Gizmo
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Midnight is going to fill the immediate area (25' radius from his position) with midnight mist as a free action, then spend a full round Intimidating the escapees. With Skill Mastery, that's an auto-30 Intimidate, +3 from the Master Plan, for a total of DC 33.
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Jill poked the glamour chair uncertainly before taking a seat, shifting her weight around it experimentally. "Look, it's not like 'ahh we never talk about it ever doom', or anything, it's just the sort of personal info mi hermano likes to keep under wraps." The teenager let out a loud breath. "And, seeing as he's so careful about that stuff mostly for my benefit, well. Probably oughta keep it on the DL, right?" Jill ran her fingers through the end of her ponytail in what was become a familiar gesture to Lynn. "Short version? Something... bad happened, and Jack decided he wasn't going to stand by a watch it happen again, y'know? And I started studying to be a paramedic someday."
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Well, if we haven't actually spent the points yet, are we allowed to use the planned improvements?
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"'This realm'?" Jack asked, his tone amused. "What is it with you wizard types? Who talks like that? I swear, if you turn out to be an Alternate-Avenger from magic land or something..." The fencer trailed of with a beleaguered sigh. "Look, Scrappy, on a purely personal level, I would just as soon we got out of each others' hair. But you gotta admit you're pretty much the sketchiest sketch of Sketchtown, so it'd be pretty irresponsible of me to just let you flit about on your own."
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How do I miss this stuff? Where are the new stats? I should get them put on Jack's sheet.
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"Diamonds, huh? I was hoping we could just elope," Jack rejoined, matching her suggestively wry tone. "Never really been a material kind of guy." The athletic young man rolled his shoulders, smoothly working out the knots under his greatcoat. "Still, never let it be said that Mama Of-All-Blades' favourite son ever declined an opportunity get physical with a beautiful woman. Unarmed? Counting pins or touches?" For all his impish innuendo, the acrobat's eyes held the appraising look of a trained combatant.
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What does Vince have so far? Did we ever get around to making those improvements to the Underground?
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"'Concern', right. Understatement of the Year award..." the coltish teenager muttered, rubbing one arm absently. "It's... well, it's not complicated actually; we just don't talk about it really. Um." Jill cleared her throat. "As for Jack's judgment, I've bound way to many of his wounds for that to be a convincing argument but..." She sighed, running her fingers through the end of her ponytail and looking apprehensive. "I guess it's okay."
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Jack of all Blades snorted, amused. "Cha, art of being awesome," he replied. "Let's just say the nose knows, in a sense. See what I did there?" He moved the flickering blade in his hand to cast orange light toward the inquisitive figure. "I buy the friend of the family line, if only 'cause you knew enough to get the look down, but the enigmatic thing gets old fast. Do I need to get the real Avenger over here, or are you going to spill the beans?" The swordsman didn't actually have any way to quickly contact the vampire, but hopefully the other man wouldn't know that.
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Whoops! Initiative. (1d20+9=22)
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Trevor's thin lips fell into an open mouthed smile which, on the normally reserved teenager's face, looked positively goofy. "Sounds like a plan," he agreed. "The lounge again?" With the weekend's plans made, the pair began their walk from the garage back to the dormitories. Silent until they were nearly at the entrance, Trevor suddenly spoke up, "You tired, or...?"
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Jack stood perfectly still for a moment, blinking at the blonde woman. "Miss Shell," he said, carefully articulating each syllable, "you just made my whole week. Seriously, I may have to propose." The tanned young man quirked an eyebrow over a dazzling grin of his own. "What did you have in mind?"
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With a doubtful look at the mysterious figure, Jack of all Blades closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on extending the reach of his metamagi senses, probing for anything out of place. Not finding anything, he looked back at his rooftop companion. "Yeah, either it's something I can't sense or you're pulling my leg, Scrappy Doo," he drawled. "The only 'anomalous mystic signature' around here would be you. Wanna tell me what's really up? 'Cause I'm seriously not going to just leave you alone."
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"I -- what?" Trevor scrambled out of the car after Erin, the movements snatched from the jaws of comedy only by the youth's practiced grace. "Definitely not busy. More like the opposite of busy. If I were busy, I'd get purposefully un-busied, because... yes." He gave the young woman a bleak look. "Erin, I don't... talk much, so, just to be clear, I had an amazing time tonight, and, well..." He ran a hand through the dark hair on the back of his head self-consciously before looking back up. "I, y'know... really like you. Ah, yeah. Yes. So." He coughed awkwardly and tried to compose his posture and expression with limited success.
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Jack chuckled wryly, lacing his fingers behind his head and pacing a few steps across the rooftop. "Well, it doesn't exactly keep me up at night, but that's mostly because I've got other things to worry about." Turning back around, he shrugged. "It is kind of an issue, though. I mean, I had this totally mental conversation the other day where I had to convince somebody my friends and I weren't going to try to hurt his infant son. It's like, hello! Good guys here! It's on the business card!"
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"Yeah? I -- yes, that's be, ah, nice." The lanky young man found himself in new territory. He'd gone on dates often enough, certainly, but second dates had been few and far between. His only long term relationship had been of a decidedly dysfunctional bent, besides. Part of him couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. After a moment of silence he started, "So, ah..."
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An ear piece built into Midnight's featureless mask crackled to life over a secure channel, pitched so only the black clad youth could hear it. "Trevor," his grandfather's 'work voice' intoned, "the transport I was using to transfer an early prototype of the midnight mist gun was hijacked on its way to the super museum." Midnight's eyes narrowed behind the faintly glowing red lenses. "Robots?" he asked. "Hard to say. Appears the drivers were waylaid and replaced. Working on something related? Concealed in the shadowy corners of the lab he considered. Fear Master's gasses and Luna Moth's pheromones, Archeville said... A modified midnight mist pistol would make a superb delivery system for either. "Could be." "Keep following it, then," Travis instructed. "I'm heading over to investigate. More when I look at the scene." "Be careful," Trevor cautioned. His grandfather was, as far as he was concerned, the best there ever was, but the original Midnight was now well into his nineties. The earpiece briefly crackled, "You too, son," before shutting down.
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"Me too," Trevor agreed with a small smile before hurriedly adding, "I mean, had a good time and glad I asked you, that is. Both." The lean teenager cleared his throat awkwardly at his uncharacteristic fluster, shifting in his seat to adopt an unconvincingly nonchalant posture. "Should do something like that again, sometime. Not necessarily a big party but, ah, something." Trevor reflected that there was a reason he wasn't the chatty type.
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Woo, reserved spot! Yeah, Jack's in.
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If Jack was surprised by the revelation of Bombshell's criminal past, he hid it well as he spread his hands in a shrug. "Well, no worries on that score: I'm single." The swordsman's mood had improved considerably from when Archeville had asked him to meet someone on the rooftop. Gorgeous and she didn't immediately try to do me grievous bodily harm? Everything's coming up Jack! He rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "But I mean, yeah, I guess I can relate. If you consider being seen as quote a bunch of arrogant, irresponsible incompetents living in a frat house end quote a public relations problem, that is."
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Knowledge (technology) Check x2. (1d20+5=19, 1d20+5=14) Investigation Check. (1d20+2=12) Probably not going to figure out much from that.
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Accepting it, Jack bowed low, sweeping his greatcoat out with one arm as he touched his lips lightly to the back of the blonde's hand. "Jack of all Blades, very much at your service, señorita," he replied, looking up with a lopsided, boyish grin tinged with a touch of Bombshell's own devilish expression and set in light stubble for a successfully rakish effect. "Now, what can I do for you?"
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Jack of all Blades chuckled lightly. "Well, that does sound more like the Broodmeister, but now you're confusing how I act." Placing his free hand to the side of his mouth, he stage whispered, "Hint: I react poorly to being told what to do." The swordsman shrugged, abandoning his fighting stance but keeping the blade lit in his hand. "It's a character flaw, I'm working on it. Look, you're not exactly wining a ton of points with the little game of dress up, but ask away. Maybe I can still help, regardless."
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Leaning against the doorway that led down the the building below, Jack of all Blades idly rolled his lighter across the knuckles of one hand while the other hand rested in the pocket of his royal blue greatcoat. He didn't glance over until Bombshell had stepped further on the rooftop, watching the curvy woman from the corner of his masked eye. Well, if I've gotta sit through somebody explaining why we're a bunch of arrogant punks, that's definitely the outfit I want them to be in. Straightening, he returned the lighter to his coat and walked over to meet her. "Glad you could make it," he greeted easily.
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Ha, probably for the best! Mona! Avenge your fallen comrades!
