Dr Archeville

Viktor said nothing, but his rapidly shifting expressions almost showed how quickly his mind was working. Disbelief, beratement, acceptance, wonder, exploration, joy, all raced across his face. Suddenly he leaped into the air -- sending Penny tumbling, gracefully, down -- and did a few somersaults, laughing with unbridled joy. "Oh, my lovely, clever, amazing Mona! That's it! That's it exactly!" He dove down and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then backed away and did a barrel roll. "Cynthia Bauer! Or, rather..." he hovered before her, held up his palms, and a hologram of soft blue letters appeared, first spelling his departed mother's name, then shifting to, "Synthia Bower! An artificial dwelling or retreat! Yes, 'bower' usually refers to a retreat under a shady tree, but it's been used for private apartments and the like, so it still works." He settled back down onto the couch, and murmured several hasty apologies to Penny. "Oh, that's twice I've upset you, kätzchen, I'm so sorry." He held one hand out, palm up, and held the other one up at prime ear-scritching height, and waited for Penny's reaction. "Oh, um, it could be ready in about a week," he said over his shoulder, "but if you still had some things you needed to wrap up here before we go..."

Dead Head'd be up for it, if you think he'd fit.

"Ah, so that's it," he nodded, turning his head to keep an eye on him. "You were a brilliant scientist with some chronic illness, a 'genetic defect.' Maybe even shunned and ridiculed by classmates, by coworkers. And then she entered your life, offering to make your body a match for your intellect. And now you're going to remake the whole world, and show them, show them all, yes?" So he's not the puppetmaster, just another puppet, dancing on the strings of a puppetmistress. Hrm. Let's see if his ego is as enhanced as the rest of him. He gestured towards the apes, "I do admit, this is indeed impressive work... for an initial test run. But I suppose you'd have to start with chimpanzees, or bonobos, since their genetics and anatomy are closest to human. It makes sense for her to tell you to start there, if she's planning to 'upgrade' all life, using techniques similar to what she'd used on you" He smirked, "what's next? Orangutans? Gorillas? How close is she to moving outside of the Hominid family? Because if you want to talk about genetic inequity, I could talk for hours about the health issues of show dogs..."

Dead Head laughed and nodded at Huang's remark about the Elysian olives, then nodded solemnly when he revealed the bit about Arcana. "Gotcha. I won't tell a livin' soul... or any unlivin' ones, neither." He followed Hang's gaze to the growing commotion. He'd encountered Aquaria before, but the others he had not met. But he did know a bit about them, thanks to all the gossip he got from the ghosts and other spirits in the city. "How d'ya do, fellow kids?" (He still often thought of himself as college-aged, though that was almost 20 years ago, and he did know some memes.) "Whatch'all up to? Combinin' magics?"

Dead Head's got Well Informed and Skill Mastery on Gather Information, so -- to determine what he knows about folks -- I'll just take 10, giving him a 20.

"<Ooh, so I would be learning about how to use my powers and how to... to... um...>" He paused a moment, trying to put together a coherent English sentence, then realized he was still speaking Ukrainian and worked on it from that angle, "<how not to rely on my powers? Skills that would complement my powers, or could be complemented by my powers?>" He nodded, satisfied with what he'd said, then a huge grin spread across his face. "<That's exactly what I was hoping I would learn here!>" He scratched the back of his head, "<so do all students here get mentors like you? Experienced heroes, that is? Or just the ones who got their powers very recently? Or the ones who enrolled in Claremont so close to the end of the school year?"> He did fit all those categories.

"Coming along quite nicely!" he replied cheerfully, momentarily focused on inspecting Penny's claws. "I got the last of my personal effects that the League had confiscated from my homes, including the tesseract generators from the house in Hanover. Those took the longest time to incorporate into the craft, due to their power requirements, and I had to wind up downgrading them. So the inside won't be quite as large as it was when set up at the house, but it's still much bigger than the outer dimensions would indicate, enough to carry everything I think we'll be needing." Mona had seen the craft a few times already, as he'd been working on it sporadically for years. He'd started not long after becoming a member of the Freedom League Auxiliary (a year and a half before the ArchEvil incident), after talking Daedalus into letting him upgrade one of the League's Pegasus space planes. After that unpleasantness, and the League realized they could not figure out some of the modifications he had made, they simply locked it away, as they had with so much of his technology. Once he was capable of doing so, Archeville helped them sort out what was safe and what wasn't. Following his most recent encounter with the League two few months ago, and he'd expressed interest in exploring space, they allowed him full access to his craft, and moved it to a private hangar at Jameson Airport. With a final stroke of her toe beans, he turned his attention from Penny to Mona, furrowing his brow a bit, "I am still stuck on a name, I admit. Tradition is to name a craft after some mythological figure or creature, so I've been combing through those. Nothing's really grabbed me, though. Did you have any ideas?" His desire to leave Earth and explore outer space had been growing of late, and he was overjoyed that Mona had agreed to come with him for some of the journey.

"Am not a ghost," A Mutt barked, materializing beside Aquaria, "am spirit. But that easy mistake to make." He sat up on his haunches, tongue and tail wagging, "can still have fish?" Dead Head nodded to Hex before going off with Huang. "Oh, yeah, dark futures," he replied, slinging an arm over Huang's, "been there, done that," he nodded, remembering his own brief jaunt to the future. "But ya made it back here all by yerself? Worked all that out on yer own?" He let out a low whistle, "I knew ya had potential, kid, but dang! An' who's this Abby, er, Arcana? You got a sister now, too?" He looked down at the bowl of olives, and held up his free hand in a 'stop' motion, "eh, best not. Never liked th' taste'a them when I was alive, and if they're from the Elysian Fields, well, I don't think they'd, uh, agree with me."

Davyd would also like to aid! 1d20+3: 7 [1d20=4] It's not very effective...

Davyd was utterly delighted to meet an alien (that wasn't trying to kill him, or mentor him), and was completely stunned when one of them licked him. He stood, stunned, only marginally aware of Rakesh wiping him down. What... what just happened? The brief riot that was threatening to break out quickly snapped him to attention. "Y-yeah, Dr. Chawla, sir," he piped in. "If you're worried about us interfering with the procedures, we won't, we'll all be on our best behavior," he nodded, glancing over at Nicole, looking a bit longer at Lulu, and glaring at Dio. "We know how important this is, what an opportunity this is for us. I'm sure we can be quiet as church mice," he squeaked as he shrank to about half his normal height and took on some decidedly rodent-like features, "they'll barely know we're there."

Dead Head smells like rum and dried herbs & spices (the kinds used in Haitian cuisine), and his "sound" varies between an ominous Catholic funeral, an upbeat New Orleans jazz funeral, and the silence of wind through an endless graveyard. A Mutt has a similar smell (and also wet dog), but sounds like dogs barking at an upbeat New Orleans jazz funeral.

He chewed his last conch fritter especially thoroughly as he pondered Pan's question. "I've had some trouble turning into just one thing," he admitted, "at least one non-human things. I can mimic humanoid appearances pretty well, most of the time," he recalled the time he accidentally mimicked an entire group of Claremonters at once, "but when I try to turn into an animal, things get a bit... jumbled. So I might not be able to be a shark, but I could probably become a sharktopus!" He started digging his fork into the jerk fish, "they're not sure if it's physiological or psychological," he shrugged, "but I'm keeping at it. Hybrids and mashups may be good for combat, or intimidation, but not infiltration."

Taylor was perhaps a bit relieved to find Dead Head's body was still solid, like a well-preserved mummy (or beef jerky), not squishy (like gumbo). He eagerly returned the embrace, his rictus grin widening, "heh, yeah, didn't think I'd be seein' Jack at this thing. Might see 'im when I headvup t'the manor, though. But I'm so glad I finally got to see you! How've y'all been? An' th'other Midnighters? Y'all been keepin' in touch?" At Taylor's indication, he turned to Huang, and did a double take between mother and time-displaced son, seeing the familiarities in his physical features and mystical aura. "Wait, that's... he... what?!" He placed his fists on his hips in feigned indignation, "I weren't gone that long! Aw, no matter, c'mere an' give yer Uncle Burt a hug!" He slowly approached the teen, arms outstretched, leaving Phantom to attend to other guests.

He squeezed her hand and looked at her lovingly, "nothing to apologize for, liebchen. We both know you've listened to plenty of my rantings and ravings," he chuckled. "It's good to know she seems that good." He chuckled again, "might give Miss Americana a run for her money. Ah, so, back to your question: from what I recall..." Viktor's memory was sharp as ever, but there were gaps. After the ArchEvil incident, several heroes -- an assortment of mystics, psychics, and techies -- wiped parts of his memory (his own and his computers), erasing knowledge of superhero secret identities. He could still re-learn it, if he proved worthy of such trust, same as any other hero. A fresh start, in a way, since he'd been as much a victim during the incident. And while they assured him that such compromising information is all they'd erased, a part of him still had some doubts, worries that they had erased -- intentionally or accidentally -- some other memories, other knowledge. So far, that fear had proven unwarranted, but it still lingered. "... Centurion and Daedalus are the only ones who've performed much study of the Zero Zone, though Siren was also called in a few times for a more mystical perspective, and I believe they once reached out to the Star Knights. Perhaps offering it as a prison for some of their criminals?," he shrugged. "I was not in on that call. I did have a few looks at their notes, while I was in the Auxiliary; it is advanced stuff, yes, and would need a lot of resources to work on. But if that is how her ship got here, and it's still intact, and she's willing to let it be studied, and if the proper researchers could get to it," he cocked his head slightly, then took another sip of his coffee, "well, like you said, a lot could be done."

"You turned a wall into..." he repeated, trailing off as he pondered the implications. "Hrm -- when you mimic some substance, and turn a wall into that same substance, can you merge with it, passing through without breaking it? That could be something to experiment with," he nodded, "add a bit of stealth to your repertoire. The baddies might expect you to batter down a barrier, but if you can pass seamlessly and silently through..." He trailed off again, this time letting Facsimile work out the rest. He pushed himself off the crate he'd been leaning on, "I would like to examine your ability to change other items -- see how far it can go, if there are more limits on that than on your own changes, if you can change part of an object of if it's an 'all-or-nothing' deal, stuff like that. I think," he walked over to another crate, opened it and rummaged around, "yes, I think these would be just the thing." He returned to the young hero and held out several lengths of chain, the kind used in jewelry. They were of a variety of metals and sizes, from fine anklet chains to large ones used for heavy ostentatious necklaces. He handed over a mid-sized steel gold chain, just a bit too big to fit completely in his fist. "See if you can change this, or part of this, when you mimic the concrete floor."

"... and I sez, 'lady, that ain't no spider, that's mah hand!'" Ghostly laughter erupted around the Revoltin' Revenant, who was crouched behind one of the refreshment tables. Dead Head had been trying to reconnect with the Midnighters since he'd returned to Freedom two months ago, with no success. It was that connection to the Midnighters that sort of 'grandfathered' him in to this event, despite not primarily being a mystic. He was delighted when he got an invitation from a familiar face -- Bub, an ex-marine and one of the ghosts of the Farretti estate -- and had been chatting with them throughout the night. (Just because they were incorporeal and undead didn't mean they couldn't take breaks, especially after seeing someone who'd been so nice to them & had been absent for years.) He'd been sharing some amusing anecdotes (and generally checking up on them), when a familiar cowl caught his eye. "Well, looks like I've taken up enough'a yer time -- not that ya got a shortage of it! I'll catch y'all later." He stood up, with many a creak and grown from his joints, and turned towards their hostess. He'd tried to clean up for the event, so instead of wearing old biker gear, he was wearing an old discarded tuxedo. Well, more like pieces from three different tuxedos. "Hey, Taylor, wait up!"

Looks great! And yeah, I'm good with rolling Dead Head & Strix's first meeting into the same Noodle Incident as the investigation into/securing of da club.

"Ah, so it might not have been the Terminus then," he replied between sips of coffee. "She may have -- oh, this is good -- may have, when she said 'Void,' been referring to the Zero Zone, where Centurion and the League have sent some of their most dangerous foes." He nodded, "that would certainly fit the 'not aging or requiring sustenance' part. I know Centurion was the one who discovered the Zone, but I don't know if his findings were based on methods developed in his own universe -- if it was, then perhaps Triakosia's rocket used similar principles, and was meant to travel through the Zone, not the Terminus as Centurion's had, but some error lead her to getting stuck there. And prisoners have escaped from the- oh!" A large grin appeared on his face, but he was careful to contain his excitement to that display, so as not to disturb Penny, "if that is the case, and we could access her ship, perhaps how she got in and got out and be examined, and a way could be found to make the Zone more escape-proof! Or even ways to channel the Zone's properties in small doses, for suspended animation here!" He turned his attention for a moment to focus on giving Penny some deep tissue massages. Part of his mind still worked on Zero Zone theories, but other parts were focusing on other aspects of earlier conversations. "And you said there was another, Miracle Girl? I believe I've seen her mentioned a few times in the papers. Is she as much an 'American Sweetheart' as the stories make her out to be?"

Archeville did a double take, "wait, so those aren't morphic molecules you're wearing? You can change what you're wearing, to match your own composition? I - wow!" He was truly surprised -- in a positive manner -- and that was a rare thing. "It's almost unheard of to see someone who can perform such extensive changes to themselves and to their surroundings. Is it automatic? Did your clothes change with you that first time, or did you have to learn that, with practice and experimentation? Can you change without changing your clothes?" He became more animated, energetic, as the questions rolled out. "Can you change your clothes without changing yourself? Can you change someone else's clothes? Something held in your hand, like a length of rebar, or... or... can..." Slow down, Viktor, slow down. He stopped abruptly, and massaged his temples. "Sorry, sorry. This is all a lot to take in! And I do not want to be off-putting." He took a calming breath, "okay, so, one thing at a time. If you're holding something when you change, like a club or chain or whatever, does it change with you?"

He looked down and blushed, temporarily chastised, and glad for having someone in his life who could -- and would -- handle him. "Thank you," he said, softly. He then turned to look up to her, "I will always find a way for us to be by each other's side." He looked down briefly to kiss her hand, then stroked it as he gazed into her eyes a moment. I really am quite lucky. He took a steadying breath, "I was wondering if she had a similar reaction to Daka crystals as you." He'd long sought a way to counter their effects on Mona, in part because so much advanced technology -- including his own, and now including himself (in minuscule amounts) -- incorporated Daka crystals. "But... she was suspended between worlds for a decade? No, sorry, you said decades, plural. Wait, how many decades? If she was from the same alternate as Centurion, launched at the same time he was, and he first appeared in '38, and she appeared just a few years ago, then she would have been suspended for... 90 years?!" He let out a low whistle, which judging by her movements was slightly irritating to Penny. "Sorry, kätzchen, sorry," he said softly while stroking behind her ears and under her chin. "But was she in the Terminus," he turned back to Mona, "or some other interstitial plane? If she was suspended in the Terminus for nine decades, surely something would have happened to her, yes? Omega's forces would have captured her, or something. Unless..." his eyes widened, and Mona could swear she heard gears turning, "unless whatever went awry also protected her in some way, making her undetectable or unassailable! Oh, if so, that would definitely be worth looking into."

"Low-income housing?," he repeated, perking up, "splendid, splendid! I see you've already found many ways to help the community! Very commendable!" Yes, this city definitely seems to be in good hands with this fellow. He set the scanner aside to let it do its thing, and leaned against a crate opposite his guest. "So, I noticed your outfit changes with you. Are your biker leathers made of some special material? From that super-school you'd attended?" He stroked his chin, "or is that also an aspect of your power, to change what you wear?"

Looks like this could be a good place to test just how adaptable I really am, Davyd thought, though I'm not quite sure I'm ready to intentionally go out there without a suit. But if something breaches the hospitality sector, I should be okay. But what about others? Is suppose I could block any breaches with my own body... As the conversation veered slightly to drinking ages, he smirked and shook his head. "Americans seem so hung up on drinking," he said to U.F.O., "and most of what they serve is so bad!" He looked to his fellow Claremonters, "I've had drinks at family things for years, since before I was a teen. My Uncle Sasha makes this horilka, with honey and red peppers -- delicious!" He suddenly felt their chaperone's eyes burning into him. "Oh, ah, of course, that was under parental supervision, and should not be done here," he lied, "and we probably should not go outside the designated safety areas. Especially me, since I've only had the most basic of zero G training since before we got here, not the full Claremont course."

"Well, uh," Davyd began, eyes darting back and forth at the illusion only he & Lulu could see, "I could do a better Desdemona than I could, yeah, but I think I'd rather portray Caliban, from The Tempest, or Nick Bottom, the guy in A Midsummer Night's Dream who gets his head turned into an ass. Er, that is, into a donkey." Wow, Lulu! You're really good at these! Too bad they're only mental, and can't be recorded by camera. Oh, but that means we could do special live shows! He dug in to his plate of conch fritters as Veronica and Pan discussed treasures and pirates. He liked the Neverlander's enthusiasm and charming naiveté, and had enjoyed telling his fellow student about cinematic masterpieces of this world -- it gave Davyd a chance to practice speaking and Pan a chance to practice active listening. "Oh, and what about around the vicinity of the ship," he asked before trying a forkful of the jerk fish. "Are there sharks in these waters? Jellyfish?"

"Oh, nice, nice," he said, nodding, happy to hear of more heroes in the area. Even if they were more flying powerhouses. Why are those so prevalent? Statistically, one would expect as many meta-intellects as there are meta-physical types, but that is not the case. Perhaps I should work up a paper on cultural zeitgeists and metahuman manifestations. Just then Penny arrived, interrupting his train of thought, though in moments Mona would have caught him and given him A Look. He exaggerated an "oof!" as she jumped up on him, and obeyed the feline's silent command, stroking her with his free hand. He squeezed Mona's back, "thank you, liebchen. I'm still a bit miffed at Frost for pulling that, but," he shrugged, "I do understand the need for some blind testing." "So this woman you met, Triakosia, she is from Centurion's dimension? Fascinating!" His tone and rate of speech lifted, "and she's a new agent on the scene, a recent addition to Freedom's superhero roster? Did she recently appear in this dimension? Or had she been here for some time, lying low? Perhaps unpowered until some recent dimensional event? Oh, I wonder if-" He stopped, chuckling, "sorry, sorry, trying not to slip into Super-Scientist mode."

Claremont, eh? I thought that was just a standard private school. Interesting. So they- no, no, no, I am not going to pursue that. "Construction!," he exclaimed, "a fine career! So often the focus is on how destructive a metahuman can be, I'm quite glad to see some attention paid to flip side. Did you have any particular specialization in mind? Commercial, industrial, residential? Oh, have you had a chance to meet with Doc Metropolis?" As they talked, Archeville retrieved the half-emptied bottle of ginger ale and a fresh glass, poured some of the contents of the former into the latter, then ran his scanner over and through the fizzing liquid. It will take some time to run the full scans and comparisons. Eager to see if the results match any of my hypotheses. "Eh, I suppose it could be considered organic -- labels like that can be vague to the point of uselessness," he replied with a shrug. "As for cannibalism... well, I think that might depend in part on how much of 'you' is still in beverage-you. And maybe on where the lines is on cannibalism: drinking blood falls under that, sure, but what about sweat or tears, or fingernails or hair?"