Gizmo
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"Need to restructure the frame," Trevor replied absently. "Aluminum and carbon, probably. Detachable panels for the glider; drop off to lessen the load when it unfurls." He illustrated the point via hand gestures before looking over at the young woman driving the truck. "...you were joking. Obviously." His uncanny deadpan made it extremely difficult to tell whether he'd honestly misunderstood or if he was simply pulling her leg.
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"Fine, really," Trevor insisted, mildly embarrassed. "Hard head," he joked lamely, rapping his knuckles against the a part of his skull that wasn't throbbing. "Have to be able to take a hit when you're not invulnerable." He was determined not to give the impression of frailty despite having a less obviously combative power set. Getting thrown around in the Doom Room was one thing, knocking himself out was another altogether.
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Trevor nodded with a faint smile, absently rubbing the spot where his forehead had smacked the truck. "Mmm. Exactly. Took someone creative and, more importantly, trustworthy." Realizing what he was doing, he tried to play it off by running his hand through his hair before setting in back down. "Enough special commissions that Frank Jr. can afford to take the jobs he likes," he continued.
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By the time the sergeant and his men turned to look in the direction Dr. DeHavilland was pointing, Midnight had already slipped into the room's shadows and behind a large piece of computing equipment, leaving Phalanx floating by himself in the middle of the room. The shadowy vigilante had no quarrel with the authorities, but the less public he was the more effective his delicate blend of intimidation and action would be. Midnight needed to remain a figure of near myth, whispered of but never clearly seen.
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Trevor paid close attention as Mark pointed out the dorm's various facilities; though he'd been at Claremont for a little while, the lanky teen was still learning to find his way around the campus. Seizing upon a momentary lull in the tour, he asked Warren, "What do you play?" Given the new arrival's prominent guitar case, he could only assume that Trevor was inquiring as to his preferred genre or style rather than his instrument of choice.
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Trevor shook his head. "Not anymore. Everybody uses morphic molecules and psychic projections and such these days." He stared out the passenger side window, watching the buildings slide past. "Frank Sr. worked with the old mystery men, guys who needed double-breasted suits they could run and fight in. Dinner jackets with bulletproof panels and trenchcoats with collapsible hang gliders, that sort of thing."
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Reaching forward to turn the volume down a bit, Trevor replied, "His son, actually. I'll let Frank explain when we get there. Does it better." One of the aging tailor's favourite pastimes was recounting the first meeting between his father and the original Midnight. The dark haired teen shrugged smoothly. "Family friend, anyway. Best there is, and he didn't mind doing me a favour."
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Sliding into the passenger seat and closing the door behind him, he buckled his seatbelt before considering the heavily produced pop streaming from the speakers. He didn't have anything against it in particular, but neither did the formulaic looped beats behind the singer's filtered falsetto do much for the stoic youth. Rubbing his chin, he changed the station to one he generally listened to while working. Instantly a crescendo of blaring horns erupted from the radio, backed by a thumping syncopated bass. Settling back into his seat, Trevor absently tapped his fingers to the beat along the door handle.
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Trevor blinked as Erin lifted the front of pick up off of the ground. Damn, that's hot, a voice in his head noted before being bludgeoned into silence by the teenager's ingrained sense of propriety. "Beats a jack," he murmured out loud. Shaking his head, he declined the first aid kit. "Be fine," he insisted, glancing at his watch in the increased illumination. "Should get going; can take a closer look later." He didn't want to keep Frank waiting.
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Jaci pulled a face at Marionette's telepathic sending. The giantess was all for twisting men around her delicate though sizable pinkie, but having the dangerously unstable woman's thoughts in her head made her want to take a shower, or possibly join a nunnery. "Be our guest, Queenie," she replied quietly over the comlink, folding her arms and leaning against the roof of the gallery, her expression bored. "The expression 'sack full of hammers' comes to mind with this one." As much as she wanted to smash the dimwitted hero, Jaci was forced to admit that it made more sense to follow Marionette's lead.
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"Fine," Trevor managed in a mildly strained tone, making a thumbs up in the cramped space under the truck. "Occupational hazard," he admitted, forcing his expression to fall back into its usual unreadable impassiveness. In truth, he was usually much more coordinated, but found his habitual sureness of movement considerably more difficult to maintain around Erin, much to his chagrin. The young mechanic gently prodded the spot on the undercarriage his head had collided with, confirming that the metal had withstood his forehead's unexpected assault.
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Trevor nodded shallowly in understanding. "Many new students lately, myself included," he noted unhurriedly, looking between the pair of girls. Adjusting the books under his arm, the lanky young man paused briefly. "Alright if I... tag along?" The colloquialism sounded a bit odd coming from the laconic youth, but Trevor was still making a point of being more sociable than usual. In truth he was fascinated by Eve's particular skill set, wondering absently if her telepathic communication had evolved in response to her disability or vice versa.
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"Uh?" Trevor managed, finding himself intensely distracted. "Yes, no, it's- yes, good." Attempting to adjust into a more comfortable position, he inadvertently brushed his leg against Erin's. Reflexively moving to sit up, the soft spoken teen instead smacked his head solidly against the underside of the truck and fell back down against the garage floor, wincing. "Ahhh... well taken care of," he attempted to recover, one eye squeezing shut involuntarily.
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A faint smile touched Trevor's lips, almost too subtle to catch. "Becoming something of a habit." As far as he could tell it was something of a tradition for new students to be accompanied by a group of their new classmates upon arrival. The dark haired youth supposed that there was a certain brotherhood to be found among those who were each in their own way strange and different, which made making friends at Claremont a surprisingly easy task. "Certainly," he answered Ashley's question more clearly, tilting his head in the direction of the office.
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"Hmm?" Trevor craned his neck to look over at Erin, his intense focus momentarily broken. "Oh. Nothing specific, just..." He gestured vaguely with one hand as his attention drifted back to the underside of the truck. Digging a pen out of his jean pocket, he proceeded to tap on a number of components thoughtfully. Mumbling to himself absently, he continued to poke around before abruptly realizing how confined a space the pair were sharing. "Ah... s'good, good," he cleared his throat self-consciously, nodding in approval.
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Trevor glanced over at the rest of his classmates as they deliberated, resisting the urge to shake his head at the sight of Chris in the Raven costume. Certainly they seemed to be discussing something important, and at the very least they needed to plan their next collective move urgently, but the lanky teen had a different priority. Taking his hand from Eve's shoulder, he clasped his hands behind his back a took a small, half-step back to give the diminutive acrobat some room. He said nothing; there was no use asking if she was alright, when she clearly was not. He merely offered his presence and support for what little comfort they could provide.
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Trevor nodded absently as he walked slowly around the truck, making a new subsection on his mental checklist. One could tell a lot about a person from the way they treated their vehicle, he mused to himself as he crouched down to take a look at the rear tire on the left side. The pick up had obviously been well cared for; he picked out a handful of things he'd like to work on, but none of them were things a novice mechanic would know to look for. Without thinking, he dropped to the floor of the garage and slip himself under the truck's chassis until only his shins and feet were visible. "Huh..." he murmured softly.
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Jack of all Blades (57) The Witch Doctor Is In (2) IN SPAAAAACE! (2) Green With Envy (3) [interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug (6) The Dragon Wakes (1) Monsters in the Streets! - Greenbank (1) Public Service (12) Fisticuffs 2: The Opening Credits (9) Fisticuffs 2: Dynamo vs Jack of All Blades (14) Inturrupting Cow (7) Midnight II (93) Cry Havok (2) New Sound (5) Japanese Import (4) What Is Essential... (4) Midnight Express (41) Life's Parade of Fashion (15) House of L (4) House of L: Wake-Up Call (18) GM and NPC (12/2 = 6) 8 Simple Rules...for Working with Jack (9/2) Fast Heroes and Loose Women (3/2) Add the NPC posts to Midnight's total, please!
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While Fulcrum spoke to the good Doktor on the phone, Jack busied himself at the fridge, refilling his glass of orange juice. Leaning against the appliance's door, he took a sip as the imposing woman finished demanding an explanation and full account, when suddenly Vince chimed in, hands cupped around his mouth and volume turned up high enough to be heard over the phone line. "Oooooh, somebody's bust-ed!" From one side of the simulated stage, the artificial talk show host's house band played a warbling series of blating notes while the audience whooped and whistled amidst their laughter. Jack coughed uncontrollably as he swallowed his juice poorly, thumping his chest as he doubled over. "Dammit, Vince! What's a guy gotta do to get some Vitamin C around here?" the swordsman asked, glaring at the kitchen's monitor. He set the reminder of his glass on the counter, realizing he might never get the chance to finish it. On the screen, Vince kicked his feet up to rest on his desk as he shrugged. "I'm rebelling." The fencer sighed, resigned to his role in the conversation. "Against what?" Pulling a pair of sunglasses out from under his desk, Vince donned them and laced his fingers behind his head. "What've you got?" he responded with a smirk. "It's that cutting edge originality that really gives your material that extra zing, you know that?" Jack asked, rolling his eyes. Vince peered at his over the sunglasses. "Hey, what d'you want? My writers are all simulated too!"
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Trevor considered as they walked into the garage. "Fitting shouldn't take long." The lanky youth stopped for a moment to sweep his gaze over the parked vehicles. Automatically, he began compiling a list of adjustments he'd like to make to each of them given the chance. "Won't start designing until he sees you, though," he continued. "Frank only does one-of-a-kinds." He shrugged smoothly. "Could still take the truck; been meaning to see how she runs."
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ic Fisticuffs 2: Dynamo vs Jack of All Blades (IC)
Gizmo replied to Geez3r's topic in Sewers and Subways
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Zippy, I can't think of anybody off the top of my head who deserves what they've got, good or bad. Life doesn't work like that." The swashbuckler spread his hands. "We do the best we can, right? So, yeah, I think you're a bit of a twit, but it's not like that's terminal." Jack snorted. "You think you've got stuff to work on? So work on it. You're already running around saving lives; puts you one up on the average joe, amirite?" He gave the speedster a more serious look. "Sounds to me like you're earning what you've got." -
ic Fisticuffs 2: Dynamo vs Jack of All Blades (IC)
Gizmo replied to Geez3r's topic in Sewers and Subways
"Well, what you're missing here," Jack countered, still lounging, "is that I'm good looking and charming enough to get away with that sort of thing." He glanced sidelong at Dynamo. "More to the point, your sexual stamina is your problem." The swashbuckler considered for a moment before correcting himself. "Well, I suppose it's more like your date's problem, but what I'm getting at is that it's specific. It's about you, yeah?" Jack sat up and rested his hands on his knees. "There's a distinction, at least to me. Granted, I'm not the quip police or anything, so you're not obligated to follow my lead on the subject, but it's a question of collateral damage. You make a joke about me being Latino, you're also insulting my sister, my family, an entire people. You act like being gay is something to be ashamed of, you're dehumanizing, what, ten percent of the population?" He shook his head. "Zippy, I'm a colossal jerk, and there are plenty of people who hate my guts. Which is fine, they're entitled, so long as they don't like me for the right reasons." -
Jill smirked as she looked away and griped the forearm of the hand holding the handkerchief. "Heh, I'll take what I can get at this point," she agreed, ignoring Lynn's antics for the most part. The coltish teenager blew out a long breath. "It's just so frustrating. He never had this kind of temper before - ah..." With a self conscious glance at her host, Jill quickly recovered. "Well, point being, something very bad happened. I started studying medicine, and Jack, well... he put everything he wanted to do on hold to take care of the family." She shrugged. "Responsibility, yeah? Deeply genetic. Aaaaand then he got his powers, and you can pretty much connect the dots."
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ic Fisticuffs 2: Dynamo vs Jack of All Blades (IC)
Gizmo replied to Geez3r's topic in Sewers and Subways
Jack shrugged. "Okay, but at the speed you go, how long would recovering from a lunge seriously take?" The swordsman took on a vague imitation of an en guarde pose. "Granted, I've got my biases." Relaxing back into his seat, Jack gave Dynamo a sidelong look. "That said, if you go talk to Rocket? Do me a favour, leave the 'flaming' cracks at home, huh? Man's a freaking national hero." He pointed a warning finger at the speedster before placing his hands back behind his head. -
Trevor gave a small wave as he sauntered over, light brown leather jacket pushed back from a plain black t-shirt where the thumb his other hand was slipped into a belt loop on his jeans. If he was bothered by the vague awkwardness of the errand, he kept it from his expression and perhaps in doing so mitigated it somewhat. As usual, his manner was relaxed and contained, carrying a reassuring confidence of movement. "Weren't waiting long?" he asked as he arrived in front of the garage.