Gizmo
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[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [IC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in West End
"Yeah?" Jack asked lightly, raising his arm so that the crackling electrical blade rested on his shoulder, where is shifted, shortening and thickening with a wicked curve as it arced angrily. "Funny story, the name's Jack of all Blades." He spun on his heel to face Grim. "There are enough specifically Voodoo-related gangs out there to make this an issue in the first place, and you think we need to worry about picking our targets? 'Cause sitting on our hands is somehow more useful than breaking up a gang or two anyway?" Jack's tone was frosty, but the corner of his mouth threatened to turn up in a sneer. He flicked a finger of his free hand at the Underground's various monitors. "Vince can search his databases in the space of a heartbeat. He's either got something or he doesn't. So?" -
"Well, that's not nice at all, is it?" Jack drawled, but he wasn't looking at Positron. For a flickering moment, he could have sworn he'd picked up something from Avenger, an exertion of dark, mystic energy. It left a coppery aftertaste in the swordsman's mouth, but he couldn't be sure of what he'd felt. What, hypnosis, mind-juju? That's total Hollywood... right? Jack wondered if the dark vigilante wasn't using his vampiric powers to give his interrogation technique a little more metaphorical 'bite'. He folded his arms. "Sounds like a couple of rich boys could maybe use a little talking to," the swashbuckler suggested dryly.
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Reaching down beneath the booth, Trevor retrieved a pair of polycarbonate sticks from the sheaths tucked into the top of his boots and laid them on the table. Each was a little longer than his forearm, and unsurprisingly cast in a matte black. "S'efficient and effective. Grandfather mostly got by on surprise and a little boxing, but even thugs take self-defense courses these days."
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The corner of Trevor's left eye twitched and his mouth curled in a barely contained look of near physical pain. "Have... you ever tried vending machine coffee?" The dark haired youth kept his tone measured and clam, but compared to his usual impenetrable deadpan, it was scandalized. "I'm talking about choosing which beans in which proportions, burr-grinding or pounding, pressure or percolation, optional flavouring to taste. Anyone's perfect cup, every time." Trevor realized he'd begun leaning forward at some point during his explanation and slowly pulled back self-consciously. Clearing his throat lightly, he shrugged his jacketed shoulders. "Good to have a hobby," he downplayed gracefully. "Besides escrima, gymnastics, engine tuning and... so on."
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Trevor exhaled wryly. "No, for coffee. Needed the belts from a junker," he explained, making a slight circular gesture with one finger of the hand resting on the table. "Put a mug in one end, dial your prescription, comes out full on the other end." The black clad youth shrugged casually. "In theory. Lost a lot of mugs so far." The Machine still needed a lot of work. Currently it was in a number of smaller pieces after the last trial run had gone particularly awry. On the positive side, that had made it easier to move into his dorm room at Claremont, where it took up a large space between the foot of his bed and his workbench.
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His stoic composure returning, Trevor inclined his head agreeably. "Happy to." Reflexively, he brought his cup to his mouth to cover the smile threatening to blossom there. It had been a long time since he'd had an actual conversation with anyone; he and his grandfather were of such like minds that they had little need for discussion, and any socialization tended to be largely for show at high society events. Trevor realized he'd begun to think of 'people' as more of an abstract concept than anything else. It felt good to let his guard down a bit. The more brutally honest part of him admitted that the specific company probably had something to do with that.
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[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [IC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in West End
"That'd be your job, wouldn't it?" Jack retorted without slowing down. "In the meantime, yeah, I'd say that's about my plan." The light fixture directly above him head crackled then went out with a violent puff as the energy manipulator forcibly ripped a bolt of electricity through it to his hand, where it arced between his golved fingers before leaping back outward to take the form a semi-solid rapier. "Maybe not the face, though. Make it harder for them to answer questions." -
As the pair entered the building, a lanky young man walked past, with dark hair and strong albeit angular features he was still growing into. A stack of textbooks held loosely under one arm, Trevor Hunter stepped with the fluid ease resulting from acrobatics training, although his manner was notably contained and controlled. Looking over as the girls entered, he inclined his head in amiable if conservative greeting. "Laides." His voice was soft but clear, carrying easily across the hallway.
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[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [IC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in West End
"Fine," Jack bit off after what felt to him like an overly verbose explanation from Vince. The swordsman rose from his seat and began stalking toward the Underground's exit, greatcoat flapping around he ankles. "Just give me directions to the nearest turf of a gang that does have Voodoo connection," he demanded on his way out. -
As Gossamer familiarized herself with the tactical readout, the first squadron of robotic longboat drones swept forward in tight formation to begin an attack run on the Flarerider. As Myshel banked the larger vessel to stay out of range a moment longer, her voice crackled over the intercomm in the gunnery station Arrowhawk had just arrived in. "Hawkfriend, coverfire would be most timely!" Just below the upper railgun emplacement, Atlas found Jack of all Blades dropping his greatcoat to the ground and pulling a dark blue pressure suit from a locker next to a hatch. "Like a nine volt battery but surprisingly spicy," he remarked to the big Russian in answer to the unspoken question as he began to pull on the sleek garment. "You?"
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Trevor's eyebrows rose then fell as he struggled to shift gears with equal agility. "Uh... yes?" It came out sounding more like a question than an answer. He was having a tremendous amount of difficulty anticipating Erin. In all honestly, he was kind of enjoying it. "Worked on all sorts of engines. Lot of the parts in the brewer I'm building came from a pickup."
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"Doo doo do do doo doo do do doo," Jack half sung, mimicking a banjo. He looked between Avenger and the groggy Positron innocently. "What? We were all thinking it." Sauntering over casually, he leaned over the dark interrogator's shoulder. "Look, Sparky, my way creepy chum here wants to do some truly unspeakable things do you. And hey, glowing blood and all, s'not like you're really human anymore, so I'll probably go ahead and let him." The swordsman shrugged nonchalantly and began walking away. "Now would probably be a good time to distract him with some new information," he suggested over his shoulder.
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[Interceptors] Zombie Powder is a Helluva Drug [IC]
Gizmo replied to Dr Archeville's topic in West End
If Colt's eyes were burning, then Jack's were twin flecks of ice. "Yes, we're all sufficiently morally outraged," he said tersely. "If we're done patting ourselves of the back for having feelings, did you find anything or not, Vince?" The fencer had reached the end of his patience for talking, regardless of the subject. His anger was a cold, hard ball he'd unleash when they found those responsible for the teens' deaths. Anything else was wasting his time. -
Jack gave Avenger a long look. "...you're kind of a complete psychopath, you know that?" he observed. "I mean that in the best way possible, naturally but, uh... yeow." He followed the vampire over to the defeated Positron. The swashbuckler had to admit, he'd like to go after the big fish for once, instead of always just putting out fires... so to speak. Avenger gave him the creeps, but if he could deliver those kind of results, Jack was willing to back his play. "Better let me be the good cop," he drawled dryly.
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Diplomacy Check vs. DC 24. (1d20+15=33) Jaci's inclined to agree with Marionette on this one.
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Trevor was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally he opened his mouth hesitatingly. "My grandfather... he fell into it. 'Midnight' was supposed to be a practical joke. But he realized he could help people, was good at it." The lanky teen cracked his knuckles absently. "No vengeance, no oath, just did the right thing, night after night. They made it all illegal, and the ones with powers gave up. He just kept making the right choices. Not the easy ones." Trevor looked up, and Erin saw a surprising intensity in his eyes despite his soft, even tone. "People shouldn't need a reason to do the right thing. I'm good at this, too, getting better. Have it in me to help people." He shook his head slowly. "So no. I couldn't do those things instead."
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Jogging out after Avenger, Jack let his wall of willpower drop, allowing the flames to rush in behind them and hungrily attack the remains of the building. Hacking for a moment he took a few deep breaths to clear his lungs. "Uh, thanks." The swordsman actually hadn't expected the drugs to prove quite so volatile, but there didn't seem to be any point in letting the grim vigilante know that. "Yeah, I'm totally friending them all on facebook," he replied flatly. "I dunno, man, I thought this was the lead." Jack gestured to the remains of the building behind them. "Big pile of drugs, all up in smoke, yay team?" The swashbuckler sighed dejectedly. "This is going to be one of those deals where I get yelled at for now seeing the big picture, isn't it?"
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Anyone mind if I have Jack respond to the Green Man, since he's kind of being addressed directly? Just 'talking is a free action' stuff, naturally.
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Pulling a face, Jaci mimed an imitation of Marionette as the white leather clad woman turned back to the gallery. The display would have been a lot more subtle if it hadn't been coming from several storeys up. "'Meh mense meh myle'," she muttered under her breath, which was still above everyone else's heads. "Queenie, babe, I only caught like every other word of that," she replied in her own earpiece, "but you know I don't do anything 'wee'. 'Sides, how long do you think before the pajama patrol show?"
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"Give up? ...no, I suppose not." Trevor considered for a moment as he waited for the coffee cool a bit. True, he'd been handed a pre-made heroic identity, a virtual road map to a career in vigilantism. Living up to his grandfather's legacy meant a lot to him, felt undeniably right, but the somber youth had to wonder at his own, deeper motivations. "I have the... how of it," he allowed finally. "But you have the why; have your friends. Reason to fight. Everything else..." He shrugged easily. "Flows from that." His face fell a bit a he picked up his refreshed cup. "Sorry. Don't mean to trivialize," Trevor apologized with a hint of embarrassment. "Not an easy thing."
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Trevor rolled his shoulders under his jacket. "Maybe," he allowed contemplatively. "I think... it's good to plan for eventualities, possibilities. Having one, singular plan for the future, though..." The lanky teen rubbed his chin as he marshaled his thoughts. "I tend to take things as they come. Vague can be flexible, resilient." It was difficult for him to shape his feelings into words, unpracticed as he was with conversation. Careful and deliberate as he was, Trevor wasn't one to concern himself overly with the future in the abstract.
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Trevor placed both hands over his heart as though horribly wounded. "Truly, a vendetta has been born,"he intoned in perfect deadpan. "Honor demands blood. Or perhaps a second round." So late at night the truck stop was mostly empty, and the dark haired teen had little trouble getting the waitress' attention to order a second cup of coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for his classmate. While they were waiting for it to arrive, he tilted his head slightly to one side. "Moved to Freedom for Claremont?"
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Mark is a good talker, Trevor reflected as he left his restocked toolbox next to his motorcycle and sauntered over to the growing group. Not much of a listener. Then again, it didn't even the lanky teen's knack for observation to realize that Karakuri Aiko was agitated by the gregarious Lucas' comment. Doesn't like the Japanese, or doesn't like hackers? he wondered as he smootly arrived. "New faces?" he asked softly, with a slight dip from the waist for Ashley and Aiko.
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Jack uses his move action to Acrobatics his way over to the Green Man, then tosses out a DC 33 Distract to keep tall, green and leafy from trying anything clever this turn.
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"Hey, I was trying to, but teenagers, amirite?" Jack pointed out as he deftly flipped and tumbled his way through the chaos to stand next to the Green Man. "Making me feel like an old man; I should just stock up on cardigans and sweater-vests now." With a theatrical snap, the energy manipulating swashbuckler pulled a tongue of flame from the bonfire to solidify into a wicked looking blade in his hand. "You wanna talk? Talk. You got about five seconds before Dead Head and I find out how many limbs we have to chop off to really slow you down."