Gizmo
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"Huh." Trevor raised an eyebrow in understated surprise. "Thought paparazzi usually picked out the heroines; Raven, Siren." He shook his head slightly. Even having met the various faces of Young Freedom, the lanky youth had trouble believing that Erin had managed to fade into the background. No accounting for taste, he supposed. "Probably selling to preteen girls. Jonas Brothers, Justin Bieber." Trevor's mouth set in a thin line of disdain.
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Covering he mouth with her hands and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet for a moment, Jill resisted the urge to clap. "You and the cowboy? Migod, that's so freaking cute! Jack doesn't tell me anything, its like- " Stopping mid sentence, the teen rearranged her ponytail absently as she furrowed her brow and reviewed the conversation. "Wait, so what's even the problem, then? You're just, what, arguing? That's it?" It seemed a little odd that Lynn would risk Jack's overprotective wrath by contacting her over such a minor issue.
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As far as combat is concerned, Arrowhawk is.
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Initiative. (1d20+9=26) Shockingly, Dynamo goes first. I'm not sure if it's allowed in this context, but Jack's actually using Defensive Attack or Defensive Stance, whichever applies.
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ic Fisticuffs 2: Dynamo vs Jack of All Blades (IC)
Gizmo replied to Geez3r's topic in Sewers and Subways
Displaying a pointedly relaxed demeanor, thumbs hooked into his belt, Jack of all Blades sauntered casually up to the ring, nimbly lifting the ropes and stepping inside. "Here's a tip for after you hit puberty and get a girlfriend, Zippy," he called with a dazzling smirk and dramatically billowing greatcoat. "Sometimes it's better to... take your time." It was clear that the speedster was an arrogant showoff. Fortunately, Jack had written the book on being an arrogant showoff. Producing his lighter from a jacket pocket, Jack leaned nonchalantly against a post and brought it to his mouth, cupping his hands as though lighting a cigarette. The flame glowed warmly from between his fingers as he took a few mock puffs before languidly rolling his forearm out toward Dynamo and the center of the ring. A lazy tongue of flame extended along the same arc, leaving the swashbuckler holding a fiery rapier en garde with one hand while the other remained at his hip, his posture conveying disinterest and disregard even as the infuriating look of smug superiority never left his face. -
Upon arriving at the hospital, Trevor had instinctively found the darkest corner of the waiting room and quickly converted his uniform into its inconspicuous civilian configuration, beaten black fedora held dejectedly in his hand. He just couldn't face the growing number of heroes and living legends as the new Midnight, not now, not like this. The dark-haired teen was consumed by the feeling that it shouldn't have been Mark Lucas' body in the operating room. Anyone else, maybe; Trevor was a pragmatic soul. But not Mark. Some people were just meant to be untouchable. In truth, he simply wanted to hide, his fingers itching to release a cloud of midnight mist around him. Instead, he moved to stand shortly away from the other Claremont students, trying not to intrude on the grief of those who had known Mark far better than he while still lending support with his presence. The awkward compromise twisted sourly in his stomach.
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Trevor murmured in agreement as he leaned forward again to pick up his cup. "Mmm. Not much point in a school if they didn't," he observed laconically. Since starting at Claremont, he'd made a point of stepping up his various studies. He'd noticed that several of the students relied heavily on their superhuman abilities, both in combat situations and everyday life. If there was anything he'd learned from his grandfather, however, it was that being able to read a situation, bind a wound or demoralize and opponent could be worth all the laser beam eyes in the world. Nor was he terribly concerned with public relations. "Try not to let civilians see me at all. Don't do well with children. Glowing eyes," he explained.
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Midnight reflexively ran forward a pair of long strides as Erin leaped to Mark's fallen form before stopping awkwardly in his tracks, struck by the sudden overwhelming feeling that he was intruding. The black clad teen' had enough first aid training to realize that there wasn't anything any of them could do in time to make a difference. They'd been a second too slow. The crashing waves of utter failure began to erode Trevor's stoic numbness. After everything the Lucases have survived... this can't...
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Jill blinked as Lynn rapidly spoke, a wince slowly spreading across the girl's face. "Oh, dios, you slept with him, didn't you?" she groaned, running a hand down her face. "I knew he was going to pull something like this, that... ugh." The teen paced back and forth across the kitchen, ponytail bouncing up and down as she gestured emphatically. "Honestly I figured the Russian chica was more his type, but seriously, there's a reason I never have any of my girlfriends over to our house."
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"Starting without Jackie B?" came a lighthearted call from the entrance, announcing the swaggering entrance of Jack of all Blades, swashbuckler and swordsman extraordinaire. He gave Doc and Mona a relaxed wave despite how fundamentally their relationship weirded him out on multiple levels, and recognized Dr. de Havilland and the speedster Vince had told him to keep an eye on in the stands. "You know it's not a party till - Dios, she's really going at it, huh?" Jack watched the teenage girl viciously attack Dead Head as he wandered over to where Geckoman was apparently recovering. The fencer would have been more concerned for the necromantic hero if he wasn't essentially impossible to seriously injure. "Hey, Goggles. You kids here on a field trip for Indiscriminate Whacking 101, or what?"
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"Oh, that's no problem," Trevor said lightly, leaning back in the booth and placing his arms along the top of his seat. "Don't have any weak spots." His utter deadpan made it tough to tell if he was joking or not right away, but compared to the intensity in his eyes when he spoke about his reasons for following in his grandfather's footsteps, there was little question. Quirky sense of humour aside, Trevor raked a hand through his hair self consciously. "The other guys seem pretty confident. Competitive. Not sure I can pull it off."
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"Hnn." Trevor took a sip of his coffee as he considered Erin's explanation. The dark haired teen felt vaguely out of his weight class amongst many of Claremont's students. His metahuman powers weren't nearly as impressive as those held by many of his new peers, and making effective use of them took considerable forethought. Some people might have been intimidated by that, but part of Trevor relished the challenge. Doubt that he'd be able to overcome those limitations to reach the more experienced students' level never entered his mind. "Must be tough, having to hold back," he observed, setting his cup back down on the table. His training had taught him to make maximum use out of every advantage; having to consciously limit oneself struck him as unbelievably frustrating. "Should run more simulations, give you a chance to cut loose," he offered. The technology behind the Doom Room continued to intrigue him, and if getting another chance to see it in action meant spending more time with Erin, well, he supposed he just have to tough it out.
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quote, the Green Man just did explain. It was just a stupid explanation, is all.
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The grin froze uncomfortably on Jill's face as Lynn hugged her, the teens body going momentarily rigid at the unexpected contact before uncertainly patting the diminutive heroine on the back. Hesitantly following her hostess into the brownstone, the high school student pulled a bit of a face at the flurry of offers of food and concern, one eye squinting slightly as the opposite eyebrow arched upward. "If you're trying to get me calm before telling me my brother's in a coma or something, this really isn't doing it."
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Well, it strikes me that the Green Man is being honest insomuch as he thinks that him getting souped up on space plant mojo would be both awesome and better than letting the things run wild on their own. Jack's just kind of an Occam's razor sort of guy: if fire won't solve the problem, then you're probably not using enough fire. Might as well take both leafy menaces down and sort it out later.
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Refastening the asymmetrical buckles on his black jacket he'd undone after finishing their training session, Trevor fell in beside Erin, staying a step back to let her take the lead as they made the pair of jumps in rapid sequence. The black clad youth wasn't entire clear on how Mark Lucas' powers worked, but he'd gotten the impression that they went well beyond the occasional stroke of good luck. The general belief seemed to be that bad things simply didn't happen to Mark, period. While that would certainly go a long way to explaining his nigh preternatural cheer and enthusiasm, it raised some serious questions about the situation they were hurtling toward. Normally that would have bothered him, but Trevor knew that even thirty years ago, his grandfather wouldn't have hesitated to put on his old costume and speed to the Lucas family's aid. Fortunately, there was a new Midnight to answer the call.
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A rapping on the door preceded the arrival of a slim teenage girl with a toothy grin. Having seen Jack without his bandanna mask and wig, Lynn could recognize the family resemblance. The West End native she knew as Jill shared her brother's angular features and dusty brown hair, though rather than cropping it short, she wore hers in a loose ponytail that reached down past her shoulder blades. A fitted vest over a drab green dress shirt with the unbuttoned sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealed a lithe build emphasized by skinny, faded blue jeans. "So, uh, hey!" Jill greeted with a brief wave before returning her hands to her pockets. "The TV told me to swing over, and you know kids these days. Slaves to the media." Her drawl held a little more dry sarcasm than the one Jack employed, but she was clearly struggling to downplay her uncertain excitement.
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Sorry, the Autofire, 'flurry' setting, under the assumption that giant = decent Fort save.
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Jack Feints at DC 33 then makes a Power Attack 5. (1d20+13=21) Hurm. How's that work out? Anything need rerolling?
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Jack pulled a face as the massive woman began tidying his bandanna. "Mo', come on, don't-" he began to grouse before suddenly finding himself being dragged into the air by the flier. After a moment of disorientation, he realized he was being carried by Fulcrum. Dios, there is just no way to make this look good..." the swordsman all but moaned in mourning of his dignity. Landing lightly at the base of the building tossing beast, he quickly began moving nimbly about its feet, fiery rapier dancing about, trailing nasty gashes behind it. "Let's face it, jumbo ugo, you're manners are just terrible."
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Trevor's going to HiPS Stealth so that the STAR guys don't see who Gossamer's talking about, besides Phalanx.
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Trevor made an amiable but neutral sound in response. To be honest, he didn't really trust any device he hadn't worked on personally. An unopened gadget or machine was like Schrödinger box; anything could be going on inside there. Besides, with all the high tech equipment in his arsenal, it seemed prudent to have a more straightforward option available. After his outburst over coffee preparation, however, the last thing he wanted was to seem even more the snob. He recalled Erin mentioning Archer during their first meeting, when she'd show him the Doom Room training simulator. Regardless of the veracity of the more fanciful rumours surrounding their mutual animosity, Trevor found the auburn haired girl's ill concealed disparaging attitude toward the teacher to be in stark contrast to the optimistic cheer of many of the student's he'd met so far at Claremont. If he was being completely honest, the lanky youth would have to admit that he actually preferred it to the latter. "Surprised you bother with the bat," he mentioned offhandedly.
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Deftly retrieving them from the table, Trevor replaced the sticks in their sheathes if a single fluid motion. "When I wear the boots," he admitted. The twin weapons were a little too large to be carried conveniently in his civilian garb, as much as he preferred to have the readily on hand. Fortunately, any time he went out, he typically brought his entire uniform with him in a knapsack or stored on the Night Cycle, so they were rarely far from reach. "Experimented with collapsible versions; couldn't justify the loss in durability."
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Trevor paused as the alien thoughts appeared in his mind, tilting his head to one side slightly as he regarded the petite white haired girl. Telepath. Huh. Both his outward demeanour and his surface emotions revealed a surprising composure tempered with reflexive curiosity and analysis. Trevor Hunter, he articulated mentally, by way of experiment.
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Jack let out a low whistle and shook his head slowly. "Wow, yeah, that sound like some rough stuff. Guess we'd better let you do your thing." A beat later, he snapped his fingers facetiously. "Ooh, or hey, Plan B!" The swashbuckler turned to Hellion. "Kid! One order of space-squick sauté!"