Ecalsneerg

Hurricane Jones "I really do question the educational value of this trip," Annie Jones sniffed, following the group a little off to the side. She wore a retro style aquamarine dress with a white floral pattern, "rebellious" stompy boots worn under it that in fact cost the median monthly wage. She was not of the background to have grown up loving wrestling. Indeed, distressingly, she seemed to be the only one, her contemporaries looking around wide-eyed at the range of costumed characters. She a polite smile and nod to a passing neon-green mountain of muscle and inch-long teeth, his giant frame somehow adorned in red spandex, a logo of a t-rex surrounded by atoms on his chest. Turning back from who she had no idea was the lower league contestant Wradioactive Wrex, Annie smoothed her hair back from her face. "It just all seems a bit gauche to go into a sport expecting a fight. Much more sporting to pretend you all care about the ball, and you know, just take a good whack."

Hurricane Jones "Good job, Animist!" Annie called out, kicking off the ground effortlessly and letting gravity fail to stop her. "Now let's see about these civilians!" As a sparking golden trail begin to spiral behind her, Hurricane Jones flew through the space between herself and the hostages at a breakneck speed, barrel rolling around Bounce and the Sportsmaster projection as she collided into the back of the last remaining gunman, sending him flying into the air. Pivoting with the momentum, Annie kicked off another of the henchmen to deliver a double-handed punch to another, flying from foe to foe and bringing the momentum to bear with haymakers and kicks. Finally, the last of the henchmen surrounding the hostages held up his baseball bat in a makeshift parry, but to no avail. Hurricane snapped through it with a single kick, her boot thudding heavily into the projection's chest and sending it tumbling backward over the gazebo railing. "Well that simply wasn't cricket, was it?" She turned to wave the hostage holograms away. "Quickly, get out of here. I'll cover your escape!" she called, launching into the air once more with her fists ahead of her.

Hurricane is gonna use her 2500' of movement and Move-By Action and Takedown Attack 2 to get the mooks away from the hostages. So Move Action: Hurricane flies into the air and at the mooks surrounding the hostages Standard Action: Power Attacking for 1, she takes 10 for a 16 to hit the mooks, DC23 Toughness saves to be knocked out, and she can move 5' between each KO to knock out multiple mooks. She'll start with the gun-toting mook and move around. Move Action: If she clears all the mooks she'll swoop up above the fight, otherwise if there's some left she'll hang around there in the hopes they hit her and not the hostages.

1d20+6: 26 [1d20=20]

Galvanic Chlo'zel joined the group, standing beside Sitara and gazing out the viewport. "Interesting sayingproverb." Her brow furrowed and she looked concerned. "Have often same. What helpaided was to think, for all we have changed, so too has home. Has it changed with you?" Chlo'zel gestured at the room of strangely empowered beings and aliens with capabilities beyond the ken of her own people. "Maybe those on Earth are not as unlike you." She shrugged. "Perhaps we take this strangeunusual life as granted. Republic has us. Earth has League." Galvanic put a hand on Sitara's shoulder. "Not unlike." Her lips parted into a cheery smile and the solemnity melted away. "Though would rather like to see a Terran throw a spacecraft." Chlo'zel's eyes lit up, for once proverbially. "Sincerehonest, was not confidentsure!"

Hurricane Jones "I very much doubt it. This facility looks exceedingly expensive," came the clipped English tones of Hurricane Jones behind her. She wore sturdy boots over camel-tone jodhpurs, and was zipping a fleece-collared aviation jacket in an older style, the brown leather thick and bulging in places. A pair of goggles rested atop her forehead, her hair held back by a severe array of bobby pins. She rocked back on her heels, looking around the place. "Also looks, well... ceilinged. I'd hoped at least my assessment would account for well, my main ability." She inclined her head to Mattie. "We were told to be combat ready. I rather hope we're not expected to fight each other. Fencing a fellow student is one thing, but to punch one?" Annie turned up her nose. "Ghastly."

Hurricane Jones "Well, I grew up in London, but my family has homes in Yorkshire and in France," Annie explained casually. "Not to worry; I imagine it's not especially uncommon in this establishment but I... shall we say, I'm somewhat stronger than I appear." She flashed a white smile as she shook Mizuki's hand. Taking in the hallway, she looked around at the incomers. Truly an eclectic assortment of individuals; she was used to the super-set but Freedom City's famously was more populous diverse than even that of London town's meta demographic. "I must say, I do prefer the American system of one dorm mate. At my former school, there were six of us girls in one room. Good for comradery, but terribly inconvenient for privacy. Rather the point, I suppose. Are any of these girls my new, is it 'room mate' you say here?"

Hurricane Jones The elevator doors slid open, and a slender young woman strolled out. Her dark brown hair was cut in a severe bob, her bright brown eyes shone from an ochre face. She wore a retro-style dress, cinched at the waist and hemmed below the knee, the fabric an expensive-looking deep red with a sunflower-yellow floral design. Over the top she'd thrown a white blazer, and in her hand she held an enormous old-style leather case, the straps bulging at the seams. Despite the visible weight of it, it didn't seem to be troubling her overly much. She casually walked up to the slowly growing group, inclining her head and giving a dazzling white smile. "Good morning," she said, in an English accent refined enough to slice glass, "My name is Annie Jones." Annie set the case down on the floor with an audible heavy thud, before going to shake hands. "Pleasure to meet you, girls."

NEW STUDENTS Name: Annabelle Simran "Annie" Jones Codename: Hurricane Jones (awaiting approval) Year: incoming Sophomore Pronouns: she/her Prospective Roommate: Put her with whatever, she's a product of British boarding schools so can put up with whoever she gets Goal: Annie is attending Claremont to avoid the scrutiny of the British press and finish her education in peace; in practice she wants to essentially be Spitfire Jones II but doesn't want the publicity in her native England that being Spitfire Jones II brings. Favorite Music: Annie is a huge Dua Lipa fan; being someone who already dresses fairly retro she likes throwback-inspired pop.

Hurricane Jones Power Level: 7 (105/105PP) Unspent Power Points: 0 Trade-Offs: None In Brief: Descendent of Spitfire Jones, modern day pulp hero. Theme: Elmer Bernstein - The Chase Alternate Identity: Annabelle Simran "Annie" Jones (Public) Birthplace: London, England Residence: Family residence in Fitzrovia; Claremont Academy in term-time. Occupation: Full-time education Family: Horatio David "Spitfire" Jones (great-grandfather, deceased) Description: Age: 16 (DoB: 15th August 2008) Gender: Female Ethnicity: Mixed race, mostly British Punjabi descent Height: 5'6''/ 1.7m Weight: 121lbs/55kg Eyes: Brown Hair: Brown Annabelle Jones is a fairly slender teenage girl, with a dark complexion, strong nose, and large brown eyes. She tends to dress a little anachronistically, favouring vintage and retro fashion in her day-to-day life. She keeps her dark brown hair cut in a severe chin-length bob. When in the field as Hurricane Jones, she wears an old brown RAF flight jacket with a fleece collar, aviation goggles strapped to her forehead or over her eyes depending on the need, brown rugged combat trousers and calf-length brown leather boots. History: During World War II, Horatio David "Spitfire" Jones fought alongside the Allies of Freedom, using strange powers he'd acquired during a test flight to rip Nazi aircraft out of the air as he flew among them. Sadly, he died in March 1945 fighting Nacht-Kriger, who murdered the English hero in a single blow. David had been a lothario, a girl in every port, and unknown to him when he flew off on that final mission, he'd left a girl pregnant several months beforehand. Anaya Kapoor, an Indian woman who had recently immigrated to London, was left in a difficult situation for women of the time. To avoid the scandal (and because it was the right thing to do), Jones' family took the woman and her eventual son in, raising him as one of the Jones family. The family's fortunes grew over the post-War decades, and Jones' grandchildren grew up in comfortable wealth in London that he himself had never grown up with. However, his son didn't exhibit any of Jones' powers, and neither did his children, or most of their children until Annabelle Jones, the only child of Hugo and Anjli Jones, exhibited the ability to fly at a family picnic at the age of 14. Annabelle had grown up a fairly comparative upper class English girl, attending expensive private schools which cultivated her interest in art. A confident, charismatic girl, Annie was well-liked by her peers and fairly easily took her burgeoning superpowers in her stride. While the Jones family's connection to superpowers is public knowledge, for a couple of years, Annie was able to avoid much scrutiny. She kept the sneaking out to fly to a bare minimum, spent a lot of time at her family's country home and most of the family aware of her powers kept a lid on it. But it was never going to be a secret forever, and rumours of a successor to Spitfire Jones began to trickle through some of the usual circles. As soon as Whitehall caught wind of this potential legacy hero, there were murmurs of strongly encouraging her to operate with the Ministry of Powers as a state-sponsored hero. Annie was, for the time being, fortunately spared by her fairly young age and continued full-time education. She wanted to use her powers to do good, and she admired her great-grandfather, but she didn't want to be moulded into what other people thought doing good should look like or citing what they think he would have wanted. Adopting the moniker of Hurricane Jones, she began the occasional foray out in an outfit inspired by her great-grandfather's classic look, fighting minor crimes in London, trying to proverbially and literally fly under the radar. But she wasn't going to be able to evade the attention of the public and Ministry forever. Some sympathetic elements in British superheroics suggested that Annie complete her education at the Claremont Academy under the pretence of going to an exclusive overseas boarding school, a perfectly suitable cover for a young lady. As such, to be allowed to finish her school somewhat in peace, Annie has arrived in Freedom City to attend the Claremont Academy. Personality & Motivation: Annie is the very image of the English stiff upper-lip, a confident and charming young woman with an RP accent and a practical, hands-on approach to life. Witty, cultured and born to wealth; Annie is fairly unconcerned with minor issues and trifles, she's an unflappable figure. She's been fortunate to escape the snobbishness of such a privileged background, being a genuinely amiable and sweet young woman, if sometimes a little clueless and arrogant. Despite her unflappable exterior, Annie is uncomfortable with the burden of being Spitfire Jones' successor, and doesn't like the pressure to be a patriotic icon. She does genuinely want to be a superhero, seeing her powers as an unbelievable gift and a route to an exciting and fulfilling life with opportunities for adventure and to better the lives of others. But she doesn't especially want to be a symbol or someone people look up to, just wanting to get on with the job. She also feels unbelievable pressure to live up to the image of her great-grandfather, the fearless wartime hero, not feeling she's remotely up to snuff. Those few alive who'd met him would recognise much of the man in her; including the similar preference to just get on with the job and enjoy life rather than holding oneself up as a hero. Powers & Tactics: Spitfire Jones got his powers when flying through a mysterious fog over the Irish sea. The source of these powers is still unknown, and they seemed to skip a couple of generations until Annie was born and eventually manifested innate metahuman abilities similar to her great-grandfather's. She possesses the power of unassisted flight, able to soar through the air at speeds which at maximum slightly exceed Mach 1, a golden contrail behind her whenever she does. It isn't known what generates this side-effect, it isn't identical to the one her grandfather had but seems to be a similar by-product of whatever process enables the Jones family's abilities. To better facilitate her flight, her body is very resistance to cold and heavily resistant to altitude sickness. Her eyesight is incredibly keen, able to see great distances on a clear day. Furthermore, she has some strange and innate sense of direction akin to a homing pigeon. While her physical might isn't as great as Spitfire Jones, Hurricane has the advantage of possessing her strength even when not actively flying. Strong enough to bench press a hatchback and rip doors off their hinges with ease, Annie has strength comparable to a bodybuilder at the absolute peak of human potential despite otherwise appearing a normal teenager. Hurricane Jones uses her powers much as Spitfire Jones did, flying from target to target with great speed, and using her powerful strength to somewhat artlessly pummel her foes. Still coming into her superpowers, Hurricane is fairly inexperienced for all her natural talent in fisticuffs. To avoid prolonged engagements, she uses her great speed to ping-pong rapidly between opponents. Buoyed by the confidence of being able to effortlessly fly just out of reach, she enjoys repartee with opponents, exchanging quips and barbs. Power Descriptions: Hurricane Jones' powers mostly aren't showy. Despite her incredible strength, she looks in no better shape than any lacrosse-playing English teenager. Her eyes, though bright and attentive, bear no external sign of their incredible acuity. However, she does bear one visible hallmark similar to her great-grandfather: when she takes to the air, a faint golden contrail follows behind her briefly before fading into nothingness shortly thereafter. This golden contrails intensifies and lingers longer as Annie moves at faster speeds, until she is trailed by a distinctive and obvious golden streak. Complications: Can't Keep A Low Profile: Annie isn't especially adept at keeping a low profile. Physically, her flight manifests a visible golden trail in the air, making stealth more difficult unless weather conditions or terrain allow her to make a sneaky approach. Socially, even without having a public identity and a superheroic lineage, she's from a wealthy family in British high society, and is known to the press, albeit less so in Freedom City than back home in her native UK. Keeping A Stiff Upper Lip: Annie's life is beset by pressure, pressure to live up to her family, pressure to follow in Spitfire Jones' footsteps, pressure to be a superhero for the Ministry of Powers. However, she is incredibly British, and despite being a teenager in a foreign country facing significant external pressure, will pretend everything is fine no matter how stressed and in need of help she is. Spitfire's Legacy: Annie is the successor to the hero Spitfire Jones, an Ally of Freedom and a war hero, a man who died in noble battle. This is a significant legacy to live up to, and the British Government are very invested in having a legacy hero like this for image reasons. Annie feels significant pressure to live up to Spitfire's legacy and to be a British symbol; and is likely to face a lot of internal and external pressure to be the new Spitfire Jones and RAF poster girl. Upper Crust Family: Wise investments, cultural cache and London property have led to the Jones family being a very wealthy and very well-connected family, many of whom married into similarly wealthy and well-connected families in India and Pakistan. While the children of this family have access to prodigious resources (reflected by Annie's Wealth 2; the family overall is probably closer to Wealth 3), they also are burdened with expectations in British high society and to uphold the family's wealth and reputation. There's also an endless supply of wealthy twit cousins likely to call in a favour or get into problems. Youthful Inexperience: Annie is blessed with superhuman abilities, natural athleticism, and a sharp wit. However, she's still an inexperienced teenager and lacks any real defensive superpowers. She's likely to get in well over her head as her recklessness and inexperience lead to her to make stupid mistakes that more experienced adults might not. She's also liable to be taken less seriously by adult superheroes and authority figures due to her young age. Abilities: 2 + 4 + 4 + 2 + 2 + 6 = 20PP Strength: 24/12 (+7/+1) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 12 (+1) Wisdom: 12 (+1) Charisma: 16 (+3) Combat: 8 + 8 = 16PP Initiative: +6 Attack: +7 Unarmed, +5 Melee, +4 Base Defense: +7 (+4 Base, +3 Dodge Focus), +2 Flat-Footed Grapple: +14/+6 Knockback: -3, -1 flat-footed Saving Throws: 3 + 5 + 2 = 10PP Toughness: +7/+6, +3/+2 flat-footed (+2 Con, +4 Defensive Roll, +1 Protection) Fortitude: +5 (+2 Con, +3) Reflex: +7 (+2 Dex, +5), Evasion Will: +3 (+1 Wis, +2) Skills: 40R =10PP Acrobatics 8 (+10) Bluff 7 (+10) Gather Information 7 (+10) Knowledge (Art) 4 (+5) Knowledge (History) 4 (+5) Language 2 (French, Punjabi, native: English) Notice 8 (+9) Feats: 19PP Attack Focus (melee) 1 Attack Specialisation (unarmed) 1 Beginner’s Luck Benefit (Wealth: Rich) 2 Defensive Roll 2 Dodge Focus 3 Equipment 1 Evasion Improved Initiative 1 Luck 1 Move-by Action Power Attack Takedown Attack 2 Taunt Equipment: 1PP = 2EP Leather Flight Jacket (Protection 1, Feats: Subtle) [2EP] Mini-tracer, multi-tool and rebreather [3EP] Powers: 12 + 10 + 2 + 2 + 4 = 30PP All powers have the descriptors: Genetic, Mutation Enhanced Strength 12 (peak human strength) [12PP] Flight 5 (human Spitfire; 250 MPH) [10PP] Immunity 1 (cloud-chaser; immune to environmental cold, Feats: Environmental Adaptation [thin atmosphere]) [2PP] Super-Senses 2 (superhumanly sharp vision; direction sense, extended vision) [2PP] Super-Strength 2 (peak human strength; Heavy load: 1.4 tons) [4PP] Drawbacks: 0PP DC Block ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Touch DC 22 / 16 Toughness Damage Totals: Abilities (20) + Combat (16) + Saving Throws (10) + Skills (10) + Feats (19) + Powers (30) - Drawbacks (0) = 105/105 Power Points

Galvanic "Already have your vessel," Chlo'zel remarked peevishly, sparks shooting across the floor as she set her feet down. Her form moved, her hand coming up to where her ear would be, and she replied to Paradigm in clipped tones. "Waymaker will surrender. Says more forces possibly inbound." Her voice came through the communicator amidst staccato crackle of interference. Dropping her hand, she fixed Waymaker with an even look. "Give the order." Galvanic gestured impatiently with one hand. "Then I will catch the ship."

Galvanic Chlo'zel let the gun barrel drop, it floating in the void without any outside impetus to let it do more than slowly drift in the direction her hand had nudged it. Looking satisfied as the ship began to drift away from Earth, without any form of propulsion to shift it from its now-inexorable course, she flew upwards, blue light arcing around her as she spread her arms wide, light coruscating around her brighter and brighter before for a brief second she looked like a star in the night sky, her mass shifting to pure electric current as she accelerated towards the ship, arms stretched ahead of her as physics warped. Her consciousness danced between shock waves, bouncing between atoms as a figure of blinding blue lightning burst through the ship's hull as if it were air. roughly in a humanoid form, two red glows emitting roughly where eyes should be. The flash faded a little, sparks crawling over the instrumentation near where Galvanic floated. The eyes looked up at Waymaker, and a smile formed in the coalescing light. "Waymaker," she said quietly but firmly. "Praetorians and Freedom League on your ship. It floatdrifts through void. Your goalmission is no longer achievable. Spare your men. Return to Dovox, informtell him you have failed." The shape lifted one hand, ostensibly to extend a metaphorical olive branch, but it was incredibly obvious the same hand could be used to cast bolts of lightning. "You have wordoath that violence will end. This does not need to be the way. Can still choose." Chlo'zel smiled behind the blue glow. "Make right choice."

OK so the spaceship is dead stick and I've done a bad thing but fortunately we can always go back and save it; ideally John Williams is there with a string section but alas. Free Action: Reconfigure her arrays to the below! Electrical Control Array: Insubstantial / Flight / Space Travel slot, boosting them to Insubstantial 3, her base Flight to 6/500MPH and her Space Travel to interstellar speeds Paragon Powers Array: all into Flight, for a total of 13/100,000MPH. This is excessive but she doesn't have an effective Strength score anyway to use her Super-Strength! Move Action: Do a big-ass loop-de-loop and fly through the spaceship and into the bridge. Standard Action: ???, depends who's inside the bridge

Galvanic Written In The Stars - 1 post Geckoman Vignette, throw the PP onto Galvanic

Geckoman & Spellbound Chris woke with a start. His face had been pressed into the passenger window of the family station wagon, and he rubbed his cheek back into shape as he peered owlishly at the fields around him, sun shining down on green grass and dense clumps of round-topped trees. “Ugh… where are we?” “Kentucky,” Liz said perkily, leaning back and steering with one hand. “You missed West Virginia.” There were bags under her eyes but she otherwise looked refreshed and revived, none the worst for wear for the drive. “I forgot how long it takes to get places,” Chris grumbled, leaning forward and flexing his shoulderblades, trying to crack his own back. “Then don’t break things we don’t have the parts for.” She took a long obnoxious slurp from her giant cup of soda before setting it back in the cup holder. “Oh come on, we had an agreement, feet off the upholstery. Sit like a normal person!” Chris’s feet were on the dashboard as he wriggled. “I’m trying to fix my back, c’mo- oh!” Liz rolled her eyes, amusement barely betraying itself on her face. Her lip twisted and she glanced to the side. “Kenzie, how the hell can your back hurt?” She tilted her hand, as the road forked and she took the right. “We’re nearly there anyway.” --- The car trundled down the long, straight roads, passing a number of isolated houses, whitewashed and surrounded by rolling green. “So you knew this guy back when you were…” Chris gesticulated with the apple he held in his hand, the bite mark crisp where he’d taken a chunk out and his voice muffled from what remained in his mouth. “Yeah, Josh was one of our little crowd. Went by Cornfed.” “Don’t think I met that one.” The car crested over a small hill, and down below they could see the town. More of a village really, a squat assortment of houses scattered around a couple of stores and a tiny old-style gas station. “Cornfed? Really?” “Yes, his name was Cornfed, Geckoman,” Liz said drily, fixing her green eyes on Chris for a second as they cruised down towards the town. “Or Joshua. I think he prefers Joshua now.” “How come I’ve never met him? I’ve met most of your buddies,” he took another loud bite of the apple. “Chew quieter, jeez. Nah, he got out of the life, reconciled with his folks, moved back here. Remember, I came out for his dad’s funeral that month you were stranded in the Antarctic.” “That one sucked. I lost the same toe five times to frostbite. Five times!” Chris chucked the apple core out the window, where it crumpled into the grass on the side of the road. “Weren’t you wearing your cute lil snow outfit with the Uggs?” Liz giggled as the road snaked down into the main street, pulling the wagon up outside the general store. It looked rustic, a sign hanging out over the porch, crates of goods stacked outside, produce on display. The two of them got out, sauntering up and inside. It was a little old, some’d say rustic, stacked with a wide assortment of goods, from flares to fishing poles to eggs to milk. Chris ducked under a tangle of fishing nets as they weaved towards the counter, behind which stood one of the largest men Chris had ever seen. His head scraped the ceiling, his chest and arms the proportions of a gorilla. The hulk moved surprisingly gracefully, busying himself behind the counter in overalls and a tank top, the better to show off biceps the size of Geckoman’s head. The massive man stopped when he saw them, leaning over the counter. It creaked under his bulk as his hands gripped the side, piercing blue eyes narrowing so he could see… “Little Liz?” The big man lumbered over, and Liz threw an arm around part of his trunk as the gigantic man embraced her. “Josh, man, you still living off that weird diet? Looking swole, looking swole.” “Look, it’s the only way to live,” Josh drawled in his thick Kentucky accent, letting Liz extricate herself and round on Chris. “And you! Well, as I live and breathe, the one who got her to give it all up.” “Well, I think she largely did that hers- ERK!” The giant man wrapped Chris in a bone-bruising bear hug. --- That evening, the three of them sat around the dining room table at Josh’s small farmhouse a couple of miles down the road. It was an old space with wooden walls and antique furniture, quite at odds with the hyper-modern kitchen Cornfed had had installed. “… so I inherited the place after my momma died, y’know, that was a real sad time,” Josh was explaining to Chris over some vegetable curry, “But I’d been running the general store for a few years, after my pappy died.” “And you don’t miss the city?” Josh waved a hand. “Freedom City, it’s… you know, it’s a lot, sometimes you need to just slow down and… Well, hey, I guess I’d been making poor choices.” Liz paused with the neck of her beer bottle an inch from her lips, smiling wryly. “I’ll say, you were working for Laser Gun Larry.” Cornfed folded his arms over one another, leaning back from the table. As he did, you could hear the chain grind back along the floor a couple inches. “That was a respectable outfit and a real good opportunity!” he sulked. “He didn’t have a codename! He was a guy named Larry with a laser gun!” Liz laughed. It was then that a knock on the door could be heard, hammering hard and frantic. The three reacted quickly, finding a sweat-soaked young man, red cheeked and gasping for air. He said that Debbie Henderson was going into labour, and the nearest hospital was two hours away, and he’d heard the big guy used to be some super-genius. “Uh… well…” Josh fidgetted nervously. “I’d like to help, but I am a nutritionist.” The giant man looked incongruously helpless. Liz’s eyes darted between the rest as they looked at her expectedly. “Who am I, Doogie Howser?” Chris shook his head. “Look, fine, I’ve delivered babies before.” His partner looked at him with incredulity. “When have you delivered a baby?” “You don’t know everything I do, I can deliver a baby!” --- Which is how, before they had to make the hours-long drive back to Freedom City with whatever component-Chris-wasn’t-asking-about in the trunk, Chris had spent the night driving to some farm in the middle of nowhere and helping deliver a baby. He’d disappeared into the bedroom, demanding hot water and towels and pretending he was some kind of authority here. Eventually it had become a waiting game, with a few people awkwardly bunched into the sitting room. Debbie Henderson’s momma was in the room with her and the weird stranger from Jersey they’d had to entrust delivering their baby, so her beau had been kicked out, to sit squeezed on the couch in between the overlarge Cornfed and a bored-looking Liz. Debbie’s pop was walking a path from one side of the room, to back to his armchair, to back to endless loop. “Soo…” Eventually Liz shrugged, turning to Cornfed to break the tension. “Does anyone want tea, or…?” It was at that moment, Chris burst out of the small room, holding a little crying bundle in his arms. “Oh thank god.” The father immediately burst to his feet, walking towards Chris with a dazed expression. “Is that… is that… ?” he stammered. Chris maneuvered closer with the bundle, passing it off to the doting father. It was a lovely moment, the new grandpa crowding round to, Cornfed gingerly leaning in to look at the new life. He leaned back from the group, making eye contact with Liz and mouthing. “See! See!”