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Tensing and readying to fire, Arrowhawk met the man's gaze. "I prefer to walk. Who are you and how did you know I'd be in there... wait. Lenny. He told you about me. "

"Ah well, the ship can operate by remote so that's not too big a problem. Thanks for installing it though, it'll come in really useful. So, d'you want to take a look at the rest of the ship?"

DC 15 Knowledge: Streetwise (1d20 12=14) Let's be fair here; he's new to the city and Foreshadow isn't exactly the most public of superheroes, why would he know what Foreshadow looks like :P

"Very clever idea," said Chris, spinning the blowtorch around his finger a few times before extinguishing it and returning it to his belt. Oooooh... flamey. "So I just press this button," he asked, pressing one on the device and nearly falling over from the lightflier appearing at his feet. Ooooo... shiny. "How do you get rid of them again?"

Chris sniffed the air, realising somebody else had entered. Glancing around, he couldn't see anything. "My gecko-sense is tingling," he muttered, hefting the stereo and turning around to see the girl in the dress. "Hah! Thought I smel-" Insensitivity alert! "Sorry, heard someone come in. Couldn't see you coming in there, nice trick."

I'm definitely not using it, despite not making a clear exit post.

So... many... doors... Arrowhawk continued onwards. With haste being necessary, he didn't stop to avoid possible assault, but merely strode up and gave the door as strong a kick as he could muster, hoping to bust it straight open.

"Contingency plan? Well, Freedom is an ideal place for a water landing..." He looks at the projected image. "That's one hell of a coincidence. It's almost like somebody had discussed how well it would fit in there, and made it so..." Chris pondered that for a second, before grabbing a cutting torch from his utility belt. "Any details I'd need to know about power requirements?" he asked, whirling the torch and kneeling down to cut through to the circuits.

"Back down, mate, there's no way you can win this!" snapped Arrowhawk at the huge brute, firing an arrow forcefully at his face. "You're absolutely pathetic, can't even go to a store without sparking a super-brawl," spat the costumed vigilante, trying to demoralise his opponent.

I'm catching up on posting now; been having a hectic week.

I'm glad it ended up that close a fight, it wasn't looking very good for a second there. Then again, the hero is obliged to make a comeback after a beating.

This place looks legit on the outside. I'm in trouble here if I don't hurry. Electing not to pursue his foe, Arrowhawk ran over and cautiously shoved the door opposite the elevator open, back to the wall at its side in case of attackers beyond it. I need to get out of here.

"It's Chris," said the boy, wandering forwards. "Figured that if we were setting things up, it would be better not to wear a costume in case I fell over something or got it caught in something or something like that." "So, stereo system? Yeah, OK, where do you want it put?"

Chris poked his head around the door suddenly. "Dammit, it's not enough that I got roped into this, but I'm only the second one to turn up. Daaaaang." He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt with suspicious bulges around his wrist where he'd concealed his zappers. "So, Gordy, whaddya want me to do?" he said, leaning back against the wall.

"Blasters? Lovely. Why is it everywhere I go I get shot with blasters?" muttered Arrowhawk, pulling back the bowstring and letting a sharp-tipped arrow fly at one of the drones.

9th September 2000 The Clyde flowed onwards, and nobody could ever stop that. Through the heart of Glasgow it went, passing by dog walkers on riverside paths and factories, warehouses and shipyards, some bustling with workers and some completely deserted. Probably a damn good metaphor for life, smiled John Fraser to himself as he sat on the bench, watching the river flow by, eating his sandwich. A red-haired woman walking past smiled at him, and he reciprocated in kind. Maybe he could have struck up a conversation, but he didn’t. Running his hand through his messy black hair, John got up and started walking the other way, towards his workplace. Somebody had somehow found out that it was his birthday and put up some balloons. It was a nice gesture, considering nobody was really close to the man. He never seemed to go out at nights with them, or seemingly with anybody, yet he always looked tired like he hadn’t slept. Nice enough guy, yeah, but always distant in a way. Went and ate his lunch alone out by the river. Nobody was sure why, and nobody asked why. John was just… odd that way, they supposed. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Christ, thirty, sighed John inwardly. Everyone had left him, having dragged him out to the bar and bought him a few rounds for his birthday. Why? I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever really tried to make friends with them. I guess it’s the flipside of that quirk of human nature that makes some of us commit violence and theft. It makes some of us be unnecessarily nice to compensate. He ordered another drink. Famous Grouse, a good Scots whisky. He did enjoy whisky, but didn’t often give himself the night off to enjoy it without hindering his judgement. Tonight, his birthday present to himself was to let the costumed crimefighters of the city just get on with it. A man could only go so long without a good night’s sleep, after all. For how long can I do it? Hold down a job and train every day, and do what I do every night? He drained the last of the liquid in the glass, staring down into the bottom of the glass. If I tried to stop, could I? He looked over at the barman as he wiped a glass clean. Could I go back to a regular life? “Same again, please.†--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a few hours later, and he’d followed a somewhat traditional pattern of drinking. Have a few at each bar, eventually get all maudlin and then stagger off home. He paused, leaning on a wall with his eyes closed to listen to the sounds of the night. Cars speeding, youths shouting and jeering, people laughing and joking… every night, he heard it. Every damn night. For the past ten years. “I’m thirty,†he mumbled, â€ÂStill be able… t’do f’r long time yet…†His flat was just a few streets along now. He’d be able to go home and sleep. Lurching away from the wall with a grunt, John staggered from side to side as he headed home. Hopefully the police wouldn’t pick him up, that was a problem he could do with not having to deal with. But he got to his door fine, thank God, and fumbled with the key until he got in. His home was a mess, with arrow tips lying around, an unstrung bow hanging over the back of the sofa and various items of miscellaneous… stuff seemed to be building up in piles. Picking his way over all these trappings of his lonely life, the one he couldn’t give up, John Fraser lay down on his bed for the one night of the year he’d been himself and not someone behind a mask. And he slept.

"See? The real reason we keep doing it is because sooner or later, we always win," spat Arrowhawk, fighting the pain in his side to send another arrow flying towards his opponent, but the distraction caused by his injuries caused him to mis-aim.

"Well, there is an empty cupboard up back. Reckon it'd fit in there, the things quite large." He walks over, leaping over a seat in the process and pulls it open to confirm. "Looks quite big, was probably where all the emergency gear like extra parachutes and provisions are meant to be stored or something."

Pressing a button on the remote, the green walkway on the Pitchoo flipped down, revealing the interior strewn with clothes and CDs. "Erm... sorry about the mess?" he winced, climbing in and sitting down on his chair, spinning around to face the door. "Whaddya want to look at first? Weapons, engines, propulsion... ?"

My mantra, although occassionally slightly unhelpful, will be repeated: Turn it off and on again. I mean, the whole computer, take out the keyboard, make sure no dust is in the plugs, reconnect it, reboot the computer.

Hurray, finally! A critical hit!

"Oh, shut up with the tantrum," muttered Arrowhawk, firing off a blunt arrow at his opponent.

"Hey, I fly that thing around not knowing how the engine works, how it's refuelled, if it is, and even if it has any fuel left in it. I'll risk one more thing likely to kill me. Come look around the ship first, if you want."

17+9 for 26

"So, how long do you reckon it'd take to get working hoverboards? I'd love to stash a couple in the Pitchoo, because that rope-ladder is convenient, but hitting the ground is quite painful. " He somehow manages to get over to the table on the board, pauses for a second then gets off of the board before grabbing a slice of pizza. "Mmmm... this is good," he manages to say between bites.