Gizmo

"Such would be beneath thee, Teagan," Sekhmet scoffed at she followed behind the dragon woman, shuddering involuntarily and wrinkling her nose as the mixed scents of the drinking establishment washed over her more-than-human senses. "Begrudge the guardsman not his obligations. To judge by the betrayer's bodiless scribes, mortals have grown far more churlish than that on the whole." The bar was lit dimly enough that she had to catch herself to keep from lighting her sun disk. "Hrn. I must again rely on thee for guidance. The vendor is there behind the countertop?"

"H-hi Eve," Becky replied with a flushed smile, stooping slightly to return the hug with the sort of ginger care one might give brittle porcelain. Up close the petite Frenchwoman could hear her visitor's heartbeat speed up a step, a little louder that it really should have been through the trenchcoat and clothes underneath. There was a faint earthy scent of someone who had been working with soil and only had time for a quick shower in the meantime. "Sorry for not calling ahead, I didn't know I was going to be in town but there was a thing and, um. May I come in? Unless it's a bad time or anything, of course, sorry again, really!"

Tuesday, October 1st, 6:44 PM The Dutemps Building bustled with activity as the various office workers and residents of its lower and mid-levels shared space with the construction workers and ubiquitous scaffolding wrapping around the skyscraper like wireframe chrysalis. The hewn stone of the fantastical addition to the tower's upper levels was beginning to take shape, promising to be a memorable addition to the Freedom City skyline but most of the people forced to detour around cordoned-off area or squeeze into elevators alongside power tools seemed to be counting the days to its completion. One young woman had entirely different matters distracting her as she politely apologized for bumping into yet another person in the crowded lobby and made her way to an elevator. On the taller side, the unremarkable taupe trenchcoat she wore, fiddling absentmindedly with the buckles, concealed most of her athletic frame while the snow white streak in her otherwise dark, chocolate brown hair drew some small amount of attention. The other elevator riders were too consumed in their own schedules to pay her much mind, though one gossip-minded administrative assistant couldn't help but notice that the young woman selected the highest floor still open during construction after checking a room number jotted down on her phone. The last person to exit before the elevator headed back down, the young woman hesitated, having to shoot out a hand to stop the doors from closing when she took a moment too long. The sliding metal creaked in protest at the unexpected resistance but she slipped into the opulent hallway and let them shut behind her. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her reflection in the floor to ceiling windows and quickly rubbed a bit of errant dirt from one cheek off on the back of a sleeve. Walking the rest of the way to the end of the hall she knocked quickly on the door as though worried she would loose her nerve otherwise.

Khania Opposed Will Check. (1d20+8=17) Errant doesn't manage to initiate the grapple this time. 27 - Guy Fawkes - Staggered, Demoralized, Bound 27 - Errant - Bruised x1, 1HP 23 - Heka - Bruised x1, Staggered, Insubstantial 18 - Set - Bruised x1, 0HP 17 - Temperance - Bruised x1, 2HP 14 - Sekhmet - Bruised x1, -2 Defense 11 - Diehard - Unconscious 11 - Khania - Bruised x2, Slowed 10 - Blackfire - Unconscious, Entangled 4 - Glamazon - Bruised x1, 1HP

Midnight made an almost imperceptible sound of agreement as he focused on the umbral figures Wander pointed out, metahuman vision cutting though the gloom well enough to recognize that something was indeed different about them. Fortunately the black clad gadgeteer wasn't one to rely solely on his inherent gifts. Tapping a single finger to the side of his featureless mask brought an overlay of data streaming across its ruby lenses, sensors funneling information into heuristic algorithms adapted from Redbird's Furion technology. The results were damning indeed. Al-Qaum might not have been from the Terminus himself but he and many of his shadowy minions were soaked in entropic energies, hollowed out and hideously refilled. --Tt. Erin called it, al-Qaum has turned quisling. May have to grab al-Darsah and run. I'll get his attention.-- Stepping forward a handful of steps, Midnight made a slow, methodical show of drawing forth a pair of gleaming silver knuckledusters from his belt and sliding them onto his fingers. "Loathe to agree with Typhoon," he intoned calmly before looking up from his armaments to stare directly at al-Qaum, "but anyone allying with the Terminus answers to me."

"<Too young for what?>" asked Sekhmet, jet black eyebrows rising in contrast with the kohl outlining her eyes in an almond shape. Context provided her answer but incredulity delayed realization for several moments. "<For fermented bread?! I present as no crone but neither a mewling babe!>" Closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath through her nose while griping her pendant, the incognito goddess willed her temper to subside. A mortal thinking to bar her from any location was offensive enough but there had been a time when bacchanals far wilder than any she expected to find within this establishment were held in her honor. Being asked to justify her presence was adding insult to injury. "Hark, guardsman. Misfortune sees you cross my path on an eve of considerable irritation. My garments are not those I set out wearing and I carry not the hard, thin badges of your city-state." Crossing her arms below the knot in her newly acquired shirt, she made unrelenting eye contact with the bouncer and did her best not to grit her teeth too obviously. "Thy sense of duty is to be commended but I would encourage you follow the spirit of thy orders more so than the letter. I promise thee, whatever restrictions be in place I more than meet the requirements."

Khania Toughness Save vs. DC 22. (1d20+8=28) Sorry, HG, not so much. 27 - Guy Fawkes - Staggered, Demoralized, Bound 27 - Errant - Bruised x1, 1HP 23 - Heka - Bruised x1, Staggered, Insubstantial 18 - Set - Bruised x1, 0HP 17 - Temperance - Bruised x1, 2HP 14 - Sekhmet - Bruised x1, -2 Defense 11 - Diehard - Unconscious 11 - Khania - Bruised x2, Slowed 10 - Blackfire - Unconscious, Entangled 4 - Glamazon - Bruised x1, 1HP Guy Fawkes Strength Check. (1d20+3=11) Not going anywhere. 27 - Guy Fawkes - Staggered, Demoralized, Bound 27 - Errant - Bruised x1, 1HP 23 - Heka - Bruised x1, Staggered, Insubstantial 18 - Set - Bruised x1, 0HP 17 - Temperance - Bruised x1, 2HP 14 - Sekhmet - Bruised x1, -2 Defense 11 - Diehard - Unconscious 11 - Khania - Bruised x2, Slowed 10 - Blackfire - Unconscious, Entangled 4 - Glamazon - Bruised x1, 1HP Errant is up.

"Be thee well, scholar?" Sekhmet asked the lab assistant gravely, the light fading from about her head and hand as she inspected the healed limb brusquely. "Er, y-yeah," the young man managed, not entirely sure what had just happened but glad to no longer be bleeding all over the alleyway. "Thanks, that was amazing..." "Be most welcome. Now!" Standing back up to her full height, the goddess punched on hand into the opposite palm. "Those responsible for thy injury must yet answer for it." Bursting forward with inhuman speed, she sprinted out of the alley toward the remaining earthbound villain just as he eluded Temperance's barrage. Without fanfare she caught the back of his head in her palm and slammed it downward, face first into the pavement with her weight and momentum behind it. One meaty thud later the blur of divine vengeance was still again, raising her arm to lift the unconscious Diehard off of the ground. "Hm. This one seemed more sturdy." Indeed, even as they watched the cuts on his face and exposed by tears in his bright red jumpsuit were closing, bruises fading almost before they could appear, but the unstable martial artist showed no signs of awakening. "Thy distraction was well timed, Temperance. Whatever sorcery stokes this warrior, he shall trouble us no more this day."

Sekhmet Standard Action: Charge Diehard. (1d20+9=27) Improved Critical 2 makes that DC 27. Diehard Toughness Save vs. DC 27. (1d20+8=10) ...huh. Khania Dazed! 27 - Guy Fawkes - Staggered, Demoralized, Bound 27 - Errant - Bruised x1, 1HP 23 - Heka - Bruised x1, Staggered, Insubstantial 18 - Set - Bruised x1, 0HP 17 - Temperance - Bruised x1, 2HP 14 - Sekhmet - Bruised x1 11 - Diehard - Unconscious 11 - Khania - Bruised x2, Slowed 10 - Blackfire - Unconscious, Entangled 4 - Glamazon - Bruised x1, 1HP Glamazon is up.

Sekhmet bristled at the reproach, diffusely directed though it was. "Cast not thy disapproving eye at She Who Mauls, Teagan. When I tread upon the mortal plane in ages past, it was ever with transparent purpose. And usually in the form of a lioness large enough to devour homesteads in a single bite." Dedication to duty had usually kept her from giving into the boredom which plagued many deities. When she had been dispatched to the earthy realm, it was with specific purpose, typically savage retribution. "I find myself more limited in proportion now," she sighed wistfully, absently adjusting the knot in her plaid shirt before placing her hands on her hips. She missed the razing. She missed being big. "And my purpose be nursemaid to the Ennead's greatest shame. Name this our destination, great beast, for my need of drink grows urgent."

Gadgets! Super-Senses 9 (Detect Terminus [Visual]; Extras: Analytical 2, Counters Concealment 2, Penetrates Concealment 4) [9PP] (HUD lenses with Furion heuristic targeting algorithms)

Trevor's super-senses should cut through any concealment, darkness included, with infravision for good measure. He gets a 25 on Notice with Skill Mastery. He does also have partial immunity to telepathic effects if there's any shenanigans going on that way?

"Whatever motivated placing metal fangs... there, I would prefer continued ignorance," Sekhmet muttered in a lowered tone that was still loud enough to draw an awkward expression from the cashier as they departed. Out on the sidewalk she sniffed the air haughtily. "Tis unlikely any mortal establishment stocks palliatives of sufficient strength nor volume to achieve such a goal but mayhaps the effort alone be worthwhile." Beer had been the beverage of choice among her followers and even among those with similarly godly constitutions, the Mistress of Dread's ability to hold her spirits had been well known. As they walked, the goddess found herself becoming disquieted by the lull in conversation. She had never ranked her social skills among her greatest talents, having made few close friends in Heliopolis. Here on the mortal plane she had precisely none unless one were to count Set and that was a genuinely distressing thought indeed. "Ah, my thanks for thy aid with the garb. Tis in excellent taste. ...I assume." She cleared her throat with a harsh cough and exposed teeth in a self-conscious smile. "The liesmith suggested champions of this age often seek to remain undetected while out of battle, though he seemed weirdly fixated on eyewear and I confess my attention wandered from his blathering. Be there another name by which I should call thee?"

Sekhmet gave the pile of garments a skeptical look before glancing about a the other customers in the store, staring and whispering at the unconventional pair. "Hmph. Very well. Though I need no caution fit for an Olympian. There exists some concept of modesty in the golden halls of Heliopolis." Matching a dignified stride to her proud words, the goddess ducked into the changing room of the second hand shop and slid the curtain closed behind her. Her shendyt, dyed the hue of blood orange flesh, was easily doffed and folded into a neat square atop the chair she found within. The modern clothing proved more difficult, however. Discerning which limbs went through which hole was simple enough; though her sensibilities were archaic she had seen ample examples of similar items worn by average mortals and was no fool. That made the endless array of loops and fasteners and laces no less bewildering. Ra preserve me, she sighed silently, gripping the ankh pendant hanging around her neck, even the raiment of this age tis festooned with metal mechanisms. Initially gravitating toward a dark skirt that offered the freedom of movement to which she was accustomed, Sekhmet found it to possess an elasticity she distrusted. Selecting a pair of trousers made of a blue, fibrous material, she was satisfied to find their proportions hugged her own like a second skin, removing the risk of tripping over extra fabric as well as could be expected. The rips the pants' previous owner had sustained in their knees also pleased her, the weathered signs of a warrior's lifestyle. A sleeveless black top provided similar snugness and the goddess almost stopped with that before recalling the layers worn by the mortals she had accidentally intimidated earlier that evening. Finding a long sleeved shirt among the pile, standing out with its deep purple colouring and pattern of black lines intersecting at right angles, she fumbled about with its small round embellishments for a while before losing patience and tying its bottom corners together above her abdominals. Rolling up the sleeves to give her biceps some room to breath, the solar deity considered her appearance in the ill maintained mirror, deciding that she truly had no idea whether she had achieved her goal or not. Slipping her sandals back on and scooping her shendyt into a small bag that had found its way into the pile presented to her by Tiamat, she stepped out past the curtain with an expression that dared any observers to pass judgement at their own peril.

With a rumbling sigh, LaMarr loosened his tie and stuffed the strip of fabric into one of his jacket pockets. "Well, can't fairly act like we didn't know we were probably going to suckered into sometime like this," he noted philosophically, undoing the top few buttons of his dress shirt. "Best get rolling, boys and girls. Those jokers aren't going to knock themselves on their own fool asses." Stopping on his way out the shattered hole left by the cleric's rapid departure, he handed the wrapped oval under his arm to Runs-With-Fangs-Bared. "Here, kid, might not have a chance to give this to you later."

Wail had long since run out of patience for their situation but the resounding blow Cimitiere took to the chest added a new note of urgency to the fight. "Enough," he growled flatly, surging forward with a hard set to his jaw, a humanoid wrecking ball not to be denied. Super-dense tendons and bone crashed into the remaining fetch and kept going, emerging out the other side, ectoplasm splashing outward and running downward like a candle melting in fast motion.

"Eh?! Madness!" Sekhmet balked, matching Tiamat's stride down the sidewalk. "I am an Eye of Ra and divine arbiter of ma'at!" The very suggestion that she might accost some random passersby was as absurd as it was repugnant. "The betrayer's quest for renown takes on a nearly sensible light. ...he must never hear of these happenings." Fuming slightly, she tugged absently at the fabric of her shendyt robe. "Yet not anonymous enough by thy reckoning? Hrmph. Sound rasoning, mayhaps. Tis a fortuitous meeting, thee and I. The ways of modern mortals are truly strange." Letting out a short breath through her nose, the goddess made the closest thing to a dejected sound of which her proud bearing was capable. "Tis not the better twin to speak on matters of garb and etiquette before you. None ever misconstrued Hathor's intent as a... 'mugging', be assured."

Sekhmet's expression shifted from narrow eyed suspicion to graceful amusement as she recognized the interloper. "<Hah, well met, great beast! From one of thine ilk I shall take accusations of destructive breath as a compliment.>" Looking back over to the by now equally confused as nervous civilians, she considered Tiamat's words with more seriousness than they had been spoken with. "Truly? I had not expected to find combat with these two directly. Tis a rare mortal who is not beset by a river serpent or roving brigands, something to occupy a divine benefactor, if only briefly." Exchanging a look with his partner, the young man Tiamat has singled out cut in, "Alright, both y'all are pretty clearly crazy, but we're not getting mugged, yeah?" The couple had continued to back away slowly, taking in the statuesque and colourfully clad women with impressive aplomb, all things considered. Sekhmet frowned at him but let the jibe pass. Modern mortals, she had found, were an impolite lot but seemed to spend their words freely and without much intent. Set had certainly raised her tolerance for such things. "I know not that term. Thy countenance is most agitated, mortal. Should thy business be pressing, leave is granted. A pleasant eve to thee." The so far silent young man looked like he wanted to say something in response but thought better of it as he and his boyfriend took the opportunity to be quickly on their way before the goddess changed her mind. "Now! Thee may better know the needs of the warrior, aye?"

Sekhmet may not have been capable of summoning a literal dark cloud over her head like the godling of storms she was leaving in their apartment but for once archaic dress and mannerisms weren't the only thing causing people to keep their distance as she stalked down the street. Her inherent feline grace made stomping an alien concept but tensed muscles in her bare shoulders and a glowering look in the golden eye not hidden behind her asymmetrical hairstyle screamed of a short fuse attached to an explosive tempter. Her annoyance began to take a different direction as she realized she had no idea where she was going. His many failing aside, Set rarely seemed to lack for direction and Sekhmet had gained only the most general understanding of Freedom City's workings since being stationed on the mortal plane. 'Stationed' tis the mannered form, she grumbled internally, looking about at the signs naming streets and shops without being entirely sure what she was seeking. Losing patience, the goddess finally approached a couple strolling down the street, looming an imposing few inches over both of them. "Hold, mortals! Thine city prides itself on business even in the sunless hours, aye? What festivities might I find?" The question was a barked demand, hands planted on her hips. Stumbling back a step, the braver of the two managed to stutter out a reflexive, "Uh, listen, we don't want any trouble, okay?" The other young man placed an arm across his boyfriend's chest and pulled them both back another step while looking back and forth for a convenient excuse to escape. "Trouble?" Sekhmet repeated, crossing the distance the pair had placed between themselves and her with a single stride. "Twas seeking dance and drink, mayhaps, but truly violence too would be welcome. Where, then, is there trouble?"

Set, God of Awesome @readySETgoWhat ho faithful followers! Spy you any unrighteous badness for Set to practice pugilism upon? #crowdsorcery #heroics Obsidian Nighttalon @charizardking@readySETgo All is quiet in Port Regal, hero, but the night is still young! We remain vigilant. #crowdsorcery #nightwatch Peter Benjamin @jamminpeteAnybody know if @readySETgo is for real? If he is, nothing to report in Hanover, I guess. #fake? #overhanover Queen Nefertiti @setsgurl5492@readySETgo "What ho faithful followers!" The ho would tote be @setzgirl1337 #burn Jeralie Sena @jerajerajeraAshton is fine, too. Totally doing a class project on crowd sourcing, this is so smart! #crowdsorcery Nile Princess @setzgirl1337@setsgurl5492 Whatever Hefertiti, y u even trying to start something? Ur not even big in the fandom #poseur #whatever John Cannes @mractivist@setsgurl5492 @setzgirl1337 So a guy can't even use medieval talk now without it being an insult? So a double standard. #misandry "Intolerable prattle!" Sekhmet growled in abject frustration as she turned from reading over Set's shoulder to pace aggravatedly across their shared apartment in the Cline Building. The goddess dragged a hand over her face, momentarily pulling lips back from pronounced canines as she grimaced. "Thou cannot possibly believe there to be value in this stream of inane mortal chirping." "Tweeting, dear Lady of Slaughter," the red haired godling corrected, sitting crosslegged atop the couch and tapping away at his tablet as he carefully chose a reply, "and by the sound of things, someone needs to check her divine privilege. You look upon the modern prayer! How better to know where we be needed?" With a distinctly feline sound of annoyance, Sekhmet crossed her bare arms over the front of her shendyt robe. "And so imply thy intent to in fact go to do such honored deeds rather than watching thy trough of words until the journey of glorious Ra's barge is past halfway." She didn't completely understand just what his charge did with his rectangles of lit glass until the small hours of the morning but she doubted it was a good use of even an immortal's time. "Where did thee procure the coin for thine baubles in any case?" "The nights have been slow of late," Set admitted with a cough, still not looking over at the Mistress of Dread. "And said coin was won fairly, through crafty auctioning of commercial forum space upon my social media presence! My Tube of Yous is much beloved and so most lucrative." He made no attempt to hide how pleased he was with himself for having managed to solve their lack of funds and continue to grow his base of followers in one fell swoop. Sekhmet's eyes only narrowed. "Which does not explain from whence thy first bauble came." There was an awkward pause as Set finally glanced over to her. "For a timeless avatar of abstract concepts, you are awfully hung up on linear causality," he noted with a defensive sniff. Knocking her forehead into the half-wall that separated the apartment's main room from the small kitchen, Sekhmet came to a decision. Her duty on the mortal plane may have been to guard Set in both senses of the word but she suspected if she were forced to spend one more night cooped up with the godling and his ego he would not make it through until the morning. "I am going out, liesmith. 'Do not wait up', aye?" "Out? What do you mean out? Without m--?" As Set uncrossed his legs and scrambled to his feet, he was interrupted by a slamming door. Standing nonplussed with his hands on his hips, the godling pursed his lips. "Well. Rude!"

APPROVED!

Wail Move Action: Startle vs. Fetch 1. (1d20+13=28) Standard Action: Unarmed Attack vs. Fetch 1; All-Out Attack 5, Power Attack 5. (1d20+8=25) That's a DC 33 Toughness Save.

"That why we brought a princess along, eh?" Bombardier broke in with a hearty chuckle that was deep and warm even through the external speakers of his helmet. Canadian Shield shot an annoyed look in Bouchard's direction but let the comment pass. "Obviously we're hoping it doesn't come to that," she agreed, her expression somewhat less reassuring than it might have been, "but if it looked as though it was going to be easy, we wouldn't have called in the League for support. The Igneous are stubborn and like making shows of strength as a rule but they're slow to actual violence." "Lizzie can give any of them a run for their money chucking rocks and her mère's a big shot noble in another rock people city, so they've gotta be polite, tsé?" the armored hero continued, looking about the group. "Monsieur Knight seems to be doing alright for himself on the first count and they oughta know Frost already by reputation. Never heard of anybody not liking you, belle Fleur, so I wouldn't worry much." Laughing again, he added, "Me, I'm Quebecois! We know a thing or duex about stubborn civil disagreement, haw!" Still crouching, Wendy Go did a poor job of hiding a bout of self-doubt about her own inclusion on the a small team while Combs gave Gaian Knight a final set of instructions. "We'll be there soon. If anyone has any questions, now's the time, people. You already know about as much as we do about the current situation; once we arrive we'll have to play things by ear."

"Ha, you're not too shy about the hard sell, huh, Evie?" Erik chuckled at the young woman's unflappably cavalier demeanor. He half expected Vince to chime in over the dojo's carefully rewired PA system about the building's security but the ever watchful artificial intelligence had evidently decided that discretion was, just this once, the better part of valour. "I think you can consider me more or less convinced. And I appreciate the vote of confidence, by the way, coming to us for this. But I was serious about getting some actual sparring in," he added with a challenging smirk, beckoning with his empty hand. "Show me what you got, big spender."

Diehard Sense Motive check vs. DC 11. (1d20+8=22) Defense 22 means the attack misses him. 27 - Guy Fawkes - Staggered, Demoralized, Bound 27 - Errant - Bruised x1, 1HP 23 - Heka - Bruised x1, Staggered, Insubstantial 18 - Set - Bruised x1, 0HP 17 - Temperance - Bruised x1, 3HP 14 - Sekhmet - Bruised x1 11 - Diehard - Uninjured 11 - Khania - Bruised x2, Dazed, Slowed 10 - Blackfire - Unconscious, Entangled 4 - Glamazon - Bruised x1, 1HP