Gizmo
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Jack and Midnight will soldier on!
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"I dunno," Jack drawled mildly, "we let you in." The swashbuckler folder his arms and tilted his head slightly to one side. "Look, forget frying their brains or whatever, we just need to know they're there in the first place, right? Alarm goes off, wakes us up, I stab whoever snuck in." The team had grown accustomed to Jack's 'every problem looks like a nail' philosophy; it probably would have been a lot less aggravating if 'stabbing' didn't end up working out for the fencer quite so often.
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Trevor regarded physics-defying geometry of the hallway with a grimace, moving away from the wall despite the greater profile it gave him. Delving into his utility belt, he rummaged through a surprising number of aerosol cans before finding what he was looking for. Noting the prominent, stylized clock logo emblazoned upon the laser cutter with mild annoyance, he addressed James as he arrived upstairs without turning from the bulging door. "Took long enough. Going to try cutting the door open. Probably best if you stand back."
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Frank gave her a self-satisfied smirk. "How long does it normally take, or how long does it take me?" he asked with a hint of smugness. "Don't worry, it'll be ready in plenty of time for you to try it out and make any alterations you want." The portly man seemed pleased with the way the dress was shaping up, even after Erin's insisted changes to his original design. "Old man and I used to get rush jobs all the time, back in the day." Nearby, Trevor finished rearranging the ties, giving them a slight frown before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. "Let him tell the story of how Frank Sr. and my grandfather met," he implored Erin. He turned to the tailor, the corner of his mouth curving upward. "You know you want to."
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"Have to keep an eye out for competitive hide-and-seek leagues," Trevor agreed in a tone so dry only context provided any hint that he was joking. Without paying much attention to what he was doing, the dark haired youth had begun sorting through the carefully layered ties, amassing a small stack of red cloth in varying shades approaching the one Erin was presently wrapped in. Looking down in mild surprise, he began to replace them in their display positions, knowing that Frank could simply craft a new one from exactly the same material as the dress he was working on. Trevor was momentarily disconcerted; normally he was quite meticulous in his movements. Unconscious fidgeting wasn't like him at all. The heavyset tailor snorted as he reviewed his notes. "Sweetheart, I'm lucky if I can get out of bed most days. Not everybody gets as much, ah, exercise as you kids."
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Punch out the guy, steal his pants?
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"Right!" Jack exclaimed as Archeville described potential security measures. The swordsman snapped his fingers and pounded the table with his fist. "Microseizures in the... brain with the... regulating... yes." He gestured emphatically, nodding along as the blond scientist spoke. After a pause he slumped back against the kitchen counter. "I gotta say, I don't feel like I'm contributing, here." He turned his head to regard Dynamo when the speedster ventured another suggestion. "Well, the one's you know about aren't subtle, anyway. See how that works?"
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Noting the empty bottles warily, Trevor turned his attention down the foyer to Martha Lucas. When the discombobulated woman began to let the others in, the domino mask wearing teenager swiftly made for the stairs, carefully shifting his weight from foot to foot to avoid making any noise. Even if the rest of the small group were being given access to the home, he could serve best as a forward scout and ace in the hole. Reaching the second floor, he pressed against one wall while scanning the opposite for the spot where Mark's room was supposed to be.
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"Not really," Trevor replied easily. Lifting one hand palm upward, he let a tiny cloud of midnight mist seep from his pores to float there, a puff of perfect blackness which spun lazily for a moment before smoothly dissipating into the air. "Useful, but I still do most things the 'hard way'," the lanky teen noted. Trevor was pointedly aware that he wasn't in Erin's metaphorical weight-class when it came to sheer power. It didn't bother him terribly, but the knowledge was certainly there. Franky looked between the two, shaking his head. "What, do I look like I play basketball?" the portly tailor scoffed.
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Jack had his mouth opened to reply before he realized that Avenger had completely disappeared. "...dammit," he grumbled to himself suddenly alone with the dazed, crumpled form of Positron. The swordsman glanced down at the hired thug before looking back up and clucking his tongue irritably. "I know what you're thinking," he began idly. "The stuff you helped these guys do to this neighbourhood, to kids, and they'll put you away for, what, couple of years? If you don't get broken out by some wannabe crime lord, of course." Turning back to the electrical villain, he crouched down. "So how dumb do I have to be to leave you alive, right? You gotta be asking yourself that." Positron didn't look capable of stringing together a coherent thought, but Jack wasn't really talking to him anyway. "Here's the thing, though. You get out? I'll be waiting to put you right back it. No matter how many times it takes. I'm always going to be there, and I'm always going to be better than you." Standing back up, he gave the persistent rain a vague glare before taking out his grapple and speeding off toward the street Avenger had named. It took the acrobat considerably longer than the vampire to arrive, but he was soon perched atop a flagpole on the side of the building adjacent to their target's place of business, scanning the area for some sign of his brooding compatriot for the evening.
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Trevor raised an eyebrow mildly. "They're that strict with you?" He'd known that the faculty had put certain restrictions on Erin because of a combination of her potentially dangerous powers and a perceived lack of restraint, but keeping her from competing against other students at a school full of powerhouses and paragon-type metahumans seemed needlessly severe. "Talked to Summers?"
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Bracing himself against the bulkhead as the ship spun, Jack scoffed at his massive, red companion. "Crazy? This is nothing; I once told my sister her cooking was terrible. Now that was crazy." With a toothy grin, the swashbuckler attached his helmet with a snap and a pressurizes hiss. Moving to the airlock, he heaved the heavy door open and stepped inside. "Let's do this thing," his voice crackled from a radio in Atlas' helmet.
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As Arrowhawk pressed down on the illuminated illuminated firing stud, rings about the the four, tightly grouped barrels extending from his spherical emplacement lit up in rapid sequence with searing blue light as the railguns' electromagnets activated. A stream of super-accelerated projectiles flew forth, crossing the expanse of space in an instant to rip apart the rear of the longship fighter leading the nearest squadron. The archer sweapt his cannons across the star field, disabling a half dozen of the enemy ships before the remaining fighters broke formation, giving the Flarerider some breathing room. As the remaining squadrons of longships continued to close to within firing range of the sleek privateer vessel, insistent lights and sounds raised warnings on the console Gossamer was observing intently. Myshel leaned forward on her controls, rocketing the ship forward before spinning them far to one side, sending the Flarerider into a scything arc. As she did, Arrowhawk caught a better view of the asteroid base, as a massive red ring gradually smouldered to life on its rocky surface, taking on an increasingly blinding light. A moment later, a second ring began to light up, then a third. On the bridge, Gossamer's display began wailing as notices pinged into existence around the asteroid's representation.
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Frank gave Erin a exasperated look before turning to Trevor for support. Whatever the dark haired youth's feelings on the matter were, he was far to busy studiously studying the ceiling tiles to share it. Eventually the tailor rolled his eyes skyward as if praying from inner strength, and set about adjusting his notes to accommodate the girl's preference. "Just as soon take the classes," Trevor announced, steering the focus back to the conversation. "Can always use the exercise." Spreading his arms, he wryly indicated his lean form.
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Vince fumed of the monitor, clearly dissatisfied with Archeville's backhanded apology. Feeling as though he were intruding upon a family squabble, Jack deigned not to comment upon the exchange, and similarly ignored Dynamo's antics not wanting to encourage the speedster. Instead he turned to Colt and his piece of paper. "So your plan," he asked innocently, "is a to-do list. Colt, ol' buddy, never let them say you're not a tactical genius." The fencers eyebrows lowered as he thought on the matter more seriously. "Well, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that with enough of the right type of energy, you can hurt petty much anything. What about some sort of..." He gestured vaguely back and forth with one hand, trying to articulate his point. "...like, y'know, oscillating radiation bath... thing. Just enough to see what works, maybe screw with people with alternate forms." Jack shrugged, clearly not placing too much faith in his own expertise when it came to technological solutions.
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"Make complete sentence structure irrelevant too, apparently," Jack drawled, covering how taken aback he was by Avenger's smouldering fury. If the swordsman hadn't been there, just how far would the vampire have truly gone? The vehement outburst put Jack's own outrage into perspective; as upset as he was to see such garbage being peddled on his streets, he knew there were lines he couldn't cross, even in the service of righteous retribution. He certainly couldn't in good conscience leave the violent vigilante to exact his particular brand of vengeance unchaperoned. "Let's just get going; I'm a busy guy, y'know." Even Avenger could tell that the swashbuckler's heart just wasn't in the irreverent jest.
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Turning back around, Frank absently readjusted the blot of fabric wrapped around Erin's torso to its original position, evidently not realizing that the girl had moved it intentionally. The portly tailor resumed his work undaunted, humming indistinctly under his breath as he paused for a moment to carefully consider the way the fabric lay about the athletic teen's shoulders. "Still dance," Trevor confirmed with a shallow nod. "No competitions lately, though. Been busy." He ran a finger along the brim of his fedora significantly, although there was the faint impression that he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Let you know, though," he promised.
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As soon as the group had arrived, Trevor began demonstrating the skills he'd inherited from his grandfather. Even in broad daylight, with hiding places few and far between, the dark haired teen just seemed to melt away, somehow consistently occupying the spaces where no one was looking, the areas just past the corner of the others' eyes. When Martha Lucas arrived at the door, he took advantage of her disturbingly addled state to slip around the side of the house while she was distracted by Mark's friends. Stalking silently onto the empty patio, the wiry youth considered the window Erin had described as leading into the master bedroom. Deciding against scaling the wall for the time being, he softly opened the back door and sidestepped into the kitchen, moving to conceal himself behind a cupboard while taking careful stock of his surroundings and waiting for a chance to make it to the stairs.
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Jack let out a sign of relief which he played off as a sarcastic snort. "Not exactly subtle, is he?" drawled to Dead Head, with a nod toward Dynamo. "Did you see what happened? Looked pretty out of it for a minute there." The zombie hero had looked positively, permanently dead, in the conventional sense, but the swordsman kept his tone laconic. After all, it was always a tough line to find with Dead Head.
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Trevor's expression clouded breifly, a mere flicker of a shadow of a frown, before falling back into easy neutrality. "Had a few partners over the years," he responded evasively. Rather a sense of vague teenage embarrassment, his mild tone hinted more at a genuinely sore subject. Frank opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, returning to his work and giving Erin a subtle shake of his head.
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"That's not really how my--" Jack began, before being loudly interrupted by a practically sputtering Vince. "Are... are you kidding me?!" the AI cried, simulated hands slapping his forehead. The stage behind him faded to blank white, as if he were too upset to bother maintaining his set pieces. "You're the one who designed the security system! And me!" He pointed an accusatory finger at the scientist while throwing his other arm up in the air. "And enough with the 'anti-tech cloaking blah de blah blah'! Can we please just call it magic? I don't care if there's a perfectly rational explanation, I'm talking about ease of reference here. And let's face it, you've never come up with an explanation for 'Malkie or Jackie Boy that amounted to more than 'a wizard did it' anyway!" "Actually, that's still not really how my-- er... nevermind," Jack spoke up before being silenced by a glare from Vince.
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Jack rolled his eyes and waved Archville away. "Pfft, what a ham. Besides, you think I can't yell at you and kick Lucretia and his bosom buddy's collective butt at the same time?" The fencer looked mildly offended by the implication. "I invented talking during a fight." Placing a hand in front of his mouth, he stage whispered to Phalanx and Sarah, "I didn't literally invent it, but Dok gets all uppity about having all those patents."
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Trevor played down the subject with a simple shrug. "Sometimes. I do alright." "Better than 'alright'," Frank insisted, with a note of pride. The younger man waved the praise away. "It's a good way to practice acrobatics, improves strength and timing. Keeps people from wondering where I'm hiding myself." The mere fact that he was going to such lengths to deny its importance, as opposed to adopting his habitual stoic silence, was suggestive of the contrary.
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"Well hey, Smiley!" Jack greeted the brooding archer, rubbing the spot on his side where the security drone had scored a lucky hit. "Tch," he grumbled to himself, "that's gonna leave a mark..." The swordsman turned to Doc, mildly annoyed. "Say, Doc, ol' buddy, ol' pal, interesting attack pattern those li'l guys were running there. Where'd you get the idea for that one, hmm?"
