Gizmo

Jill was still for a long moment, an odd look on her face indicating that she was trying to decide if Fleur was being serious or not. Very slowly, she turned her head to peer out one of the windows covered in plastic sheeting. It was hard to see much from her sitting position, but it seemed somehow rude to leap up and run over. "You... have your own planet." The teen was saying it out loud mostly for her own benefit. "That, uh... huh."

Blaise O'Glory HP: Double dodge bonus for the turn, putting her at 29 and easily avoiding the lightning. Move Action: Follow Network outside. As for her Standard Action, I guess that depends on how much of a lead Network has on her. What's she see when she gets outside?

"Uh, yeah. Dios, still sorta weird saying it out loud." The slim teen took a seat nearby the space heater at Fleur's suggestion, still craning her neck to look about absently. "There was kind of a whole... thing, with our dad, and then, hey! Superpowers! So." Finally looking back over at the chlorokinetic, Jill shrugged emphatically. "Jack tired telling me it was too dangerous and blah blah blah, but I was like, 'hello, force fields and healing powers, pretty safe'. Ultimately, he knew I'd be out there one way or another, so he might as well go with it." Fidgeting with her shortened hair, she suddenly blinked. "Wait. Generator? Where exactly are we?"

Jill crouched slightly as they arrived, subconsciously rebelling against the idea of moving without physically moving. Even so, she wore a broad grin. "Ha! So neat. Uh, yeah, coffee would be nice, thanks." Looking about the cottage, she raised an eyebrow. It was considerably more homey than she generally expected from a headquarters, but then Fleur struck her as a fairly soft touch all around. Running a hand over the verdant walls, she loosened her scarf. "Huh, talk about your DIY projects..."

"Oh, no, yeah, absolutely," Jill nodded quickly before catching herself, clearly trying to strike the right balance between enthusiasm and cool aloofness in front of the more experienced heroine. "Turns out mi hermano wears thermal underwear under his jumpsuit during the winter; woulda been nice to let me in on that one ahead of time." She glanced over at the unseasonably vibrant flower bush. "Are we going to do the, ah, green woosh thing?"

The sound of light, rapid footfalls sounded through the fog before the coltish form of Jill O'Cure appeared. The teenage girl had made some concessions against the weather, trading her cropped turtleneck for a heavier top that tucked into her belt, with a long, black and white striped scarf trailing behind her crimson jacket as she jogged over the he bench. "Sorry, sorry!" she called ahead as she spotted Fleur. "It totally didn't even occur to me that, durr, it's cold out until I was halfway out the door. Thanks for coming out to talk to me."

"Ah, don't sweat it, Gai," Jack called back, clearly having some fun with the rapidly diminishing intelligence of the clone horde. Sticking out his foot, he tripped a charging duplicate, sending it hurtling into a small group, the lot of them crashing into the ground and winking away. "Baby sisters, what can you do?" He left the diminutive in English for their new friend's benefit. The indicated sibling snorted derisively. "Right, because you're clearly the adult one. Big brother, big rocks in his head," she informed Gaian Knight frankly.

Listening silently nearby, Midnight stood stock still, and it wasn't until thickening tendrils of inky mist began to rise from the seams of his clothes that it became clear that he was stewing in a seething rage. The feeling roiled like a cold fire in the pit of his stomach, and still he did not move a muscle, brobdingnagian self control holding him in check. Finally, after a long, long moment, he reached deliberately to his belt and carefully withdrew a wrap of some leathery material. Unfurling it, he revealed a number of tools. "When you're done there, sit down," he told Talos as the bronze giant's joints squeaked painfully. "I'm a mechanic. I fix things." The last part seemed to be directed inward, with the weight of a mantra.

The Blank resisted the urge to groan aloud at the vehicular collision as he swung next the Hex, releasing one grapple line while another shot out from the sleeve of his jacket. "Subtle," [/bg] he commented dryly. "You realize we'd do well to avoid drawing an entire city of good samaritans down on our head, yes?" The fool's probability controlling powers had only gotten more obnoxiously blunt since coming to blows with his father.

Blaise O'Glory Move Action: Run back out into the diner, strike a pose! Standard Action: Taunt vs. Network. (1d20+15=27)

"Pfft," Blaise rolled her eyes with a broad smirk. "Like you even have to ask?" Charging back out into the diner, she used a toppled chair to spring up onto a table, striking a jaunty pose amid abandoned entrees, katana pointed toward the vague energy being. "Hey tall, blue and glittery! I guess you've been out of the loop for a bit, but randomly showing up and smashing stuff? Still considered pretty rude, twip!"

"Well, it probably didn't help that I singed his eyebrows off when he tried-- Dios!" Ducking reflexively as the pad exploded, she blinked as the sparkling blue form took on a humanoid silhouette. With the diner's patrons and staff making their way chaotically to the exits, screaming as they went, Emma grabbed Cassie's wrist and hauled her away from the table toward the washrooms, hood bouncing up and down as she ran. "Aaand we're runn~ing," she singsonged as they went, kicking the door open to the thankfully empty room. Pushing up the right sleeve of her hoodie, the teen revealed an intricate, stylized tattoo of a blazing sword. As she placed her left hand atop it, there was a flash of light and heat, revealing the white and crimson clad figure of Blaise O'Glory, the legendary Three Flames Katana, sizzling with heat, ready in her hand. She grinned genuinely at her friend. "You always pick the best spots for lunch!"

Knowledge (Popular Culture) Check. (1d20+10=18) Well Informed Check. (1d20+15=16) Well, nuts. Initiative. (1d20+3=18)

"Has it occurred to you that explosions are staring to form a pattern here?" Trevor asked dryly as he looked about the room. "Screen set-up is nice." Somewhat embarrassingly, he didn't have much to contribute to a discussion of computers. The Midnight Manor's systems had been beyond cutting edge in their time, but there was a reason he relied largely on more traditional means of information gathering; traditional here being a euphemism for terrorizing informants. Trevor himself was simply more inclined toward moving parts than binary bits.

"I meant sex," Emma supplied bluntly, just as the waitress arrived, apparently oblivious to Cassie's attempted hedge. "I guess her snogging might be dangerous too. Well, technically, you wouldn't have the first without-- oh! Hi!" The teen with the coppery tan beamed up at the diner employee, abruptly switching gears to order a Sage Shake with a side of Fleur Fries. As the bemused waitress walked off, tapping their orders into her note tablet, Emma turned back to her friend with a slight pout. "Oh, blarg, seriously. You know how when Ben came to pick me up for junior prom, my rents made a big deal of showing him their antique but very well maintained sword collection? Social nightmare." Absently adjusting her hood, she shook her black hair loose. "The guys at school have been such feebs ever since. You totally have the right idea, I swear."

Rising ominously from the dark water like ominous, solid shadow, Midnight stalked silently into the smaller chamber, looking around, though narrowed eyes as water dripped from his matte black costume. Classy, he thought dryly, observing the bovine skull. With wet, gloved fingers, he snuffed the flame of candle one by one, plunging the cave into darkness apart from the flickering light coming from further up ahead. The inky void was only his friend, after all. Signaling Dead Head for continued silence, he crept forward to peer into the larger hollow.

"Going to stab them all," The Blank muttered darkly under his breath as he fired his own grappling hook, following right behing Hex. "Not even going to wait 'till they're sleeping, just walk up, once right in the throat, then blood." It served him right for not disabling Singularity the moment he found her, of course, but he was considerably more inclined to take his frustration out on his obnoxious fellow cadets than on himself or the mind-shattered girl.

"Hey, I told you before," The Blank responded reflexively through a wince, "I couldn't very well wait for an emergency to test the sonic cannon, could I?" Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose through his mask. "See, this would be so much easier if they'd left just a little bit more of your mind intact," he complained, spreading his hands in a long suffering gesture. "Go on, eat your fill," the well dressed young man all but demanded, nodding pointedly to the pile of half finished foodstuffs before pushing the door open a crack to keep watch. "We've nowhere to be."

Back in his pristine white garb, The Blank seemed to be in a considerably more amiable mood, tipping his fedora to Hex before setting out to the south. As soon as he was out of sight of the others, however, he made a beeline for the school's cafeteria, easily avoiding detection as he followed up a hunch. Sure enough, as he quietly slipped into the kitchen, he found Singularity sitting on the ground, face smeared with food. It wasn't that that cause his face to contort under his mask as if he'd just been punched in the stomach, however. "Smiling..." he murmured under his breath, hardly believing it. Quickly composing himself into a sneer, he shook his head. The inherent weakness of this dimension was like a plague; he would have to be careful not to contract it. Still, it would take the morons he'd been saddled with a while to catch up, and in the meantime what harm was there in letting the mentally fractured girl gorge herself into a happier, more easily controlled state of mind? Leaning against the door frame, he continued to watch, waiting for her to notice him in her own time.

Search check. (1d20+2=7) Search check reroll. (1d20.minroll(11)+2=20)

Despite the increasingly chill autumn weather, Trevor continued to work on the Night Cycle outside on the pavement in front of the garage when possible, largely because he tended to loose track of time quickly while working indoors. The lean young man was testing the motorcycle’s adjusted chameleon circuitry, the morphic molecules in its paint job shifting colours to disguise the distinctive vehicle, when Mark pulled up in his sedan. Parking, the chipper probability controller jogged over to see what his more stoic classmate was up to. “Trevor, that looks awesome!†he grinned as the the matte black paint warped into a bright red colour scheme. “You're so good with bikes. Are they your favourite kind of vehicle?" "...Mark,†Trevor greeted, as usual vaguely nonplussed by the other teen’s enthusiasm. Considering the question as he began packing away his tools, he shrugged. â€Sure, I guess so. Like steering with my whole body. Less between me and the road the better." Mark walked around the Night Cycle, nodding happily. “That's totally wicked! I bet you can take that thing crazy fast. What's the coolest thing you've ever done on it?†"Coolest...? Rode around to distract one of those giant monsters the Grue attacked the city with,†Trevor provided, retrieving his beaten fedora from the bike’s handlebars and standing up. â€Erin seemed to like ramping off the Pramas Bridge's suspension cables, too." Privately, he had to admit he enjoyed showing off a bit when it came to driving. "Ooh, I bet. You guys look good together,†Mark nodded, his genuine tone making the observation less suggestive than it might have been. “So did your grandpa teach you to ride the bike, I guess?" "Not really, he always preferred the Night Cruiser. The Cycle was more like a backup for him. Mostly just taught myself,†Trevor recalled. â€Came naturally, maybe because I knew how all the parts worked?" He shrugged again, not used to talking so much about himself. “Yeah, you're pretty awesome with machines! You'd be a great mechanic,†Mark enthused, stepping around the bike to stand next to Trevor. “Have you ever wondered what job you'd have when you grew up if you weren't, you know, rich?†â€"Mechanic's probably right.,†The taller youth agreed. He’d hadn’t given much though to anything beyond carrying on his grandfather’s legacy, really. Be harder, but I'd still find some way to be Midnight. Too important." Mark clapped him on the back. “You bet it is! Midnight's an awesome legacy. I wish I'd been lucky enough to see your grandpa in his prime. Do you think you'll be active as long as he was?†Trevor suppressed a wince as the question inadvertently reminded him of the youthful version of the original Midnight Rick Lucas had created for his warped reality. "...would've been something to see, yes.†Clearing his throat he answered the question, â€Hopefully longer; the League disbanding and the government ban forced him to really cut back toward the end." "Those damn McCarthyists! Terrible, just terrible.†Mark shook his fist in the air in a gesture that would haven an affectation coming from anyone else. “Hey Trevor, can I ask you something personally?†he continued, brow furrowed. “Why do you talk like that? I mean, isn't it hard sometimes not being able to communicate with people all the way?" The question drew a confused blink. "Hmm? Talk how?" "Really laconic and quiet and stuff,†the reality warping youth elaborated. “I mean it makes you a really good, really tough badass guy in costume, but don't you find it makes it hard for you to communicate when you're not in costume?" Wheeling the Night Cycle back into its stall in the garage, Trevor shook his head. "Not really. People use more words than they really need, distract themselves. Less I talk, the better I listen." Keeping pace beside him, Mark nodded several times. "Okay, I guess that makes sense! In fact, let me see if I can be short too. Trevor, do you think you'll ever get married?" Perhaps unconsciously, he mimicked a bit of his friend’s soft baritone intonation. The sudden topic change caught Trevor momentarily off guard. "...I, ah... Maybe 'short' isn't really for everyone, Mark.†A few months ago he would have had a much more decisive answer, but his life had changed dramatically since then. â€I guess I'm not sure I see the point. Why would I need a piece of paper saying who I'm allowed to, well, love? It's not really anyone else's business." Mark seemed uncharacteristically pensive at that. "Oh, okay. But don't you worry about having kids? I mean... woah!†Eyes lighting up, his enthusiasm returned in an instant. “Do you think your kids will have your powers? Wouldn't that be boss?" Trevor was somewhat less excited by the prospect. "...considered the possibility, yes. Hard to say. Father didn't have any, and I'm... still changing." In truth, he envied those of his fellow metahumans whose powers were less physiological. Not knowing what was happening to his own biology was worrisome on more than one level. "Yeah, it's not going to be easy balancing family life with being a hero. But I'm sure you'll do OK!†Hopping up on one of the concrete pylons that separated parking spaces in the garage, he gave Trevor a thumbs up before tilting his chin upward as though watching something in the distance. “I guess I'll probably give powers to my kids too. Where do you see yourself in five years?" "Who knows? I try to plan for everything; there's just too many variables.†Trevor’s approach to the future was a little less hopeful and a little more tactical than Mark’s. â€Hopefully I'll be strong enough by then to make a real difference. Lot left to learn." There was a wistful note as he leaned against another pylon. "Yeah, like... well, never mind. Hey Trevor, if you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you want to go?" Mark spread his arms in a sweeping gesture to indicate the entire planet. "If...?†Trevor really wasn’t accustomed to these sorts of hypotheticals. â€I don't know, I... Seattle, maybe. Why not?" he decided with an exasperated shrug. "OK, cool. Watch this!" Mark grinned, bringing his hands together with a clap. There was a sudden flash of light too bright even for Trevor’s mutant eyes to compensate for, and when it cleared, the pair on the observation deck of Seattle’s famous Space Needle, Mark sitting now atop a guard rail while his friend tried to get his bearings back. "Pretty cool, huh? I've been messing around with the Young Freedom teleport beacons, and when I pump my power into it, I got it to send us to Seattle! Neat, huh? Or did this seem too braggy? Is it weird being on a team with really powerful people?" The young man’s expression was earnest despite his astonishing feat. "Guh, teleporting...†Trevor placed a hand on his stomach with a grimace and shook off the shock. “No, it's fine; good to know what you can do. More than one way to measure 'power', but I know what you mean. It... keeps things interesting. Mostly I'm just glad that power's in good hands," he assured his teammate. Mark looked vaguely relieved to hear it. “Aw, thanks, Trevor. That... that really means a lot after what happened with my dad.†After a flicker of a frown crossed the usually upbeat teen’s face, he smiled sunnily. “You're a really good friend! I bet you had lot of friends before coming to Claremont, right?†"Er, not really, no. Didn't have much in common.†Trevor moved to the edge of the deck and looked out at the city below them. â€Had one friend, sort of, but that... ended poorly." “Aw, that's too bad. I didn't have a lot of friends either. Everyone thought I was crazy,†Mark commiserated with a heavy sigh. “So did your dad not want to be Midnight, then? That seems dumb. It's cool!" The awkward topic didn’t entirely distract Trevor from the difficulty Mark seemed to be having keeping his own spirits up. The laconic youth hoped that wasn’t due to his own reserved demeanour, but personally found talking with the cheerful young man oddly refreshing. "...heh. Yeah, that does seem dumb. Think Dad was always more embarrassed by Gramps' heroing than anything. Two of them can't get though a real conversation without arguing." He shrugged, not sure how to explain it better than that. Mark looked appalled. “That's awful! Hadn't he heard about the Three-Way Riddle War with King Cole, with the giant and the beanstalk and... I mean... well, I guess he had,†he realised. “I'm sorry, man. Does your grandpa spend a lot of time with the guys left over from the Liberty League?†Trevor shook his head. "He doesn't get out of the manor must any more. He's in good shape for his age, but...†he trailed off uncomfortably until a thought occurred to him. â€Actually, you should come and meet him one of these days. He'd probably get a kick out of meeting the new Lucas." As frustrating as Travis had found Jimmy Lucas at times, he’d always maintained that he was a truly decent man who never gave up no matter the odds. "Hey, that's great! Man, I'd like to meet Midnight too... well, the Classic Midnight. I like the New version best, heh-heh-heh,†Mark chuckled before abruptly asking, “Hey, have you ever travelled in time?†Off of Trevor alarmed look he clarified, “...no, I mean, I don't have a time machine right now or anything. I guess I mean, if you could talk to your dad right now, and he'd listen, what would you say?" Beginning to see where Mark’s train of through kept bringing him back to, Trevor frowned, but replied, "We never had much luck getting through a conversation, either. Guess I don't have much to say to him either way. Like him to... be proud of me, but we're not... measuring on the same scale." It was a sobering admission, and one he’d not made out loud before. “Yeah... yeah, dads can be tough that way,†Mark agreed, swinging his feet back and forth under the guard rail. “Are things any better with your mom?†"Have an easier time remaining civil with her, if that's what you mean. Mostly just because we keep out conversations fairly banal,†Trevor sighed. â€She's doesn't know about Midnight; thinks I need be more outgoing, show up on magazine covers and gossip columns." He snorted at that, shaking his head and leaning more heavily against the railing. “Parents can be tough to get along with that way. You ever think... nah.†Stopping mid sentence once again, Mark shifted topics. “Hey, you ever think about working in a different city? Like New York, or LA?†"No. Freedom is Midnight's city," Trevor responded tersely, is voice slipping into a deeper register for a brief moment. "Ooh, catchy,†Mark nodded, rubbing his chin. “Hey, you wanna to get some coffee?" Slowly getting used to the spastic pace of the conversation, Trevor grunted an affirmative, bracing himself just in time for another flash, the teleportation depositing them on either side of a booth in a small coffee shop. Luckily, none of the other patrons or staff seemed to have been looking in that direction. After they ordered, Mark played with the corner of a napkin before looking up hesitantly. "Hey, uh, Trevor, personal question, but how are you and Erin getting along with, uh, you know, stuff. Dating and stuff?" Trevor coughed, still not completely comfortable discussing his romantic life. Mark was both his friend and Erin’s, however, and he tried to answer as openly as possible. "Ah. Good. Taking things slow. Well. Slowish. I mean, ah... lack a frame of reference, but... Yes. Good." Smiling slightly in spite of himself, he let out a breath that was half chuckle. "Heh." "That's a good idea, Trevor. I mean, I've... rushed into things, maybe a lot of things, but sometimes I wish I'd taken the time to have some emotional bonds like you guys have.†Their mugs arrived, and Mark switched from fidgeting with his napkin to stirring copious amounts of sugar into his drink. “Do you think she likes you back?" Recalling the last time he’d worked on Erin’s truck, Trevor dryly replied, "Have it on pretty good authority, yeah.†Observing the other young man from across the table, he took a long sip of his black coffee before quietly asking, â€...we still talking about me, Mark?" Starring into his own mug for a silent moment, Mark bit his lip before looking up. "Would... would you come over to my place after school, Trevor? My mom is baking pie, and with only two of us to eat it, it just sort of goes stale. And that's... that's not good, Trevor. She's always really happy to see my friends." The dark haired teen blinked once before his expression softened with understanding. "...sure, pal. Sounds good."

"I don't trust her," Jill murmured, with an eye toward Miss Americana. "She smiles and winks too much." Her older brother rolled his eyes and replied in a similarly hushed tone. "You don't trust anybody, hermanita." "Well duh, people are jerks," the coltish teenager asserted with a sniff. "Bribe nothing, I've got a whole new subroutine devoted to that," Vince answered Fulcrum with a rueful grin. "I wish you'd take the guy out more; it'd give him less time to fiddle with my ones and zeroes!" "Hey, don't worry about it, man," Jack assured Harrier with a dismissive wave. "We've got a bunch of spare rooms down here just in case. Get you set up with some TV, little pie, no sweat."

"Fine," Midnight grated through the filter in his mask. "Favour for a favour. We'll do what we can, but our priority has to be getting our doubles off our own world." The lanky teen crossed his arms, considering. They'd managed to reduce a significant portion of Anti-Earth's Claremont to rubble in the time they'd been here; with even less restraint, who knew what havoc their counterparts might have wreaked. "Can you switch us out, the way we were brought here?"

Emma bit her thumb, frowning slightly. "Ooh, right, you're not fire proof. I forget sometimes." The metahuman powers she'd inherited from her own parents gave her a much higher tolerance for heat than the average person, and a sensitivity to the body heat of those around her may have been colouring her judgment in this case anyway. "Well, I don't think she's really a 'third degree burns on the first date' kinda girl anyway. Um, I dunno, I'm stuck on the Phalanx Cakes and the Ace-adilla. What are you getting?"

"Well, it beats romantic advice from Mark or James," Trevor said dryly, giving Liz a small shrug. For all its unconventionality, the relationship between his hosts seemed to be built on a rock solid foundation the dark haired youth found vaguely comforting. "But yes, a tour would be appreciated, certainly. I'll just, ah, skip the washroom, then."