Ecalsneerg

Arrowhawk snarled, crouching and gripping the man by the throat. She painfully forced his head up to look at her, staring him right in the eye with a burning fury. "If I meant to kill you, you and your friend would long be enjoying the luxuries of Helheim." She tightened her grip a little, but didn't use nearly the amount of strength her enchanted gauntlets would allow her to bring to bear. "Your hunt ends tonight. And you will tell me where it is. And who is involved. And how to stop them." Arrowhawk leaned in close, until her nose was nearly touching the wounded man. "And then, and only then, will I consider alerting the authorities."

Arrowhawk finished up, stopping only when she was sure the man would live. Even if he was a monster, it wasn't her place to leave him to die. Especially when his comrade was moving so very, very slowly. Turning and casually strolling after him, she didn't bother to be silent, letting her boots clump on the concrete. She circled around, stopping in front of the crawling man, glaring down at him. Her blue eyes pierced through the shadows under her cowl. "So. Did this go as planned?" asked the Arrowhawk, her voice harsh and sharp.

Arrowhawk walked up to where the unconscious man was trapped in the vehicle, clearly in awful shape. She reached out and ripped off the already dented and damaged door, tossing it to the side where it clattered into the damaged asphalt. Her eyes flicked up and down his body, assessing his injuries, before dispassionately tearing at his clothing, getting a bundle of cloth as she tried to staunch the bleeding. She was no battlefield surgeon, hell she wasn't even a medic, but this was the best she could possibly do right now.

I'll make some rolls to check the injuries... Medicine roll?: 2#1d20 4 10 Look, she is not a doctor, OK?

Arrowhawk could only watch in horror, slowing herself and stopping short before she was caught up in the crash, able only to watch the car roll and roll... and roll... She froze for a moment in horror as the carnage unfolded. Why his they have to flee? Why didn't they just submit? Why didn't they just not do such a vile thing? As soon as everything had ground to a halt, she rushed over to the pickup truck, peering inside, seeing the two men inside were in a sorry state. "Why didn't you just stop," she hissed, trying to assess the damage.

Chris pointed finger guns at Ashley. "Where's the superpowers exemption in the regular ole draft?" he pointed out with a wry smile. "You'd just need to know which males just leaving high school have superpowers to selectively issue, wouldn't'cha?" He slid off the couch, pacing restlessly back and forth, seeming unable to sit still in his seat. He finally turned back to the pair. "So, you said superhuman backup. What exactly does that mean? Because, I mean, even if we hadn't had this conversation, you know I'd come running if you asked. Probably bring the 'Ceptors too if it was bad enough. Heck, you could do the same of most of the student body, and I imagine half of them will twig to something being up."

Chris took another loud bite of the apple. He glanced back and forth between Callie and Ashley. "So one of the President's children is a meta. And thus..." He traced his fingers along an imaginary diagram in front of him. "They need education in their powers. But also need their usual security detail. Which means you going back to Claremont as security. Which means obviously the Secret Service know you're on assignment there." He hooked his feet on the arm of the couch and stretched out, tapping his head on the floor a couple of times before pulling himself back up to a sitting position. "So I suppose my real concern is everyone else's security. You don't work for our pro-super incumbent. You work for the Secret Service. What if the next President decides wait, no, we're a threat. Isn't this playing with fire a bit?" Geckoman pointed finger guns at Callie. "What've you set up to stop that?" He was assuming it was a given, not an if, that some arrangement was in place.

Galvanic Far From Home Arrowhawk II From Beneath You It Devours Guide PP

Chris raised an eyebrow. "You're going undercover and you having finished college... this is all a bit 90210, isn't it?" He turned away briefly, locating a fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. He picked up a red apple, lightly tossing it up into the air before catching it and taking a bite. He ambled over to the opposite side of the couch from where Callie was sitting and leaned on the arm rest. He loudly crunched on another chunk of apple. "I follow politics insofar as it overlaps with my work. I try to avoid it, though. Superhumans and government? Terrible mix." Chris shrugged and ate an apple. "I know there's a thing with a mule and a rhino. Or is it a goat and an elephant?"

Arrowhawk leaped over a pile of spilled garbage bags, landing hard and picking up the pace, close enough to be able to see the whites of the crossbowman's eyes. She couldn't say anything or ask it to stop, too focused on picking up enough speed quickly enough to get onto the damn truck. Her teeth were clenched and bared, cheeks flushed as she bore down on the truck. She felt something splitting in her side, but wasn't sure if the wound had actually opened further, or if it was just the pain from pushing herself like this.

Dexterity check: 1d20+6 22 Well, she's keeping pace!

Arrowhawk pondered. The man was in no danger of walking away on her. But if he wasn't going to die imminently... she could stop that truck, get the information, call the authorities to get the man medical treatment, and then proceed to bring the remainder of this operation to justice. And then she could attempt to sew up the wounds on her side and shoulder. Ignoring the burning pains on her torso, she broke into a sprint, moving with a preternatural swiftness, not bothering to mask her footsteps as her boots thudded off the pavement, feet falling so quickly it was more like a continuous sound. Her cape was nearly perpendicular to the ground as she gave chase to the fleeing pickup truck.

Is he dead tho: 1d20+1 18

Osla looked down the side of the building, breating hard. She didn't know if the man was alive or dead, but the fight couldn't have been prolonged. He was a professional, and she was already badly hurt. Most people would be dead by now. She clipped her bow back to her waist, glancing over at the pickup truck. If what the man had said was right, then the hunters were still free. But they wouldn't be the only ones. She needed information. She picked up the sniper rifle and abruptly snapped it in half, tossing the pieces to the floor before dropping back into the alleyway. She glared down at the pick-up truck as she checked the mercenary's pulse on his neck.

Chris paused before pointing at a spot on the wall to the left of Ashley's head. "I think you caught the two safes but there's a couple of swords concealed behind you," he pointed out helpfully. He shut the fridge door and leaned on the edge of the kitchen counter, hands on the top of it, stance open. "But like I said. An inkling. Just some inkle. I'd appreciate whatever this is straight." He looked straight at Ashley genially, not bothering with the whole mysterious not meeting people's gazes and being enigmatic thing. "Besides, I think this is meant to be reassuring. I mean, we're in my home. Not in the secret cave full of cars and guns, or the other base full of superhumans." It was only then his voice became a little pointed. "I assume Ms Summers checked this was one of the days Cassie goes to daycare at her mom's work, which isn't useful information to you because I can barely walk through the security in that place." He shrugged. "Quid pro quo. I know your stuff, you learn some of mine."

Callie had only managed to rap on the door once before finding it opening almost immediately. Before them stood a man in his mid-twenties, very casually dressed in blue jeans, a green t-shirt and a navy-and-dark-green plaid shirt worn open over the ensemble. He was gnawing thoughtfully on a pencil. He looked the two of them up and down, a little warily. "You know, you don't actually have to drive a black car, Ms Summers," he commented. He looked at them thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose I've an inkling what this is about. I hear stuff." He backed away, letting the two women into the apartment. It was small, and quite messy, with just a small battered couch facing a nice plasma screen, and a playpen was tucked into one corner of the room. A small but neat kitchenette took up one side of the room, the view out the kitchen window looking out over the park. An observant eye would notice toddler-sized hand and foot prints smudging one corner of the ceiling, and also that the texts scattered over the coffee table were all highly complicated scientific journals and psychology texts. "You want a drink? I've got orange juice, Yoo-Hoo, milk..." He wandered over to the fridge and opened it. "Wine which may have been open about two weeks."

Move Action: Demoralise as a move action at a -5 penalty; dude needs to have better blackmail material. Demoralise: 1d20+5 24 Standard Action: BOW TO THE FACE Again; a DC23 Damage attack: 1d20+10 30 OH AND SHE CRITS. DC28 attack. Which he's potentially at -2 Toughness for.

"You also have footage of you assisting some quite wealthy people in blood sports," Arrowhawk pointed out, casually reaching out with one hand. "While using a high powered rifle. So you'd have a suspicious missing number of hours immediately prior to me shooting at you." She shoved the man to the side, puffing herself up to her full height, glaring down at him with bright blue eyes. "A lot of effort just to get a recording of a known mercenary wandering around a city with high powered weaponry." She lashed out at the side of the sniper's head in a fast brutal blow. "Don't try to blackmail me with this. I don't know what's worse, the foolishness or the cowardice."

Yeeeah, she's just going to charge him. To save time and since you don't need to take the worse roll with Second Chance, if he does hit her; Roll and potential reroll to avoid being shot: 2#1d20+6 19 7, she's only be bruised & injured again. Standard Action: Charge attack! -2 Defence, +2 to Hit, Bow haft to the face; DC23 Damage: 1d20+12 24

Arrowhawk rolled her eyes behind her mask. "So petty mortal men with the urge to kill but without the stomach to actually do it on their own merit or for any cause. Excellent. Just what I'd like to be doing with my evening." She gritted her teeth and thought for a moment. "You know, I think it'd be best if I just stopped you." She lunged forward and upwards, trying to get as much of her body underneath the long barrel of the gun as possible before rearing up, swiping upwards with her bow. A solid blow to the bottom of the chin would suffice to even the odds in this combat.

Arrowhawk kept her gaze level, but paused for a second. The battle lust was ringing in her ears, but so was blood loss and an incredible amount of pain. She settled on sneering at the gunman, bow held parallel with the ground, poised and ready to strike if he went to pull the trigger. She wasn't sure she'd be able to evade, or withstand a third shot, but she wasn't going to roll over and surrender. "You hit me three times. This would be the fourth shot. Third time lucky has ceased to apply," she managed through gritted teeth, her voice harsh and pained. "Let us make a bargain. I will let you walk away if you tell me what on Hel's blighted breath is going on here. Who are the hunters and who are they hunting? I have no quarrel with you unless you foolishly press one." If the man was any judge, he'd be able to tell she wasn't bluffing.

Arrowhawk reacted quickly as the man hefted his gun, crossing the distance fast and bringing her hands up to slap the barrel down and to the right... just in time for it to fire. The bullet would have missed had she been a millisecond quicker, but as it was, the shot grazed her side, carving a deep rivulet through one of the interlocking plates, and even more painfully a deep line along her side. She went to come up and strike her assailant, but found one her legs had buckled under her as she fought to avoid keeling over. The edges of her vision were wavering, and she could taste vomit in her throat from the level of pain she was in. Arrowhawk glared up at the gunman with her piercing blue eyes as she all too slowly forced herself to get up, to keep moving.

Stop shooting me!: 1d20+7 16 OK! So Osla spends her round Dazed! She's still got 3 HP and is bruised x2, injured x2

Standard Action: Shoot a Dazzle arrow directly at where the sniper is standing, again DC16 Area Reflex save for half, and DC16 Reflex save to avoid being blinded and deafened. Move Action: Close up to melee range.

Arrowhawk let out a second long ragged breath, trying to keep down the taste of bile in her mouth. It wasn't going to be a fatal injury, but it was certainly going to smart for a couple of weeks. Keeping the cloak's magic active long enough to keep the man down below in the alley from spotting her, she swiftly drew another geode-tipped arrow and drew a bead. Being able to see her even through the cloak's enchantment wasn't going to last long, especially when he had those goggles on. Coming up on her haunches, she fired the arrow, letting it detonate, the noise and light of it noticeable in a block radius. Perhaps all this would attract more hunters, if a small miracle happened, maybe even the authorities would arrive. In the moment that didn't matter, as Osla used the temporary distraction to rush the shooter, becoming visible again as she crossed the rooftop in a blur.