazz hands. "Hidden them in exciting and unexpected places!" she elaborated. "Touché." April 1st, 2010 An irate Eric descended the stairs of the Interceptors’ brownstone apartment building, hair still wet from his shower, to find his sister casually munching on piece of toast on a tall stool. "Pink dye in my shampoo? You don’t even live here!" Ellie snorted. "Oh come on, you know you’d have missed it if I hadn’t done something," she countered. After a brief pause, the corner of the fencer’s mouth turned upward. "Yeah, I guess I would have. I’ll ask Grim if you can borrow a pair of pants from her." His sister gave him a confused look. "Why would I...?" "Because you’re superglued to that stool," Eric answered, snatching the second piece of toast from her plate and sauntering into the common room to turn on the television.

North Bay Yacht Club. April 1st, 2010 7:03 pm Estelle has been attending charity events since she'd been in the womb; family legend stated she once kicked so hard at a fundraising dinner that Warren Buffet dropped his fork. But this was her first time she'd ever hosted the annual Freedom City April Fool's Masque, and she'd seen it as a wonderful opportunity to have a little fun. It was typical for the host or hostess to present a skit, monologue or other entertainment, and the blonde scientist-turned-superheroine had gone all out. She only hoped she'd be asked back. She'd sent her one invitation to Viktor Archeville, but she'd been too busy setting things up to notice if he'd made it; as busy as he was, she knew better than to take it personally if he didn't attend. After the audience had enjoyed a few rounds of drinks and some sinful hors d' oeuvres, Estelle took the stage to enthusiastic applause; she looked very elegant in her powder-blue ball gown and heels, her signature locks coiled into an impressive arrangement on top of her head, with several diamond-encrusted combs on loan from Harry Winston tucked into a number of spots. She wore a black domino mask, which felt rather ironic considering unlike most heroes she normally didn't disguise her identity. "Ladies and gentlemen, madames et monsieurs, if I may have your attention please." She held up a small index card and cleared her throat, as if to make a dramatic recitation. "Would the owner of the 2009 Carver Sojourn please move your vessel? You're blocking the caterer's barge. Thank you." This led to a round of polite chuckles and smattering of applause. She bowed to both sides of the room as she grinned. "And I thank you again. As many of you know, I am Dr. Estelle de Havilland; a Harvard graduate, organic chemist and a fellow at ASTRO Labs. I was also born into money, so to be perfectly honest, I have probably attended more charity events than most people have enjoyed hot meals. I say this not in shame, nor in my defense, but more in the way of a pre-emptive apology." As she continued to speak, her hair began to unwind, revealing a number of odd items hidden within its mass, including a fairly complete makeup bag and a small compact. Estelle continued, seemingly oblivious to the confused murmurs of the crowd. "When I was asked to host the Masque, I was determined that I would bring something fresh to the table, something we haven't seen before. I'm fairly sure I've succeeded, but all of you will be the final judges." As she spoke, several cotton balls held by thin golden strands began to remove her classy make-up, while another set began to apply a wide variety of garish colors, including a bright red slash of rouge on either cheek. Now fairly tarted up, she looked offstage and gave a little nod. "I hope that any offense that our performance yields tonight will not impact your generosity of spirit, or far more importantly, your checkbooks." A well-groomed valet approached from stage left, bearing a cherry red Gibson SG, which the blonde heroine accepted with a smile, and in return, she handed him all her jewelry for safe keeping. At this point the crowd was alternately intrigued, concerned and offended, more or less split along age lines. Just before she put the strap over her shoulder, she used her hair to unzip and step out of her ballgown, revealing her old Knox School uniform underneath which now barely fit her, in the best possible way; this elicited a fairly vocal response from the crowd, mostly positive, thank God. Stelle plugged in, praying that the pre-dinner sound check would be enough; she did a few tentative strums, gave a thumbs up to the sound guy, and then the curtains behind her parted, revealing the other four members of 'Naughti Girlz', the 80s metal cover band Estelle, her sister Sunny and their three best friends founded back in high school. They hadn't played together in over ten years, but Sunny handled all the phone calls and somehow made it happen; she was even able to have an old artist friend put together a large banner with their name in angry silver and black glitter to hang from the rafters. Dr. de Havilland shook her head vigorously, and her hair all at once went all frizzy Dee Snider. Soliel de Havilland-King, mother of two and married to a State Department diplomat assigned to Japan, stepped forward cradling her massive Rickenbacker bass and grinned like an idiot. And Tippy Claremont, a highly-paid corporate tax attorney who owned a five-bedroom house in the Hamptons (since the divorce, anyway), leaped forward to grab the mic. "Are you guys ready to rock?" The crowd (well, most of them) responded enthusiastically. "Then let's hit it!" Stelle ripped into the opening licks of 'Thunderstruck', and they were off; technically AC/DC wasn't part of their normal repertoire, but Estelle had insisted she had to play at least a little Angus for her sake. They kept the set list fairly short, partly because they didn't want to drive out everyone over fifty, but also because they were all a bit older than they used to be, and many of them had kids. And truth to tell, they were never all that great to begin with, but what they lacked in skill they more than made up for in enthusiasm and sassy sex appeal. The players: Theresa 'Tippy' Claremont - lead vocals Yvonne 'Vonny' Brookhurst - guitar, vocals Estelle de Havilland - lead guitar Soliel 'Sunny' de Havilland-King - bass, vocals Carol Ann 'Dizzy' Desmond -drums The set: Thunderstuck We're Not Gonna Take It Panama Cum On Feel The Noize For Estelle, this was heaven; to let go so completely and so publically was not something that came easily to her, but having her big sister there made it all right and so much fun. Standing back to back as they played like rock stars, just like they did in Sunny’s room when their parents stayed out late, she felt like a kid again, and a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying lifted off her shoulders. On her last solo, Stelle spun her head ‘round and ‘round, whipping her magnificent golden hair into a downright dangerous helicopter effect that thrilled the crowd and pretty much terrified her bandmates, though they needn’t have worried; her hair never did anything she didn’t want it to, and it was way too much fun to pass up. By the time they were done, the yacht club ballroom had gone insane; there was dancing, leaping about, a few torn gowns and a lot of alcohol consumed. And Stelle and the girls had helped raise a lot of money for cancer research. And backstage, there were a lot of hugs and Facebook invites. Collapsed in a chair, her mass of hair drenched in sweat for the first time ever, Gossamer could only smile Yep, I love being a superhero.

The long, winding road out to Lonely Point was always quiet, but in the late evening the sounds of the city were entirely washed away by the pounding of the sea. The place was well named, Zakitaj reflected as he trudged along the coast; it was easy to believe, if he shut out thought and memory, that he was the only man in all the world. It was a peaceful feeling, but only for so long. For the most part he enjoyed, even needed company, despite all the stresses it brought. ”In .01 miles, turn right,” the flat voice of his suit reminded him. He sighed; this would all be much easier if he ever took the time to learn to drive, but in one month in Freedom City he’d found plenty of other things to occupy his time. Besides, the support provided by his suit made walking easy, and he knew the back roads well. Lonely Point he hadn’t visited before, but Google Maps was always helpful, and his suit’s calculations filled in the gaps. He was out on that lonely road to a place named lonely for the same reason he went most everywhere: someone had called for help, and he was the kind of person who answered with more than just words, no matter who was asking. It had been a test; Murielle Lefevre, dealer of five thousand dollars worth of Zombie Dust, one of the few that had escaped him and left havoc in her wake, had asked to be saved. He’d gotten the dust back, and that was unacceptable to her employers. But she wasn’t ready to die, so she turned to someone she knew was fearless. The little hollow where she’d asked him to meet her was just off the main road, a square monument to the African-American soldiers of the Great War. The great pillar in the center, adorned with names in brass, was surrounded by brick walls as though it were the wick inside a lantern. He stepped past the walls, then froze; on either side of him sat a metal keg, hidden from outside view by the brick. His suit did not block the unmistakable scent: gasoline. And then Murielle stepped out from behind the monument, an RPG clutched in her hands. ”April Fools,” she said, but there was terror in her voice. When the missile left the weapon Zakitaj was already in motion, flipping backwards and away from the imminent explosion. But he had walked into the trap, and it would not surrender its hold so easily. A deafening roar sounded in his ears for a millisecond, then was blocked out by his suit’s protective mechanisms. Before he could finish his acrobatics he was in the air, bricks smashing into his suit, an even deadlier flood of hot concrete air behind them. His suit shone like a second sun as it tried to absorb all the energy thrown at it; he spun like a top and thrashed his limbs like a ragdoll. Then he hit the ground. Murielle stepped into his blurry vision, shaking all over; she’d never killed someone before, but it was the only way she could redeem herself in the eyes of the cartel she had decided not to abandon. He did not stir as she bent to examine him; she tried to pull his helmet off, but the suit’s seamless construction held together even after the pummeling. And then the first searchlight came on, harsh and bright in their eyes. The whine of sirens and the whirr of rotors appeared from the silence, and above them all a voice rang out: ”FCPD! You’re surrounded! Put your hands in the air!” What qualified as a prank? Zakitaj pondered that for a moment. Did tricking a criminal and surviving what no policeman could have survived fall under the category of “mischievous act”? When guns were involved, things probably went beyond “mischievous” and into the more adult “deceptive”. But he was only an alien; his sense of Earth humor was still developing. This would have to do. He looked up at Murielle, who stood rooted to the spot. ”April Fools,” he whispered.

As April First rolled around the Staff at Claremont Academy went on alert. In any normal boarding school pranks were par for the course year round and grew much more elaborate for special occasions, such as April Fools day. At a School like Claremont, even benign pranks were of a more extreme variety and of course the First was likewise more elaborate. Extreme and Elaborate when you were talking about teens capable of transmuting base material with their minds, moving at super sonic speeds or bending steal with their bare hands took on a whole new meaning. Thus the regular targets were well watched for likely trouble and Duncan Summers personally patrolled the grounds. Rumor had it that a Student had managed to pull one over on Summers once. It was never stated explicitly how Summers had returned the favor but the word on campus was that it was not to be done. After all, the students were well aware of his knack for knowing all that happened in his school, it wasn't hard to imagine what that kind of mind put toward retaliation would be capable of. There were of course successful pranks despite the staffs vigilance. The Next Gens stomping grounds/home theater a floor or two above the Doom Room was filled with some kind of gelatin like substance, Dr. Marquez's Rorschach cards were replaced by racy photos, and the students each made efforts of varying success against one another as well. Through this all Mike had gone rather unscathed. To his chagrin his display with Mark in the quad had left the student body with a tendency to tread lightly with him. That coupled with his time spent with the luckiest boy on earth seemed to ward off any significant attempts, the assorted misfiring pranks that hit him instead of Mark were of a truly minor nature and as he headed back to the dorms after class he thought he may make it through without major incident. He snickered as he passed the common room where Magni dozed on the couch, and happened like the rest of the room to be expertly covered with toilet paper. He jogged up the stairs and past a pair of roommates wrestling over what appeared to be an advanced water gun. He grinned at the pair and gladly reached his room, checking just in case for any tampering with the door before breathing a sigh of relief as he entered. Mark was nowhere to be found but that wasn't unusual of late with Faith living off campus and her parents often out of town. He slung his bag onto the bed and made a quick pass by the answering machine to make sure they hadn't missed any calls. His ritual circuit of the room upon arrival complete he stepped into the bathroom to take care of some urgent business. He didn't even notice the click of the pin coming free nor the tink of it hitting the ground and then, KA-BOOOOM!!! The small room filled with smoke and shards of porcelain were embedded in the walls, the door hanging off kilter from its hinges. Mike himself was unharmed and sighed heavily. Super School meant Super Pranks he supposed. He reached out with on hand and crushed the pipe closed stopping any further water from leaking out and tossed his shredded clothes in the garbage with a sigh. He liked those jeans too. He placed a call to maintenance out the bathroom and was mildly surprised they were not more shocked by the circumstances. Then he wrapped one towel around his waist and ran across the hall to James never used room for a quick shower while he waited for them to show up.

German scientists create weather machine.

initiative (1d20+2=4) Shambling Zombie is shambling.