Dr Archeville

Artificer And Carrion Beasts (3) Extracurricular: Guidebook Entry - Atlantean Technology/Techno-Magic (+2pp) 3 posts, +2 from Dok = 5 posts = 1pp, +2pp for Extracurricular = 3pp Dead Head Bedlam Burning: Beauty and the Beasts (4) Down in the Underground (8) Red Death Redemption (2) 4+8+2 = 14 posts, +11 from Dok = 25 posts = 3pp Doktor Archeville [Titanium!] A New Enterprise (8) Better Thinking in the Lost World (3) The Strongest Link (4) 8+3+4 = 15 posts; 2 to Artificer, 11 to Dead Head, and 2 to Horrorshow Horrorshow Body Doubles (3) Dead Men Tell No Tales (2) Stellar School (3) 3+2+3 = 8 posts, +2 from Dok = 10 posts = 2pp

"Sounds like your first day back went better than expected!," Archeville happily replied from as he helped unpack groceries. "Have you had a chance yet to -- oh, ah, coffee for now, I think, thank you -- a chance to meet up with any of the old gang? I know this is just you first day back, but I'd imagine it would be easy to run into folks while flying through the city." Viktor and Mona were still very much together. Through all that had happened to him, even when he had been stuck fighting on an alien planet alternately fighting and evading the Communion's forces, she'd been by his side. Through his recovery periods, recuperating from what had happened to both his mind and his body, she had been an inspiration to him, a reason to get better, to be better, to be worthy of her. Some days, he almost felt he was there. Viktor sat on the couch, on the end closest to his long-time partner, and took a handful of grapes from the tray. "The trip was good, no troubles. And in the first two weeks, I met with Grimalkin, some members of the Freedom League, and Miss Americana!" She knew all this, of course, as he'd called her almost every night since he got back; the call on the night Comrade Frost sprung Aquaria on him had been an especially long one.

"Oh, very useful indeed," he nodded in agreement as he gently swirled his probe inside Facsimile's arm, "a fine way to stop several types of chemical reactions, perhaps even counter some supervillain powers. So," he continued as he slowly moved the probe up Facsimile's arm, across his chest, and down his other arm, "you've been studying chemistry, to help get a -- oh, that's interesting -- ah, to help get a handle on your abilities? At that superhero school you'd mentioned?" He withdrew the probe, and replaced it in its holster on the handheld unit, "knowledge is power, so I should hope they're giving you a solid basic education!"

"Fascinating!," the Doktor gasped, running his scanners all about Facsimile. "I had guessed you would be able to do that, since the cells of our outer skin and those along the inside of our gastro-intestinal system share some similarities. In a way," he chuckled, "we're just tubes with dangly bits here and there, so there's some reason to expect that if you could mimic substances that you've touched with your bare skin, you could also mimic substances in your mouth, or stomach, or..." He stopped and cleared his throat, "well, you get the idea. Veins and muscle tissues, though," he continued, "they're slightly different, so I'm not sure if you could mimic something that had been injected into you, like from a syringe, or a dart gun. Then again, I suppose you could just mimic the steel from the needle, if it came down to it. Oh, that's another test we could do," he exclaimed, "how fast you can change!" He removed a long thin probe from one of his scanners and held it close to Facsimile's effervescent 'skin', "may I, ah... well... probe around inside you a bit? To see how your ginger ale-y self compares to the stuff from the bottle." He kept his arm perfectly still, waiting to see if the young man consented.

Hrn, of course that's the bit she focuses on... er, that you focused on... are you hearing me now? Hello... hello... echo... Davyd grinned, or maybe grimaced. "Oh, there's nothing much to it," he began, "it was when I was taking theatre arts class back at FDR High. At the beginning of the semester, we were studying the history of theatre -- not just Shakespeare, but the Greek stuff, and even some on Japanese kabuki and noh. And back in those olden days, women weren't allowed to perform -- in some cases, not even allowed to attend shows! -- so any female roles had to be performed by men." He glanced around the table, uncomfortable with being the center of attention but striving to power through his story, "some of this stuff later came up when he -- that is, our teacher, Mister Jefferies -- talked about gender roles, and performative gender. Anyway, he asks us if we're interested in doing some little skits in that manner, with guys doing all the acting, and gals as the audience. Not many volunteered, but I did." He glanced down at the tabletop, "I, uh, I was an okay Desdemona."

Davyd had been silent after his attempted introduction to Sitara, thoroughly awestruck by all that was around him. He had heard Nicole and Lulu's questions (especially Lulu's), and Ambassador Ortilac's responses. When he realized Ortilac was talking about Li -- the main reason they were even there -- he tried to focus on what was being said. Sounds like a perfectly functional democratic socialist society. "They sound amazing," he finally said, voice small and unsure, "like... like big plyushevoho vedmedyka!" He suddenly blushed, realizing how offensive being compared to a teddy bear could sound, "ah, no, that may be wrong thing to say. But, ah," he scratched the side of his head, "when will we be seeing them? That is, when will we be going to Xix Yr's surface? Oh," he snapped his fingers, "speaking of, you said what the temperature was down there, but not the atmospheric composition. I know we will need insulated, heated suits, but what about nitrogen-oxygen mix?"

"Exploding would be bad, yes," he agreed, coughing a bit to mask his nervous laugh. "Has, uh, has that happened to you before? You said you've mimicked energy, I'd imagine that was somewhat explosive, but have you ever mimicked an explosive substance and then detonated?" As they talked, a glint of metal and some movement caught Facsimile's eye. It was some sort of green metallic beetle -- no, a beetle-shaped robot -- about the size of a fat housecat. It scurried up to the mess Facsimile had made, then the wingcase opened and several smaller beetle-bots emerged. They began to scoop and vacuum up the mess, wipe the area down, and spray assorted disinfectants. In mere moments, the area looked clean as ever, and the baby bugs went back into mombot, who then trundled off back into one of the crates that dotted the hangar. "So, are you up for another experiment?," Archeville asked, paying no mind to the robots. "I'm interested to see if your transformations are limited to surface contact, or if you could mimic something inside you. That is, something that you've swallowed... like the ginger ale I just gave you. Though, in the interests of full disclosure, I'll warn you that there's a slight chance you'd instead mimic your own stomach acids, though that chance is small. Still, best to do so on the concrete, away from any metal," he gestured vaguely towards his spaceplane. "So, does that sound like something you'd be willing to try?"

Davyd sat across from Lulu, squeezing himself in between Pan and Veronica. "Oh, hold on, let me see what I can do about this." With some conscious effort he made himself just a bit taller (now back to his original height) and skinnier, so the two on either side of him had more room. "This is almost," he chuckled, "a bit like that time I wore a corset." After several moments looking over the menu (and peeking at Lulu), he ordered some conch fritters and jerk fish, and the same ginger beer. "I'm guessing," he said as he returned the menu to its holder, "that they were not able to see the name of the ship? No identifying marks, no way to easily tell where it was from? Or what it might have been carrying? Treasure would be nice, sure," he nodded to Pan, "though I'm unclear on the rules for salvage... but I'm more worried about something nasty on board, something that might have caused it to wreck."

"Thi... this is your mamochka*?," he asked, seconds before it spoke to him. "I- oh! <Hello! I am pleased to meet you, too, ma'am!>," he replied demurely. "<Your daughter is a, uh, a fine young woman, and has done much good for this city. I am sure you must be very proud.>" So, this is my life now. Cool, cool... cool, cool, cool... "<So, will you also be teaching me about shapeshifting? You taught Miss Grue, yes?"> He cocked his head slightly to the side, "<or is that instinctual for them? Ah, for Grue, I mean.>" * mommy

"Oh!" In a flash Archeville was next to Facsimile, with a fizzy drink in hand. "Are you alright? I am so sorry -- had suspected something like that might happen, but calculated the odds were very low. Here, here, drink this, it's ginger ale, it should help settle your stomach." I have got to be better at communicating! Facsimile was already feeling better, and the drink did help. After several more minutes of Archeville checking over him, asking how he felt, profusely apologizing for not telling him of possible side effects of these tests, and running scans to make sure there were no lingering aftereffects, the Doktor gave him a clean bill of health. "Okay, so... good to go?"

Archeville bowed slightly to the man, "ah, have we met before? I am afraid to say I do not recognize you, though if you've... altered yourself, as you have these apes," he gestured to their captors, "then I should not be surprised your appearance would have been changed enough that you would be as a stranger to me." Of course, we need not have met for him to recognize me. As, the double-edged sword of being world-famous. And infamous... "To answer your question," he replied smoothly, "we have learned about the alterations you've made to these apes, as well as to the materials of their clothing and weaponry. One working hypothesis," he continued, "is that you've modified the Darwin X virus to work on inorganic materials, such as Daka crystals, which could also explain the structure we see before us," he glanced around at the dome before them. "We've also detected a number of subspace anomalies in the vicinity of the portal to the Lost World, and numerous exotic particles flooding the area, presumably to force the portal open. But that all covers the what -- we are still in the dark on the why. Would you care to enlighten us?"

I'm going to be busy with my brother's wedding ( \o/ ) over the weekend, so I won't be able to post until probably Monday afternoon.

"Ooh, yes, just like that!" he exclaimed as he withdrew a small handheld device from the crate. Facsimile guessed it was a scanner of some sort, judging by the way Archeville waved it over him, and it fleshed and beeped. "I have a few hypotheses, and if your abilities work in the way I think they do, and I can get some thorough readings, then this might lead to some revolutions in materials science! New ways to make alloys! Self-repairing materials!" He continued muttering as he ran scans on the young hero, both with the scanner and his own internal processes. Facsimile started feeling a bit nauseated as the two substance surged back and forth across his abdomen. It was tolerable for now, but if he kept this up, he might be sick... and he wasn't entirely certain what would be coming out of him.

"Oh, no, no," he waved one hand, "I've got everything quite under control. I've got robots to help with the heavy lifting. And the medium lifting. And the light lifting," he added, grinning. "Though I do appreciate the offer. As for the paint job," he gestured towards the aircraft as he walked towards another crate, "well, I am still something of a patriot," he smiled, "and I think the black, red, and gold make a good color scheme. Especially if I get into a situation where I'll need to rely on stealth." "As for you," he leaned slightly forward on the crate, "I have a few ideas for some tests already. Can you juggle? If so, we could see how quickly you can shift by juggling spheres of various materials and mimicking each one as it contacts your palms. Or, we could see if you can change into multiple distinct materials, like having your legs mimic one substance while your arms mimic another."

"Something like that," he said as the lights came up. The first thing Facsimile noticed was the large aircraft in the middle of the hangar, of a make similar to the Freedom League's own spaceplanes. This one was black with gold trim and numerous red lights all over, and the rear cargo door/ramp was open, though from the doorway he could not see inside it. Strewn about were numerous boxes, crates, and containers, as well as a few tool cabinets. "Though this area isn't that quiet or secluded," he said, just as a low roar rumbled overhead, like distant thunder, "since this is part of the Jameson Airport. I did put in some sound dampeners here, though, so it's quieter than it would otherwise be." "I have had a few truly secluded homes, though," he continued as he walked behind one crate, opened it, and began pulling out some clothes. "ArcheTech had a space station, in orbit over South America, and I spent a lot of time up there looking out, my view unobstructed by clouds or atmosphere." Though the crate's opened lid obscured almost all but his head and shoulders, Facsimile could tell he was changing outfits. "Then there was my submarine, which explored the depths of many oceans. And my castle, though that was also the European headquarters for ArcheTech, so that place was always busy. Oh, and of course the asteroid," he added with something between a grin and a grimace, "but they're all gone now." He lowered the lid and stepped out from behind the crate, shifting his holodisguise as he did, and was now looking more like himself. Navy blue pants and purple shirt under a white labcoat, blonde hair, and a youthful face. "Having somewhere to get away to, a place you can call your own, is important, yes. But it's also important not to cut yourself off from friends and loved ones. Trust me on this. So, what would you like to do first?"

Two and a half months. Ten weeks. 74 days. That's how long it had been since his life had changed in so thoroughly and unexpected a manner. Before that, he was a mild-mannered high school student, comfortable working behind the scenes of Franklin D. Roosevelt's theatrical productions. After that, after the lab accident at FCU which had granted him extensive shapeshifting abilities -- an accident involving Grue biomaterials -- he'd been thrust into the whirlwind world of Claremont Academy, and its many teen metahumans. In that time he'd met a dragon, traveled back in time, met a faerie and a Grue (and learned he was part Grue!), and helped explore a sunken ship. And now, after a trip on the Radiance Unveiled, he was on an honest-to-gods space station. Even for someone who'd grown up in Freedom, and was frequently exposed to that city's weirdness, this was all getting to be a bit much. But he had friends with him, which helped. And Ambassador Ortilac was so positive and uplifting, it was easy to feel welcome. "Davyd Palahniuk," the round-faced, long-limbed Ukrainian-American boy said, extending a hand to Sitara, "pleased to meet you. This is my first time in space!," he exclaimed.

He smirked, "yes, I know a thing or three about unsecured networks and GPS trackers." He withdrew his hand and tapped his temple, "one perk of my new condition, though one that took me a while to get a handle on." He began to rise from his seat, "so many signals out there, all coming in at once -- it was quite overwhelming at times! But I learned to filter it out, focus on what I needed to and let the rest just become background noise." He went up to the counter and paid for their meal (using a prepaid debit card), then headed out. He looked over at Facsimile's motorcycle, "if you don't mind, I'd like to handle transportation this time." He turned and walked behind the diner, motioning for Facsimile to follow with his bike. He looked around to see if there were any bystanders, then pointed to an empty spot next to the dumpster behind the diner. "Just a moment, please," he said, closing his eyes and concentrating. A pinpoint of blue-grey light appeared in the air before them, and slowly expanded. The point become a ring, through which Facsimile could see a single metal door. As the portal widened, he could see more of the other side: the door was set into a large building, surrounded by asphalt. A large parking lot, most likely. After a few seconds, the portal was easily big enough for Facsimile and the Doktor to walk through side by side, with his motorcycle in between them. "It's not as luxurious as my former home," he apologized, "but it should be more than sufficient." [Continues in The Strongest Link.]

2019 May 17th (Friday). Evening. Cloudy, temps in high 60s/low 70s. [Continued from Upgrading the Supply Chain.] At the doorway to a small private hangar on Jameson Airport, a hole in space appeared. It was a very brief thing, and tightly controlled -- the creator knew a wormhole's varying gravimetric fluctuations could play havoc with the delicate sensors used by the aircraft in the area, so he kept things tight and focused to minimize that. Out of the portal stepped two figured, with a motorcylce between them. One was a young man, who appeared to be the vehicle's owner as he was dressed not unlike a biker. The other appeared to be an older man, middle aged, with long brown hair, in blue overalls and an orange long-sleeved shirt, with a large leather tool belt. As soon as they were through, the portal snapped shut with a soft 'boof' of displaced air. "Here we are, hangar 4P," the older man said as he walked towards the single side door, "home sweet home. Well, for now, at least." He opened the door and entered the darkened structure, beckoning for the younger man to follow.

Hunh. Well, that's still useful information. "Science Lord Vha," Archeville said with a slight bow, repeating the false names he'd given the apes, "and these are my allies, SWAT Del," he pointed to Delta, "Serj Mac," he pointed to the machete-wielding Sgt. Henry, "and Science Lady Tez," he indicated Doctor Cortez. "We had heard of the unusual activities going on here, and came to investigate. When we encountered your... associates," he nodded towards their captors, "and they told us of your glory, we simply had to come see for ourselves, and perhaps see if we could join your endeavours. You've clearly got something big in the works here, involving a number of scientific and technical fields -- genetics, metallurgy, dimensional physics, and more. I myself am something of a scientific polymath, and would be most interested in learning the nature of your experiments here." He's fashionable, I'll give him that. And I'm sure that fancy outfit is even more protective than the ape's jumpsuits.

Welcome back! So now that we see Lord Uplift, any chance we recognize him/know anything about him?

"You want to make your own mark on the world," Archeville replied, grinning and raising his cup to the young man, "most admirable!" He chuckled softly, "you can't see it under this hologram," he fanned his face with one hand, "but your words make me blush. Well, whatever my physiological equivalent of blushing is -- I believe some LED lights just spontaneously formed across my cheeks. I am delighted and honored," he extended his hand again to the young hero, "to offer whatever assistance to you I can." "So, once we're done here," he glanced over at the slowly rotating tower of pies behind the diner's counter, "shall we go over to my place and see what we can figure out? Or did you have to get back out on patrol?"

Go down go down go down Davyd thought, holding his hand to the side of his head as they walked, passing it off as a persistent scalp itch. His wandering eye tried poking through his fingers a few times to get a look at all the sights around them -- and also at Lulu -- but he was eventually able to get a grip and will the errant sensor back into his skull. He was also now a few inches shorter, and eye-level with Veronica. "Yes, yes," he replied, nodding along and gesturing with both hands towards the doorway, acting as if nothing were amiss, "these small, unassuming often have the best food -- certainly better than any big corporate-owned chain. Can't wait to try it!," he said through an uneasy smile.

"Ah, so there are limits -- good to know," he nodded. "Guess that means you won't be expanding your power to mimicking the DNA of others, and copying metahuman powers. Not that you'd need to!," he added with a chuckle. "And, ah, yes," he lowered his voice, "too much would be bad, and if certain unscrupulous individuals learned of you doing that, they may well force you to, say, mimic illegal drugs, or Daka crystals, and... harvest you. So..." he leaned back and resumed his regular voice, "let's change the subject, hrm?" He reached into an overall pocket and pulled out two business cards, and laid them on the table in front of Facsimile. "As I said before, if you are interested in help in exploring and testing your abilities, either of these would be good choices." One was a slightly worn card for ASTRO Labs, the other a much older and more worn card for ArcheTech. "If you're not comfortable working with me," he added, holding up his hands, "which I would completely understand and not hold against you in any way."

DRAGON!!! Davyd was awestruck for a few moments, taking in the full view of Dio. Even for a native of Freedom, being this close to an actual dragon was a rare occurrence! Eventually, though, he found his wits. "H-hey... nice to... meet... you." People talking to him further helped snap him back. "Oh, uh, yeah, he told us he was from another Earth, another dimension," Davyd replied to Kam, letting his hand be engulfed by the Dakanan prince's, and engulfed Veronica's hand with his other one. "Oh, I know you!," he exclaimed as his smile grew even wider, "oh, I have read much about the Danger family's exploits!" He withdrew his hands and shifted his height and appearance, until he was a reasonable match for a teenage version of her grand-uncle Ace.

"Well, I was thinking of something less visceral," he said, softly chuckling. "Like, if you grew your hair out, then turned into gold, cut your hair, and sold that to raise money for the community. Or you let your fingernails grow for a few weeks, then turned to diamond, clipped them -- though you may need some special equipment to do so -- and sold those. Of course," he took another sip of his coffee, "we'd need to study what those snipped off pieces of you actually are, run some molecular scans, make sure they're not going to spontaneously revert to hair or nails after some amount of time, or if exposed to some catalyst." "Another idea, though one that's a bit more complex," he tilted his head slightly, "and presuming that the separated bits don't eventually revert back," he straightened up again, "is if you could mimic some chemical compounds, medicines like insulin or penicillin, and cry or sweat that out. Then again," he began stroking his chin, "if you could just change your blood proteins, you could become a universal donor..." He began to trail off, mumbling about compounds and grafts.