Gizmo
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Taking a moment to recompose himself while Erin got into the truck, Trevor straightened his shirt and let out a long, thin breath from the corner of his mouth, carrying with it a stream of midnight mist that shot upward before dissipating in an expanding cloud over his head. Jogging around the front of the vehicle, he slid into the passenger seat and listened with analytical satisfaction to the sound of the engine. Adjusting the radio, he distractedly settled on the first non-talk station. [groove]22709568[/groove] "Shockingly, I did not wire my girlfriend's truck to explode," he drawled wryly, before belatedly catching himself, and looking over at Erin. "Ah..."
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Swinging down into the opening with his own grapple, Trevor landed with a small splash, rising from a crouch beside Erin. Looking between her outstretched arms and the device in his hand, he paused for a moment then retracted the cable with a small, vaguely apologetic shrug. Looking back and forth down the pipe, he consciously widened his mutated eyes behind his mask, letting them adjust to the gloom. The tunnel appear before him in stark reds and greys, Erin's body heat lighting her against the cold, damp backdrop. "Quickly," he agreed.
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"Heh," Trevor chuckled softly, a broad grin exposing teeth as he moved one hand from the small of Erin's back to run gently though her hair. "Out, sure." There was a beat, then another before the young man's thoughts actually caught up to each other and he glanced over at the blue pickup. "The truck, right. Should be good to go, yeah." Despite his words, his body seemed reluctant to move from its spot.
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Closing his own eyes, Trevor's movement at first had a ginger hesitancy to them, but as Erin's hands slid around his sides he threw caution entirely to the wind, instinctively drawing her closer. His mind was blissfully silent, offering no analysis or contingency plans, simply basking in the feeling of warmth that spread over him despite the cool of the garage. It wasn't until his lungs were burning in protest that he broke away with a stuttering inhalation, clearing his throat softly. "...wow," he whispered without loosening his embrace.
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Trevor could feel his own heartbeat against Erin's hand, gradually accelerating and growing louder in his ears as he looked down at her. It felt surprisingly good to let down his defenses, standing still without being ready to burst into movement. Oddly breathless, he inhaled deeply, close enough to catch faint notes of citrus from her auburn hair. "So, listen," he managed softly, words sticking in his dry mouth, "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's alright."
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"No complaints here," Trevor murmured in agreement, the corner of his mouth turning up as he moved forward to clasp his hands behind Erin's back. "Have I mentioned lately that you're amazing? Because I'm pretty sure I should do that more often." Despite his serious tone, the usually stoic teen just couldn't seem to keep a straight face for once, a grin threatening to spread across his face and a slight blackened flush colouring his pale skin.
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Jack of all Blades (15) Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug (2) Welcome to The Interceptors, Jill O'Cure (6) The Church of Swordology (4) Meet The Interceptors! (3) Midnight II (61) Jail Break (1) ... but the Exchange Rates are Murder! (2) At The Mountains (1) Hunter in the Forest (7) A Trip Between Two Worlds (36) Shadows in the Night (5) Midnight Run (9) Mind Games (16) Contributions Additions to Visual Guide and Alt Costumes Wiki pages.
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"For which I am eternally grateful," Trevor assured her with a nod deep enough to contain a hint of a bow. Placing one hand on the back of his neck, he winced slightly. "My grandmother passed away before I was born, so I haven't had many good roll models in terms of, y'know. Relationships." The youth had been taking special care not to apply any names or labels to what he and Erin shared, but that at least seemed a safe enough term. "I think we do okay, though, right?"
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It took a moment for Trevor to recall the exchange. "Ah, right. After I'd put my foot in my mouth. That was..." The young man hesitated for a moment, catching on the word 'private'. Acting on some advice he thought was sound despite its unusual source, he changed his mind. "Our parents, mine and Tricia's, that is, they... argued a lot before they stopped talking to each other. I always worried that... Point being, I was just letting her know you weren't tossing me out on my ear," he finished, largely failing in his attempt to add levity to his tone. "But, ah, yeah, if you want to learn some, sure. Could be fun."
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"Gramps actually did used to have a stable," Trevor confirmed wryly as he slid out from under the truck. The movement pushed his t-shirt up past his stomach, and he took a moment to pull it back down over a torso increasingly displaying the results of his rigorous training regimen, leaving black fingerprints on the white fabric. In truth, the garment didn't quite fit the young man's broadening frame anymore, but with the hectic pace of life at Claremont, he hadn't bothered to adjust his mundane wardrobe accordingly. Accepting the rag and belatedly wiping his hands, he blinked at the sudden question. "Hmm? Oh, just after Mark's father disappeared. Eve was taking it pretty hard. Occurred to me that if something ever prevented her from communication telepathically..." He shrugged, a little self-conscious. "Back-up plan."
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And with that rousing vote of confidence... Trevor immediately picked up on Erin's increased agitation and narrowed his lens covered eyes at their local guide. "There's a group of rebels in the sewers," he stated without preamble. "Not exactly thriving, but they've survived at least one recent purge and are keeping hidden, so they have some resources. Good a place as any to start."
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"What did you think the big red button I put on the dash did?" Trevor deadpanned serenely, tilting his head as much as the confined space would allow to cock an eyebrow at her, a quizzical expression which quickly dissolved into a flash of white teeth. "Two hundred should be easy. Reinforced frame'll slow it down a bit," he mused absently, "but I'll set up a toggle between speed and torque for towing capacity." He reached out a lanky arm toward Erin, refocusing his attention on her. "Now, if you'd just let me paint it black..."
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Leaving the pathetic shell of a man to writhe in his own wretchedness, Midnight slipped once more into the shadows, moving slowly and carefully despite the apparently deserted cityscape. Eventually, he reappeared in the displaced teens' temporary base without warning, despite the barricades which had been set up in his absence. "Back," he announced unceremoniously, casting an appraising eye over their altered costumes. Abandoning the pretense of being their doubles might not have been the wisest move, but he wasn't really in a position to judge. "Got a lead. Do we trust her?" The black clad young man tipped his head meaningfully toward Daisy, not bothering with polite niceties.
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Long and nimble albeit calloused fingers wrapped around the handle of a proffered wrench before disappearing back under the truck. A short, light exhalation indicated a small smile hidden by the shadows under the metal framework. "How fast do you want it to go?" Trevor responded with a subtle note of playfulness reserved for the present company. The feeling of the cool cement through his white t-shirt was a welcome reminder that for once the pair was actually home and safe, while he was beginning to enjoy being able to see clearly without the aid of a flashlight.
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"Puts me in an awkward position," Midnight grated out flatly, his voice inhumanly devoid of emotion. "Have a quota of traitors, rebels, troublemakers. Not picky how I fill it." Stained black with midnight mist, his lean form loomed over the homeless man, an implacable spectre, stillness threatening to explode into swift and deadly action. Leaning forward, he lowered his volume to barely more than a whisper. "This is the part where you start listing names and places."
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Outwardly hesitating, the young man's mind raced. If 'Trevor Hunter' was the secret identity on this world, and his counterpart was as insufferably smug as he suspected... Revelation struck, and he softly whispered, "Hunter's Moon." At the voice command, the sides of his mask split apart with a pressurized hiss, allowing him to set his fedora aside and remove the semi-rigid disguise with both hands, taking a deep breath as he did so. Setting it down atop the hat, he stepped forward and placed a hand lightly on Erin's cheek, murmuring, "Wild horses." Leaning forward, he kissed her deeply, the gesture underwritten with notes of shared danger and accepted fears. Looking into her brown eyes for a long, silent moment, he finally broke away, once again donning his mask. "If I'm not back in a couple of hours, keep moving; I'll find you." With that, he slipped off into the night.
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Trevor raised his hands in exaggerated surrender. "Point taken. Historically, honesty hasn't worked out very well for me, but as you already noted, I'm not much of a liar regardless." He didn't really have any terrible secrets he was keeping from Erin, just topics he avoided discussing. Whether that was actually an better was naturally open to debate. "At the moment we're just taking things slow. Assuming that's alright with you," he added in an immaculate deadpan.
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Squeezing his eyes shut irritably, Midnight resisted the urge to snap back. The same thing that happens to someone who won't. Stop. Talking. Leveraging his stoic silence to take a few moments to center himself, he replied. "Signaled them," he elaborated. The automatic line he'd set up with the FCPD routing system was nominally anonymous, but after a few calls to pick up piles of unconscious drug dealers and mobsters, the uniformed officers had adopted an unofficial policy of taking it seriously. "They'll be here." Mounting the Night Cycle in one smooth moment, he looked back over to the talkative woman. Suspecting he was going to regret it, he offered, "Get on. Give you a ride home."
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There was a moment of silence before Trevor reappeared as if out of thin air, considerably closer to the warehouse's doors than when he's slipped away, and stalked back over to Erin. "This is what I do," he told her, pitching his voice so it wouldn't carry far beyond them. "My job. We need information" Spreading his arms, he leaned forward slightly. "Do you have any idea what it's like for me watching you fight opponents that can rip tanks in half? Telling myself over and over that of course you'll be fine, you're you, because I can't--" Stopping his sentence, he placed a gloved hand over his mask, halting the uncontrolled flow of words before he sounded any more foolish. Lowering the hand, he met her eyes, his expression behind the stained mask clouded. "This I can do." With a short, sharp exhalation, he added more wryly, "Besides, nothing on this rock could ever keep me from finding you again."
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Timing the burst precisely, Trevor obscured the group's decent in acrid midnight mist, making them look like just another chunk of burning debris as the helicopter exploded in a spectacular display. As he'd expected, the bulk of the wreckage fell in the opposite direction, hopefully leading their pursuers from the Academy away from them. A bit of quick scouting brought them to an abandoned warehouse, away from prying eyes. As the group gathered around one of the burning metal barrels of trash which dotted the nearly post apocalyptic wasteland that was the Fens of Empire City, the lean teenager considered their next move. Now that they had a little breathing room, he was officially done operating blind. Stepping away from the others, he narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists, bringing a shallow bath of midnight mist from his pores, roiling about him like a boiling sea. Before long, his mottled and splattered borrowed costume had been stained a uniform black. "Back soon," he assured the others before fading into the shadows of the night.
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"Agreed," Trevor nodded, brow furrowing beneath his mask, the urgency of their peril preventing him from doing more than giving Erin a reassuring bump of the shoulder. The blood splattered teen placed two fingers on each of his temples and considered. "If I were... hrn." He looked back up suddenly, unbuckling his seat's webbing and moving to the cockpit. "Wouldn't use a pad." Scanning the bank of controls, he quickly found what he was looking for. "Edge, head toward the Fens. Kid, wings out, then set the tail rotor on fire. Rift, you're carrying Daisy." He gave the telempath in the copilot seat a narrow eyed look through unreadable red lenses. "Try anything and I will make sure he drops you." His expression softened subtly as he turned back to Erin. As much as he wanted to give her time to recover, he'd just have to hope that keeping busy would suffice. "Need you to carry Mark and me. Going to give us some cloud cover, but it's got to be fast. Not sure what kind of timer my double would have set."
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Gather Information check. (1d20+10=24)
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[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [IC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in West End
Hey, a fan! Nice, Jack mused as the enthusiastic girl gushed. Gotta get some of that 'he who singlehandedly' stuff on my business cards. With a deep bow that was equal parts modest and melodramatic, he tapped the side of his head wryly. "" The swordsman was cut short by the sudden explosions, reflexively trying to push the heat away with his minor talent for energy manipulation. The force of the flames crashed back upon his will like a sledgehammer, nearly knocking him off his feet. "...well, nertz," he muttered under his breath before turning back to the startled young woman. ", guapa," he told her, firing his grapple at the ground a good distance away and tying the cord to the balcony's railing, creating a zip line to safety. "" -
[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [OOC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in Archives
Jack tries to hold back the flames: Countering fire. (1d20+6=19) -
Staring down at the nonchalant woman for another beat, Midnight turned and stalked silently out of the alleyway, thumbing a button on his belt as he went. On one hand, he could hardly fault the short woman for being capable of defending herself; all things considered, it was just as well, and he was more than a little impressed that she'd managed to catch him unawares at all. On the other, he wasn't about to give out samples of his hand writing. "Police should be on their way," he told her without turning around, as a matte black motorcycle slid into view at the end of the gap between the buildings, unnerving silent and riderless. "In the future? Try not to walk alone 'in a dark alley, in the middle of the night, in the Fens'."