Avenger Assembled

Oh. Would you mind using quotation marks for when you're speaking, and red italics (or whatever) for thoughts?

Despite his imposing manner and frightening demeanor, Avenger didn't actually seem hostile. Indeed, standing perfectly still with his gloved hands at his sides, he was the perfect picture of composure during Scarab's little seance. "Good. Avenger." He didn't offer to shake hands; his own clad in tightly-fitting motorcycle gloves with a lot of wear and tear in the knuckles.

Avenger handed over the knife and stepped back, trusting the Scarab to do his thing while keeping a close eye out for any shenanigans. Having stayed expressionless through Slamdance's unfortunate display, he regarded the teenager with a penetrating gaze as they stood together in the aftermath. Holding Slamdance's eyes for a moment, he turned back to watch the psychic work. Under the mask, Jack felt pretty bad for the kid, but there wasn't much comfort he could offer without breaking character.

"Long enough for me to..." Jack whispered something in Stephanie's ear that made her blush and giggle, and Jack smiled. This kind of manipulation came easily to him these nights, easier sometimes than he really felt comfortable with. When the cab came, he led the way downstairs, masterfully carrying on a three-way conversation simultaneously. "I certainly hope that's not where we're going tonight," he laughed to Hellbound, "because the lady and I do have other plans. And you guys can just call me Jack; most people do."

Discreet means their cab drivers don't tattle about what goes on in their cabs. Like someone biting another passenger on the neck. "At least, um, that's what I've heard," says Jack.

Jack's eyebrows went up so high that for a moment it looked like they were about to escape his face entirely. He mastered his surprise in a few moments, though, keeping his arm possessively around Stephanie's waist. "I took other transportation myself," he admitted, looking unruffled by the momentary lapse. He produced a cellphone as they talked, within minutes producing a dispatched cab for them. "Liberty Cabs; most discreet taxi company in the city."

That would certainly be interesting! [i was thinking about having one of the really powerful artifacts in the Book of Magic show up; something like the Infernal Trident or the Serpent Scepter. The sort of thing that would corrupt a normal man wielding it, but for some strange reason Avenger and Jos Terhune carry with no problems at all. Avenger gets his hands on it and tracks down an expert in the field to tell him more about it, and what to do with it...]

Hi all! I'm looking for a mystic character for a short plot involving an exceedingly powerful artifact. Said character should be a grownup and public enough that they can be tracked down by someone with only a slight connection to the city's magical community. [i'm looking for a character that a responsible adult superhero would go to for help dealing with a mystery.]

When Avenger looked at Slamdance, his face implacable behind his mask, his voice was...sympathetic. "Younger than you look. Friend of yours?" Avenger stared at the legion of arcane symbols surrounding them, trying to draw focus amid all this blood. "Occult symbols are random. Might be gang. I can investigate." Back and forth, he paced the room, his booted feet neatly avoiding the markings on the floor for all that his peripheral vision in his costume was surely next to nothing. His armored head turned suddenly, a crinkle of plastic and fabric as he looked at Scarab. "Scarab. I have possible weapon. Item reading?"

...so I was unsuccessful in closing the furnace door or using Takedown Attack?

With Hellbound gone, Jack continued flirting with Stephanie, leaning close and whispering soft little nothings. He'd gotten her pretty deeply in the palm of his hand back at the tavern, and now that he was evidently her savior she still seemed quite interested in what he had to offer. He kept an eye on Moira, too, as was good sense, thinking carefully about all that had happened there. It was a very good thing no one had brought up anything embarrassing.

But then Avenger wouldn't have heard the conversation. Why don't we just say Scarab opened the window, so we can get back to the action of the thread? :D

Jack insinuated his arm around Stephanie, giving her a warm smile. "I'm content to let our friend here make those kinds of decisions. But I think you'll find I can show you a good time wherever we go." He ran his hand across her cheek, gazing deeply into her eyes, all romance and charm in the space of a few moments.

Jack knew he couldn't go back to Melinda with a failure, not immediately, anyway. But who said a night on the town in civilian clothes with two lovely ladies and an interesting gentleman counted as a failure? "There's nothing wrong with style," Jack said, ostensibly to Hellbound but with his eyes all on Stephanie. "Why don't we all go celebrate your victory together?" he suggested. "My treat." He made a mental note to hit the streets later that night to get some money the old-fashioned way: by beating criminals to a bloody pulp and taking their wallets.

"I can give you better than that," Jack replied with a ready smile. He walked up to the big fighter and clapped him manfully on the shoulder, unexpectedly strong for a guy who looked better-suited for lifting pretty little champagne glasses than pumping iron. "My name is Jack Faretti. I represent an investor who's very interested in your future as a fighter." He pointed up at the stage behind him, where some very pretty people watched their interplay with visible interest. Jack was focused enough on his desire to make a good impression on both the queen of the city and her potential business partner that it wasn't until just then, when he was looking back from the stands to the others, that he saw the new arrivals. "Moira. Stephanie." Automatically seductive, Jack took Stephanie's hand and kissed it romantically, all dark, seductive flattery for the pretty little blonde. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I'm so glad to see you up and around again." Thinking quickly, conscious of Melinda's eyes burning into the back of his head, Jack spoke. "Why don't we all get out of here?" he suggests warmly. "We can give this champion the reward he deserves, and we can all get better-acquainted." With the sudden arrival of so many gorgeous women, it seemed to Jack to be an attractive offer.

OK, I've edited my post according, Doc.

"Go talk to him." The words in Jack's ears are like a sudden, delicate whip across his shoulders. "I..." He turned and found Melinda's blue, blue eyes just a few inches from his. It was a moment before he remembered how to speak again. "You want...you want to sponsor him?" There was no other reason Melinda would want Jack and the champion to speak; only for matters as mundane as business. If she wanted the man for pleasure, well, she'd speak to him herself. "Clever boy."Jack caught an angry glare from behind Melinda's shoulder, and wondered which one of the rivals he'd naturally acquired as part of her circle had talked her into this. "We'll talk again, once you've shown him how...profitable it can be, working for us. After all, that's one thing you already know well." She put a delicate hand on his shoulder and squeezed, the touch a predator's kiss to get him up and out of his seat. His undead heart pounding in his chest, Jack rose to his feet and headed into the crowd after the retreating champion. "Fighter!" he called, looking a bit like Oscar Wilde. "A word, if you please."

Avenger is certainly inside the house. The door outside must be open, at least, or otherwise conversing with each other can't be easiy.

"Petty insults. Not the old Scarab." Avenger appeared in the entry hallway by stepping out of a darkened living room that seemed empty just a few moments ago, his black-clad, muscular body just an outline in the darkness from behind him. His implacable eyes studied the two other superheroes coldly, icy blue behind his black mask. While he was not entirely sure what's going on with the strange subtext between the other two men, they both seemed legitimate. What the heck; why not take a chance? "Murder's in here." He steps back in without seeming to wait for a response from the others, though of course he's actually paying them a great deal of attention.

Sure, from holding back. Avenger is PL 9 at best on the offense, thanks to his secret identity.

Okay, so I did the deed, lost my last HP, and am unfatigued? Good good. :)

Really? OK, well, I'll just take the fatigue from surging and spend the HP to gain Takedown Attack, then.

So this is at the Circuit Maximus or not? (One idea: SuperSlams is the farm team for CM)

Jack sat in his seat below Melinda's, applauding delicately, part of a small gaggle of undead watching this performance. In a suit better suited to Edgar Allen Poe than a modern-day night on the town, he looked like a high-class Goth or vampire, the way most of them did. This wasn't the first time since he'd begun working with Melinda that she'd invited him out somewhere as part of her circle, but it was the first time she'd invited him out to something like this. It was hard not to be aroused by the spectacle, at least a little, but the inhuman nature of the two combatants kept it from being as enticing as it might be otherwise. "Do you like what you see?" Jack felt Melinda's hand on his shoulder and felt...well, it was hard to say. What did a rat feel in the company of a snake? Or a housecat in a pack of panthers? She'd only taken him to her bed once, an encounter which had been as terrifying as it had been thrilling. That was, naturally, the way someone like Melinda preferred it. "He's very talented," said Jack, the perfect picture of the jaded aristocrat of the night. "If you're asking what I think about the fighters themselves, well...I prefer something softer. More feminine." "Of course you do, darling," she said with a warm smile. "Of course you do." She kissed his neck, then leaned back to do the same for the young lady behind her who was suddenly looking petulant. It was a relief to be out of that regard; Jack was profoundly glad he hadn't come from her stock.

Okay, I think we're about wrapped up with this one.