Avenger Assembled

"Ms. Albright," said Joan, again with that great sincerity that reporters today weren't supposed to have, "you can take my word that I have no interest in exposing any other children mutated during the Terminus Invasion. My daughter is only about eight years younger than you are: if I'd been a generation older, she'd have been born at the same time and exposed to the same things as you." She nodded, then went on to say, "What I'm more concerned about is your community. What do you think about the argument that if no civic-minded leaders step forward for a minority community, that ones less inclined to work within the system are natural to follow?"

"Believe it or not, Ms. Albright," said Joan with a perfectly honest smile, "I'm here to ask about your work, not about your costumed identity. If I were from Teen Hero, I'd have asked to meet you in costume, presumably somewhere glamorous like your rooftop restaurant." She shrugged her broad shoulders slightly. "The Ledger has been Freedom City's superhero newspaper of record since the 1940s. I like to think in this generation, we've broadened our focus somewhat. I was asking about metahumans you might have met outside your 'other' career. Particularly those who share, ah, similar experiences with yours."

She's very good. Practiced, but not repetitive: she's answered questions like this plenty of times. As always, she was throughly enjoying the game. "Do you know a lot of metahumans?" Joan asked innocently. "You have a Q rating higher than all but the most publicly active super-teens in Freedom City. Has the celebrity worked to introduce you to other teens in similar situations?"

"Hmm." Alex got the feeling her reply was being considered seriously, which was more than what she'd gotten from some adult reporters who treated her, always respectfully. as a very impressive prodigy and nothing more. "How do you answer those who suggest that the entire idea of corporate metahumans is immoral? That those abilities are better served in a capacity that serves the community, private or otherwise?" There was little genuine malice in the question: Joan was asking an honest question, and looking for an honest answer.

At that juncture, there was a distinctive feminine ululation from outside, followed by Mark's "Wa-hi-hi-hoi!" as Zarana, daughter of Zartan the king of the Lost World, swung through the window of the dance hall, the two of them landing neatly inside, Mark carried in Zarana's arms as she dropped the retractable line she'd deployed from the roof and set them both down by the punch bowl. Mark, who'd been looking very depressed when his friends last saw him, looked at Zarana and said, "Okay, fine, that was freaking awesome!" She grabbed him by his rented tux, kissed him on the lips and said, "You're welcome. Now get me some punch, Lucas!"

"Yes, my daughter would love it," said Joan with a warm reporter's smile. As she spoke, she reached into her pockets and snapped out a small yellow notebook and an old-fashioned fountain pen, her hands working with a trained notetaker's skill as she began asking questions. She started out easily enough, softballing a few mild inquiries into AEON's revenue stream and the current prospects given the poor local job market, before she asked, "What are your opinions on the Herald's recent article that metahuman corporate executives should be subjected to the same regulations as metahuman athletes or military personnel?"

Joan smiled down at the young woman, reminding herself that Alex wasn't quite as young as she looked. Not like she's the first CEO who made me look like an Amazon. "No thank you," she said politely, carefully picking her way to one of the seats in front of the desk. "I ate on the way," she said politely. She sat down carefully, but not so carefully that Alex couldn't catch sight of some additional...movements underneath that padded dress. "You have a lovely office," she commented. "I can see designs here I recognize from the rest of the building. Did you design it all yourself?"

In the OOC

Joan Collier picked her way along the sidewalk carefully, mindful of keeping her skirts in place and undisturbed by the four arms she'd carefully wrapped around her legs before starting out that day. To all but the most careful inspection, she looked like a woman who happened to favor brightly colored, heavy, ruffled dresses in the style of a previous generation. But she had her secrets, just as any good reporter did, which was one of the reasons she'd finagled this assignment from Old Fletch himself. The new media had gotten their hooks into Alexandra Albright already; it was time for the city's premiere newspaper to do the same. She was expected, of course, and ushered into an elevator that took her high into the towering glass and steel of the AEON building. Hmm. New building, good for local business. And it's a colorful place, she conceded. Hope it's not tied into the lady herself too heavily, she thought. Too dependent on one boss, and the whole thing goes south. And then she was in the corridor, walking along with slow measured strides, and then at the front door of Alex Albright's main office for her first full-length interview with the Freedom City Ledger. It was good to be the press.

"Wear them," said Avenger. "You saw him: if he does get suspicious, he's likely to follow you. After all, as far as we've heard he's defeated most opponents already." He nodded at that, his face perfectly composed. "He's arrogant, and we can use that against him. He'll see you as a target, and he'll move to take advantage of that target. But we'll be waiting for him."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," said Heyzel apologetically. "I understand that humans have things they would prefer not to discuss. I know of things like that myself now." He studied her, then admitted, "You have a touch of Heaven about you," he said quietly. "I wondered if you had been in at a death. But it's not my place to ask of such personal business, I apologize."

They finished the transaction with speed and professionalism, Freedom Angel a warm, reassuring presence as Stesha helped him make the right business decisions. She caught him studying her a few times, but it seemed far more professional than salacious. After all, he was an angel. When the transaction was done, he leaned close and asked her seriously. "Stesha, did something happened to you recently? Something of a mortal nature?"

Oh, and just to get any questions out of the way: you guys have full opportunities to make use of Master Plans, Inspires, sneaky plots, etc.

(00:52:24) angrydurf: I'm just saying that if he's staying true to for in 25 years he has a young ward he's training to be his successor. (00:52:26) AvengerAssembled: But yes, JJ has no idea who this is. (00:52:53) Faust: About to post my pc...had difficulty with his history (00:52:53) angrydurf: *form (00:53:54) Gizmo: ...what 'form' is that, durf? (00:54:03) Sorus: true to form (00:54:17) Sorus: you know, a jerkass (00:54:24) Gizmo: ... (00:54:30) Sorus: (00:54:31) AvengerAssembled: Snerk (00:54:41) AvengerAssembled: I don't think that's quite what he meant, Sorus. (00:54:43) angrydurf: Swashbuckling badass abnormal? (00:54:48) AvengerAssembled: LOLs for real

"That'll do it," agreed Avenger. "Take him to the alley around the back," he said. "Those tenements are deserted, and sufficiently a fire hazard that only the poorest of the poor and the most heavily drug addicted live there." He didn't mention how he knew that piece of information in particular, namely, where he'd used to eat. "Once he's there, we can grab him, subdue him, and take him away at our leisure."

Lock the doors and burn the place down. No, wait, that won't leave anyone to tell the tale afterwards. Plus, there are all those civilians. "Can't call the cops or fire, Fens are too dilapidated for that," said Jack, unconsciously mirroring Avenger's speech as he studied the serious problem before them. He studied their quarry like a snake would study a particularly large rat. "I recommend we wait him out. He's only human. Eventually he'll need to void his bowels, or grab a cigarette, or buy good, any number of things. And once he's off holy ground, we'll get him."

"We're on our way," said Avenger, his voice dropping from Jack's casual ease to a flat, cold fury when Derrick explained what was going on. "Describe him to me. Did he identify himself? Say what faction he was from?" On the other end, Derrick could hear Jack urging Taylor to get a portal open, and something about finding his pants. "We'll be there in a second."

The second half of this thread takes place before the party, as far as I've heard?

"With style.." Avenger replied, his gravely, scratchy voice deadpan. "As for the building, recommend you talk your way past the guards?" He doubted Jack of Blades would be up for his usual strategy in those rare occasions when he simply couldn't sneak his way into a place: beat the security guards unconscious so fast that they couldn't react. "Will meet you inside in any event. Best if not seen together."

Either one is good, Rav.

The OOC thread. The article is published under an anonymous byline: The Freedom City Ledger Editorial Staff. This thread is open to all characters, particularly those who know the Scarab and/or Bombshell.

DC 31 Diplomacy check there.

Sussing out what was happening at ground level, the angel of Freedom flew towards the jumper on the high ledge with great speed: stopping in front of him so that he could catch him if he went forward, and so that he'd start backwards, if anything, if he was surprised. "Hello, my friend," he said simply, offering his hand to the frightened man on the rooftop. "Come with me."

"Forever mine, Phantom," Jack agreed, trusting in the darkness and shadows to keep them away from prying eyes in the mostly dark building by their flank or on the street far, far below where they blew. He focused in on his lovely wife's eyes, gazing into them almost hypnotically. "Why, where are you planning on going?" he asked her teasingly.