Gizmo
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Trevor's substantially longer stride brought him around to block Eve's path before she could make it to the doors. --Not likely,-- he sent dryly, still sending the words telepathically rather than speaking aloud. --Normally I prefer to give people their space,-- he continued, --but you just gave up your voice to save the world, Eve, and we're going to deal with that right now.-- Both his body language and the tone of his thoughts carried a soft sureness, a quiet confidence free of judgment which entreated the diminutive European to trust him.
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In the Claremont garage, Trevor Hunter was up to his elbows in the innards of the Night Cycle, working away as a portable television provided background noise. Extricating one arm to wipe sweat from his forehead, the young man left a streak of grease across his pale skin. Casting about fro a rag, he turned to see a familiar face on the small screen. The dark haired teen raised an eyebrow. It was a bold move on Alex's part, but one is instincts told him was foolish. More importantly, her 'outing' could potentially put the rest of the school at risk by association. Hope you know what you're doing... he mused.
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"Uh... yeah," Jack replied in greeting, looking down at the hanging vampire, startled bemusement playing on his face. The swashbuckler knocked on the side of his head with the butt of one hand while perching easily atop the flagpole. "Man, how do you do that? Didn't feel anything..." The dark clad vigilante's apparent immunity to his extra, metahuman senses unnerved Jack more than he cared to admit, but he managed to keep it from his expression. "So," he continued smoothly. "How do we do this? I'm not usually so much for the subtle, y'know?"
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'Cause we're gonna need it!
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Date: June 2010 Deep under the streets of Freedom City's West End, the swashbuckling hero known as Jack of all Blades finished stretching in the Underground's training room and began bouncing lightly up and down on the balls of his feet, eager to get his first lesson started. Rather than his traditional greatcoat and bandanna mask, the tanned young man wore loose-fitting workout clothes: black shorts and a white tank top that revealed layer of lithe muscle marred by the occasional faint scar. He'd told the rest of the team to show up similarly attired, but hadn't revealed anything else about his lesson plan. Looking up, the fencer nodded to Colt where the cowboy sat in the room's control center, visible through a large translucent panel in the far wall, then turned to look at a digital readout of the time as he wrapped his hands with a roll of tape.
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"Heh." Trevor grinned, displaying twin rows of pearly white teeth usually hidden behind his stoic visage. The smile took the dark haired youth from austere to legitimately handsome. It was suddenly much easier to understand how the Hunter men had garnered a reputation as charming playboys. "Fair enough," he replied, scanning the street for a place to park. "You know how to handle a stick shift?"
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Trevor leaned back in his seat, driving with one hand while he rested the other arm near the stick shift. "Maybe that's good," he mused aloud. "Freedom is used to us. Elsewhere..." The dark haired teen shook his head slowly. "Fear makes people stupid." Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel abruptly, he lightened his tone. "But enough of that. Tonight isn't about Wander and Midnight." Inwardly he added, If I'm right about your origins, you've earned a vacation. The soft spoken young man raised an eyebrow slightly. "So. Tell me more about the girl behind the blunt instrument."
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Stepping smoothly out of the Pitchoo and onto the Claremont campus, Trevor was struck both by the genius of the airship's design and the absurdity of its aesthetics. At some point he was going to have to get Chris to introduce him to the craft's engineer, but for the time being, the brightly clad teenager seemed to be in a singular hurry, taking off again as soon as his passengers had disembarked. As the speck of green disappeared into the distance, Trevor regarded Eve out of the corner of his eye. --I believe we had a deal,-- he mentally sent to the telepath, the texture of his thoughts mild but steady.
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Other...? Oh. Oh. A number of pieces slid into place for Trevor. That's why she had a double in the altered reality instead of new memories. Interesting. He glanced at the young woman sitting in the passenger seat before turning his gaze back to the road. "Guess it would," he agreed carefully. "Why would you ever want to leave Freedom?" the lanky youth added with a shrug. There didn't seem to be any need to go into the vague possessiveness he felt for the city, as part of Midnight's territory. When it came down to it, Freedom City was home, plain and simple.
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Jill stopped looking around the Underground, jaw slightly ajar, to turn and smirk at Lynn. "Well, you were doing pretty well right up until 'lame-o'," the teenager remarked, continuing her inspection with a resumed expression of wry detachment. "It's pretty amazing that you got all of this down-- wait." Stopping mid-sentence, the girl furrowed her brow. "The costume changes. That would mean... You're naked right now, aren't you." Jill's flat tone made it a statement not a question.
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I'd love to see one or both of the Espadas siblings rendered in something other that a character generator. Erik's wearing the new costume he'll adopt once Ellie joins up as his official sidekick in that picture; probably the way to go, looking ahead. Then again, if you feel more like doing them in their civilian get ups, that works, too! Midnight II in or out of costume would be similarly awesome, naturally.
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Trevor gave Eve a sidelong glance at the mention of competition, the diminutive girl's graceful movement and distinctive white hair jogging a memory. "...gymnastics. Headed for the Olympics," he observed mildly, rubbing a thumb over is angular chin. "Interesting. As for fun, you may be speaking to the wrong person." Trevor spread his hands in a small shrug. "Should head by the lounge after the office; usually something going on."
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Alright, well, he doesn't technically have Well Informed yet, but... Gather Information check. (1d20+5=20) Probably safe to say he's familiar with her as a one-time Olympic hopeful.
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Trevor shrugged as he drove. "Don't be. It's all relative." Over his weeks at Claremont, the quiet young man had noticed that a surprising number of his classmates were orphans of one kind or another. Compared to that, absentee parents were hardly anything to complain about, not that he was overly given to complaint in the first place. "He raised me," Trevor answered Erin's question, his manner suggesting that was all that need be said on the subject. "And you? Get back to Seattle much?"
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Could Trevor make a Sense Motive or Acrobatics check or something to figure what Eve means by 'competing'?
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"Agreed," Midnight intoned as they ran, voice coldly devoid of inflection. Trevor didn't intend to let any of the convicts escape, but was wary of overconfidence. The mist poured from his more quickly, growing denser, so that the edge of the rolling cloud reached the swordswoman's position before the sprinting, shadowy pair. Midnight's gravelly voice sounded from within, a whisper carried over impossible distance. "But who said I was a successor?"
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At the mention of overseeing the team's training, Jack's eyebrows rose, then a cheshire grin spread across his face. "Oh. Oh ho. This? This is going to be good." Rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, he turned to Colt. "So, what d'you think? You take 'em Monday-Wednesday-Friday, I'll take Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday, give 'em Sunday to heal?" His predatory glee was interrupted by Archeville's explanation. "Hey, it only caught me off-guard 'cause it was so dorky looking. Total lucky shot," he grumbled. "Tell you what, get us a couple of those bots for the training room, I'll call it even."
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Midnight will see if it means anything to his: Knowledge (technology) check. (1d20+5=19)
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Trevor nodded, one eye closing slightly in a suppressed wince. "Gramps is pretty sprightly for his nineties, but he's not as mobile as he used to be. My parents..." The dark haired teen jutted out his lower lip and blew out a long breath, bouncing the bangs sticking out from under his fedora off of his forehead. "Divorced when I was young. Having a child to save the marriage didn't pan out. Father travels a lot for business, mother's in Paris these days." His matter-of-fact tone was light as ever, though a small frown touched his lips as he shifted his grip on the steering wheel. "Don't see much of either."
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"Mmm," Trevor murmured in agreement as he pulled out of the campus' driveway. The classic car's engine was fairly noisy, but a combination of his recent tune-up and the exacting specifications his grandfather had had it built to in the 1940s granted it a throaty purr which was not unpleasant. "Not one of the Night Cruisers, but he collected a few civilian cars over the years. Millionaire playboy, and all."
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A second matte black motorcycle screech up to stop neatly next to Arrowhawk's. Midnight leapt from his bike, streams of inky mist pouring from his sleeves and giving him a lazy vapour trail as he pulled the escrima sticks from his boots and launched into a sprint in one smooth movement. Behind the narrowed red lenses and featureless black mask, Trevor Hunter willed his breathing to steady. These criminals were about to learn that, with a new Midnight active in Freedom, they'd be better off staying in Blackstone. The lanky teen's long strides brought him alongside the black clad archer as they raced towards the gates. "Good look," his gravelly voice noted mildly through the filter in his mask.
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Initiative. (1d20+3=9) Woof.
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Jack lingered for a moment in the MAVERIC, hunched over the screen in the dashboard. "Vince, talk to me," he pleaded, voice tight with worry. The AI's image blinked into existence, for once foregoing comical props and set pieces. "Checking the hospital's security cameras and computer systems now," he assured the swordsman. "Okay, here we go: li'l sis was here when things went all Gojira on us. They've got the volunteers working the ER which, no big shock, is pretty full just now." Vince paused and gave the young man a level look. "She's safe, Erik." Jack set out a relieved breath. "Right. Thanks, man. Now, let's keep it that way." Sliding out of the vehicle, the swashbuckler steeped in front of it, nodding to Colt on the roof. "Alamo time, huh?" he quipped, fishing his lighter out of his pocket and rolling it about in his hand.
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Stab o' Clock: Initiative. (1d20+9=26)
