Gizmo

With Khuiten momentarily distracted by the cloud of pollen and flailing branched, Wail spared a moment to give the pregnant plant controller a knowing smile. "Girl, when you're our age, all you got is history." Taking a deep breath as her turned around, he let loose another jarring bellow at point blank range. The wrestler grunted as the force of the shout rippled across his musculature and the wall behind him finally gave up, crumbling into large chunks of stone. Managing to rise to his feet, Khuiten took the opportunity to press further into the museum, clearly with a goal in mind.

Pine Trees Aid Attack. (1d20+3=15, 1d20+3=12, 1d20+3=17) Wail Standard Action: Sonic Wail, All-Out Attack 5. (1d20+18=33) Khuiten Toughness Save vs. DC 32. (1d20+11=12) ...alright, one last Fiat, then. Toughness Save vs. DC 32, Fiat reroll. (1d20+11=20) So, that's now a 30, which gives him another Bruise. He's going to retreat into the museum at this point. 21 - Wail - Uninjured - 5HP 16 - Khuiten - Bruised x2, Staggered 14 - Fleur de Joie - Uninjured - 4HP 14 - Elm Trees - x2 14 - Pine Trees - x3

Ellie's cheeks turned a little redder at this peck but she smiled ruefully. "Hee. Good to know." Her expression turned a little more somber as they walked on. "Sorry, muñequita. Didn't mean to go all needy on you there." Sighing, she leaned back into Mara's shoulder. "Guess I just start worrying when things are going so well." Neither she nor anyone else in her immediate family had what could be considered a successful track record when it came to relationships. It was startling to realize just how much the thought of messing up this time scared her.

Fortitude Save vs. DC 28. (1d20+12=15) Gonna Fiat, so Fleur can have her HP back. Fortitude Save vs. DC 28, Fiat reroll. (1d20+12=22) Yow, that ends up being 32.

As Khuiten extricated himself from the wall with an angry grunt, Wail charged, his rapid footfalls cracking the pavement as he propelled his full, surprising weight forward past the lumbering tree creatures. His bracer-clad arm swung forward with the force of that momentum added to his considerable strength, sending the wrestler back into the museum's stone exterior and deepening the impression. "Stay down, Khuiten," he demanded, his voice resonant with controlled power. "We're too old for this dumb-" His words were cut off as the villain rose up with a snarl, shaking off the blow to wrap his opponent in a powerful pin. "It is only you who is too old!" he shouted, tightening his crushing grip. "You have let yourself become weak with age!" "Don't count on it, fool!" Wail responded, breaking the pin with both arms in a move that sent the wrestler stumbling back a step.

Wail Full Action: Charge! Unarmed, All-Out Attack 3. (1d20+12=23) Khuiten Toughness Save vs. DC 27. (1d20+11=16) Staggered and Stunned! I'll Fiat to remove the Stunned this time. Standard Action: Initiate Grapple. (1d20+12=19) Success! Opposed Grapple Check. (1d20+22=33) vs. Opposed Grapple Check. (1d20+21=36) Ooh, no dice! 21 - Wail - Uninjured - 4HP 16 - Khuiten - Bruised, Staggered 14 - Fleur de Joie - Uninjured - 4HP 14 - Elm Trees - x2 14 - Pine Trees - x3

"Well, you should probably get on top of that," Ellie advised sagely, recognizing the double entendre only after the words had left her mouth, but deciding she was alright with it anyway. "Seriously, though, if you need some time to get stuff sorted out or if I can help with it, let me know, alright?" she continued, looking over to meet Mara's eyes. "I don't want you to feel like, y'know, I'm holding you back or anything." The comment had come out a little more self-conscious and uncertain than she'd meant it too, and her cheeks coloured a little bit in the cold air.

High above the street, two shadows raced along the rooftops with a flutter of royal blue and crimson. The slighter of the pair finally caught up with the other as he paused on the edge of a building to peer downward. "So, feel like sharing why we're suddenly racing through Parkside and the North End?" Jill O'Cure asked her older brother quietly, looking down herself and trying to spot what he was looking at. "Shh," Jack of all Blades instructed, holding a finger to his lips. "Sword-senses tingling." "No," his sister told him flatly with an emphatic shake of her head. The elder sibling blinked, turning away from the alleyway below. "No what?" "You're not calling it that," she forbade, gesturing her disapproval with both hands. "That's just... no." Jack heaved a much put upon sigh. "Everybody's a critic," he bemoaned, before tilting his head abruptly as though listening to a sudden sound. "Something's definitely going down, regardless," he noted more seriously, his eye narrowing slightly behind his bandanna mask. "Let's go." With that, the pair were once again speeding on their way.

"Oh, well, that explains it!" Jill exclaimed as though it sudden realization, leaving her lackluster hand on the table while she knocked the heel of one hand into her forehead and turned to Dragonfly. "Seduced by your confident, bad girl charms! Defenseless against that certain cachet!" The young woman shook her head with mock sorrow. "Alas and alack, I shall certainly be a cautionary tale told by mothers." She hadn't really intended to make their relationship known to everyone in attendance, but the sidekick figured if it was that obvious to everyone, she might as well just go with it.

Trevor quietly retrieved the pieces of the alien pistol from the ground, keeping them separate but making sure none were left behind. Mark's disassembly of the weapon had the dull motions of an automatic response, and the taller young man doubted his friend had entirely thought through whether leaving it behind was a good idea. Standing back up, he briefly scanned the room before turning around to face the others. "Is that everything?" he asked Mark is a calm, steady voice.

As the blue bolt knocked the Freebooter off of his feet, Crimson Katana watched the remaining Katanarchists scramble for the Grasscutter where it lay on the ground from the corner of her eye, scowling. "Don't have time for this," she muttered in annoyance, her matched blades whirling in a flurry of deadly steel. Jack's fancy footwork kept him ahead of the assault for a moment, but his lone rapier put him at a disadvantage. Finally, a particularly blinding swing broke through his defenses, leaving a thin, arching gash in a crescent shape across the front of his black bodysuit, revealing tanned skin and a line of blood. With a muted grunt, the fencer's expression turned serious. "Alright, that... he began as he launched into a furious barrage of blows. "...is just about..." The fiery sword bled into a blazing blur, a strike catching his opponent's right wrist and sending the longer of her two blades to the floor at her feet. "...enough..." Crimson Katana took a half step back, focusing on defense with her remaining weapon, but the wakizashi too was sent tumbling out of her hand. "...of that," Jack concluded, pausing his assault to hold the disarmed swordswoman a the point of his blade. Looking from the tip of the energy construct to her own fallen swords then back to the swashbuckler, the masked woman made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat.

Crimson Katana Standard Action: Attack Jack of all Blades. (1d20+14=25) ... Attack Jack of all Blades, Fiat reroll. (1d20+14=22) So that's 32. Toughness Save vs. DC 25. (1d20+10=24) Injured! Jack of all Blades Standard Action: Disarm Crimson Katana. (1d20+20=22) ... Disarm Crimson Katana, HP reroll. (1d20+20=29) So that's 39, and a crit. Opposed Roll. (1d20+15=25) vs. Opposed Roll. (1d20+2=8) Move Action: DC 36 Feint with Skill Mastery and Fast Talk. Sense Motive vs. DC 36. (1d20+11=21) Extra Effort: Surge for Standard Action. Standard Action: Disarm Crimson Katana. (1d20+20=39) Nice. Opposed Roll. (1d20+15=23) vs. Opposed Roll. (1d20+2=13) 18 - Crimson Katana - Uninjured - Disarmed 17 - Jack of all Blades - Injured - 5HP, Extra Effort 16 - Geckoman - Bruised - 2HP 16 - Spellbound - Bruised - Extra Effort 16 - Security Guards - x1 10 - Freebooter - Bruised, Stunned 3 - Robots x5 3 - Katanarchists - x13 3 - Miss Americana - Uninjured - 4HP

"More like we'll hear, sucker!" Wail countered, planting his own feet and taking a deep breath, his broad chest expanding with air before he let it out in his namesake shout. While some metahuman's with sonic powers may have occupied a screeching, high frequency, Wail's roar was a bone-jarring bass rattle of undeniable force. The empty space between the two men rippled as the shockwave crashed into Khuiten, who crossed his arms in front of his face with a grunt. The powerful wrestlers bracing held for a split second before he was thrown off of his feet and into the wall of the museum, leaving a humanoid imprint in the stone surface. Ending his audible assault, Wail allowed himself a confident smirk. "Still got it."

Gonna give Wail an extra HP for his Enemies Complication. 21 - Wail - Uninjured - 3HP 16 - Khuiten - Uninjured 14 - Fleur de Joie - Uninjured - 4HP Wail Standard Action: Sonic Wail, All-Out Attack 5. (1d20+12=14) Oh jeez. Sonic Wail, All-Out Attack 5, HP reroll. (1d20+12=15) Wat. Adding 10 makes is 25, which hits, thankfully. Khuiten Toughness Save vs. DC 32. (1d20+12=22) Yow. Gonna Fiat that, then, sheesh. Toughness Save vs. DC 32, Fiat reroll. (1d20+12=16) 26, then. Fails by 6. So... Knockback. 34 - 26 = 8. That's 250'. I'll say he smacks into the museum, first. Toughness Save vs. DC 8. (1d20+11=30) 21 - Wail - Uninjured - 3HP 16 - Khuiten - Bruised 14 - Fleur de Joie - Uninjured - 4HP

Poker Round 2. (1d20=6) Ew.

The massive wrestler paused his stride as the vines whipped up to surround him, wrapping about his wrists and ankles before ensnaring his torso in a woven trap. Considering the green tendrils for a moment, Khuiten began to flex with a loud grunt. Gradually, the vines began to budge, then all at once they snapped, falling to the ground in a pile of verdant scraps as the villain roared defiantly, bare chest revealed once more as he turned to regard Fleur de Joie. "This is what they would send against Garid Khan?!" he bellowed, slapping his pectorals to indicate himself. "Has this city grown so weak that women with child are all there is to challenge the mighty Khuiten?!" "I'm guessing everybody else just had bigger fish to fry than you, fool," a deep voice boomed from behind the police cruisers. The cars shook as LaMarr strode forward, a set expression emphasized by round sunglasses. The aging hero wore a black, sleeveless top emblazoned with a broad, golden 'W', the tight fit displaying the powerful form he'd developed over the decades. Matching black and gold armbands rested on his wrists and he cracked the knuckles of each hand pointedly. "Lucky for you, I've always got a spare minute to catch up old times." Khuiten laughed, a loud noise that was practically a shout on its own. "Wail! You have grown old, my foe!" he scoffed, clearly amused. "Still! It is appropriate to destroy an old enemy as I free an old ally, yes?" "Don't know what you're talking about, Khuiten," Wail replied, still striding forward, "but you couldn't beat me thirty years ago and brother, you still can't." Slapping his chest again, Khuiten set his feet in a ready stance. "We shall see!"

"Well, if it's for science," Ellie allowed agreeably, shirking down a bit into her coat and leaning lightly into Mara's shoulder. The mild chill on her exposed face contrasted with the inventor's presence against her side. Even as they got left the area of the city given over almost entirely to warehouses and storage, they were afforded a considerable amount of privacy. The medic smiled approvingly as Mara described her business plans. "I for one definitely sleep better knowing the creator of the gender ray is so responsible about her engineering."

Combat! Wail - Initiative. (1d20+2=21) Khuiten - Initiative. (1d20+15=16) ...go figure.

Setting down his briefcase, LaMarr turned to his fellow staff member. "Theresa, I'm going to need you to cover my homeroom period this afternoon," he informed the younger woman. The English teacher blinked a few times as the towering man headed purposefully back to the lounge's door. "Oh, ah, alright? Um..." "Give 'em hell," Robins chuckled, a sound like crumbling paper, without taking his eye off of the television. "Just need to have a few words with someone," LaMarr explained as he left the room and headed for the high school's exit. Theresa looked back to Robins, nonplussed. "What was that about?" The greying man chuckled again. "Didn't grow up in Freedom, did you?" he noted dryly, making it more of a statement than a question. When she shook her head, he gestured curtly to the empty seat on the battered couch, then the news broadcast. "Just watch." ----- Outside the Hunter Museum of Natural History, a heavily muscled man in a brief red and blue outfit was making short work of the police dispatched the the scene, despite apparently being unarmed and not displaying any overt superhuman abilities. Nearby, a GBN newsvan broadcast the scene to the city as Khuiten tossed an unconscious officer contemptuously into the hood of his own police cruiser, setting off the alarm with the force of the impact, before turning and continuing relentlessly toward the pillared building.

"Mmn," LaMarr rumbled, cracking his neck loudly. "Corey Evan's grades have been slipping. I think some punks have been pressuring him to join up." "Not surprised," came a dry voice from the couch. Matthew Robins couldn't have been too much older than LaMarr, but unlike the much larger man, the gaunt physics teacher had been instructing at JCHS since he was Theresa's age. "Gangs lost a lot of members leading up to that zombie powder scare last year, and Corey's older bother is doing a stint right now after some lame brained B&E stunt." Theresa looked appalled. "That's awful!" "That's life," Robins countered flatly, turning his attention back to the small television set sitting across from him, it's grainy picture displaying a GBN news broadcast. "I mean, look at this asshattery," he insisted gesturing to the set with both hands. "Some idiot causing havoc at the natural history museum, dressed like a... hell, I don't even know what that is." Frowning, LaMarr stepped over to stand beside the couch. "Mongolian wrestler," he supplied, his expression darkening.

LaMarr's seat screeched against the floor as he slid it back from the desk and stood to his full height. He towered nearly a foot over the teenager and was easy more the twice his width at the shoulder. "Get to history," he instructed after a moment of tense silence "This discussion isn't over." Mumbling something incomprehensible, Corey jogged out of the classroom, leaving the civics teacher to rub his eyes with thick fingers and a long exhalation. Gathering his papers in his briefcase, LaMarr left the room himself and made his way to the teacher's lounge, his footfalls in the hall rattling the school's trophy case a little more than even someone of his considerable bulk should have. His weariness must have shown on his face as he entered the small room with the donated couch and perpetually out of order vending machine, as Theresa Collins, a gregarious English teacher in her early thirties, offered him beaming smile. "Tough day, big guy?" she asked him, her voice chipper.

LaMarr said nothing, simply keeping his stern gaze on his student for a long moment that quickly became thick with tension. Corey looked away before long, replacing his hands back in his pants pockets with a muttered apology. "Just distracted. I'll make it up on the exam." "Distracted by what?" LaMarr asked in the same, modulated tone that reverberated in a deep base register. Hands still folded on the desk, he sat an imposing figure softened only by the long opening he gave the boy to explain himself. Fidgeting uncomfortably, Corey responded evasively. "Y'know, stuff, right?" "Stuff," LaMarr repeated flatly, clearly unimpressed by the answer. "Some guys hassling me, okay?" the high school student elaborated exasperatedly. LaMarr's thick eyebrows lowed over dark, intense eyes. "What 'guys'?" Corey's shoulders seemed to swallow up his neck as his mouth set in a determined scowl. "Just some guys. Look, I really gotta go, Mr. L."

Reluctantly, Corey hitched his backpack over his shoulder and shuffled over to stand in the indicated space, looking distractedly at the clock ticking away behind the metal cage on the wall. LaMarr folded his large hands on the wooden surface before him, letting a breath out through his nose. The youth snapped his eyes back to the civics teacher at the slight sound. "I'd like to discuss your performance on last week's test." "What? I passed," Corey responded defensively, taking his hand out his pocket to shrug again. The bearded instructor nodded slowly. "With a C, when be both know you could have earned an A with even a slight effort." Taking the stapled papers from the top of the organized stack, he laid it between them and pointed to the mixed mark of pencil lead and red pen. "One sentence answers, this portion left blank. You can do better than this, Corey." The teen gestured dismissively with both hands. "Hey man, I wrote the test, I passed, what's the problem?" His lower lip jutted out defiantly as he folded his arms.

As the period bell rang at Joseph Clark High School, students retrieved textbooks and pencils from their wooden desks and filed out of Room 107, talking loudly amongst themselves as they went. At the front of the room, their teacher sat behind a worn desk, sorting a pile of loose papers with strong hands. Keith LaMarr looked a mountain of muscle next to the well-used furniture, broad shouldered and layered in muscle despite the lines of age on his face. Absently stroking the thick, grey-streaked goatee that offset his bald head, he called to one of the teenagers before he could depart. "Corey, a word." Pausing uncertainly in the doorway, the youth put one hand in the pocket of his cargo pants and used the thumb of the other to indicate the hallway. "I gotta get to history, Mr. L," he explained with an apologetic shrug. "You can tell Mr. Alexander it was my fault," LaMarr assured the student, his voice a deep, firm rumble the resounded in his chest as he indicated the space in front of his desk and gaze Corey a level gaze.

Setting her cards down, Jill raised her right hand palm upward. With a faint crackle of energy, a shimmering blue disc of mystically reinforced bioelectricity appeared in the air just above her fingers. "Things Fusions has fought," the teenager indicated in a smooth deadpan before raising her left hand and creating a second, identical disk above it. "Things Grim has made-out with." Bringing the hands closer together, she caused the two fields to merge most of the way into a recognizable diagram. "Surprising amount of overlap." With a light clap, the medic let the force fields disappear. "It's not like the mislabeling of somethings means everything is mislabeled, either," she pointed out, getting back on topic. "That's a logical fallacy. Zombies are a good example," she added, although she didn't directly acknowledge Silhouette, evidently still a little annoyed with the other woman. "'Cause I know living systems, and there's nothing going on there that explains them walking around scientifically."