Gizmo

Eric leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. "It's not like I'm turning pacifist or anything," he assured Billy. "I mean, we essentially punch people in the face for a living, which I am oddly at peace with, since these are people I think we can all agree are in serious need of face punching." Picking up his glass, the swordsman used it to gesture emphatically. "I'm talking about motivation here. I started doing this to protect people. To make the neighbourhood safer. The plan was to do just enough to even the odds a little, y'know? Give the cops and honest folks a fighting chance." The last sentence was punctuated with a flick of the wrist which nearly spilled Eric's beer. Recovering the beverage nimbly, he realized he'd been rambling a bit, and chose his next words carefully. "These days I wonder if it's not just an excuse, my way of justifying it all. Wonder if I'm not just another junkie looking for another hit."

"Huh," Eric grunted contemplatively, taking another sip of his beer. "Y'know, I feel like sould be more jealous of you two, but I'm just not. Maybe it's 'cause you've been dating most of the time I've known either of you, like it's your default state in my head or something." The fencer shook his head. "Part of me thinks I should be going out and partying and meeting women and all this stuff, but it just feels hollow lately. Honestly? I just want to run and fight and move, like I've got all of this energy building up that I have to burn off." Eric was silent for a long moment as he stared into his drink. When he spoke again, it was hesitant, as though he was having trouble framing his thoughts into language. "I like the fighting too much, Bill, and I can't even blame it on whatever's screwy with my fire. It started long before that. I got into what we do for all the right reasons but lately it feels like this," he indicated his civilian clothes with a broad gesture, "isn't even the real me anymore. Like this is the disguise." Eric chuckled as though suddenly realizing how much he'd said. "Heavy, huh?" he smirked.

Eric laughed harshly, the sound grating in the still night air. "Yeah, dying and coming back with messed up powers is a real kick in the head, huh? There should be a club." The fencer self consciously rubbed the spot on his bandanna the paragon had kissed. "And I'm pretty sure the window for doing that closed about the time they started letting me into bars with my real ID," he admonished, though his smirk shifted to become a touch toward a genuine smile. He tilted his head and considered Mona's story. "The big guy and Omega, huh? Yeah, that would probably explain a lot. In a 'just raises more questions' kinda way, but we take what we can get." Eric paused. "You really think it's his cape, then?" Mona couldn't help but notice the younger man avoid saying the Centurion's name. Eric had been prone to hero worship as a child, and to any Freedom citizen the fallen hero was a revered subject.

Jack of all Blades: Initiative. (1d20+9=24)

"Heh, sorry," Jack of all Blades apologized with a sheepish look. "Sometimes I forget when this stuff is, y'know attached to people. Don't worry, though, it's less like taking a handful than taking, like... a sample and copying the recipe." The swordsman shrugged. "Sort of, anyway." He twirled the dimensional rapier with a flick of his wrist. "You won't miss it." With Ace on the phone and Phantom browsing the arcane library, the two Jacks were left more or less alone. The fencer let out an long breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. "So... baby on the way, huh? You hoping for a boy or a girl?" He gave Avenger a broad grin which wavered only the slightest bit.

Jack of all Blades gave his similarly monikered host a sidelong glance. "Well, that was kinda vague and ominous." Off of Avenger's glowering look, the swordsman raised his free hand in surrender. "Y'know, in a brooding, creature of the night way that totally works on you. I don't normally go in for that, but there's a whole... je ne sais quoi going on there," he insisted, gesturing vaguely at the intimidating man's ensemble. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So... while you keep.... doing that, how should the rest of us be preparing?"

Feeling the intrusion into his mind, Jack slammed his mental defenses into place, forcing the villainess out of his consciousness. "Heh, you know, I would, but I really do my best work lying down. If you know what I mean." The swashbuckler's broad smirk was equal parts charming and infuriating.

Will save vs. DC 20. (1d20+10=22) Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded, but not Jack!

The first comic on this page seems relevant. Read them all anyway; it's Kate Beaton! You cannot loose. It's a little premature, since I can't play him until March, but Midnight II would pretty clearly get a yellow ring, what with his 'superstitious and cowardly lot' routine, even though he's a pretty mellow kid out of costume. He'd probably use it to make copies of himself appear out of the shadows, like he was everywhere at once. Spooky! Opening it up to Jack of all Blade's supporting cast, his sister Ellie would be part of the Indigo Tribe. She's preparing to enter a pre-med program after high school to become a paramedic, and I'm planning on her eventually developing healing powers and becoming Jack's sidekick: Jill O'Cure. ...like 'kill or cure'? Look, the family has a warped sense of humour. If you interpret the 'you want it all' requirement for an orange ring as 'you want to win it all', it fits Jaci o' Cups. I can see her using it's power to maintain her giant form and maybe make some big stompy boots out of ring energy. She's passionate enough to qualify for the crazier side of the Star Sapphires, too, I suppose. Coinpurse Jack definitely goes the avarice route; 'greed' is one of his complications! Getting all that direct power, instead of having to just manipulate chance, would probably go to his head and send him on a rampage. He's not creative enough to do much more than just blast away with the ring.

So, is this supposed to be taking place now, or back in September, replacing the original thread?

Tricia fetched another drink for Billy then stood by their table eagerly. A pointed cough from Mac sent her off with a blush to see to the rest of the bar's patrons, who were slowly filtering back in now that the excitement was over. Eric took a another small sip of his beer and murmured in agreement. "Mmn. Hopefully she can help with... y'know." It took the fencer a moment to realize that he was clenching and unclenching his right fist on the table as he spoke. Self consciously he shoved it in his pocket, regretting it immediately as it grasped his lighter tightly. "So..." he said a little more loudly that was necessary, changing the subject. "You and Lynn, huh? That's getting kinda serious by now."

Juggling some points around, I'd like to drop all of Jack's 6 ranks in Diplomacy and 5 in Sleight of Hand, as well as a single point from Climb, freeing up 12 ranks, or 3 points. I'd then like to spend those three points on Beginner's Luck and Luck 2. While I'm at it, could somebody change Midnight II's height to 6'1"? hes supposed to be pretty tall for his age, but I'm lousy at estimating heights in Imperial units, and made him closer to average by mistake. Done by Sandman XI. Please put Midnight in your sig Will do; I'd just been waiting until he was official in March.

Well then, I'd say it entirely dependent on who you'd rather play, eh? I'd gladly see either of them in this.

Would Jester even notice the setting being different? Atlas could at least pose as a half-ogre or something.

Grunting, Eric replaced his mask and wig. "Yeah, well, first broken bone of many. Luckily Ellie's applying to pre-med when she graduates, and she can use the practice." He cracked his neck and crossed his arms. "After Mom got put in a wheelchair, that was pretty much it for college plans," he continued, his voice emotionless. "She wouldn't take a desk job, and the pension's not much, so I had to start helping out; med school's expensive." The swordsman shrugged. "Got the powers a few years ago, figured if the West End wasn't safe for a cop, somebody ought to do something about it. So I did. Started off small, but I worked out a deal recently that lets me keep at it pretty much full time and still pay the bills." He gave Mona a look that was just shy of accusatory. "Could ask you the same thing, though. I remember thinking you were tall, but I'm pretty sure that's 'cause I was seven."

You know Jack wants to get his swash on! He's in again.

Jack turned to a screen on his left, where Vince's image was shouting into a megaphone. "Since when do you announce percentages of success?" The AI grinned as he tossed his megaphone over his shoulder and was suddenly cover in gold body paint. "I've been watching a lot of Star Wars lately, Master Jack," he replied in a vaguely British accent, waving his arms over his head in a robotic manner. The swordsman countered with a series of short whistles, ranging up and down in pitch. Vince gave him a scandalized look, scoffing, "Well I never!" With a snap of his fingers, he was back behind his desk, a rag covered in gold paint sitting on one corner. The gregarious avatar exchanged a grin with Jack before the swashbuckler turned his attention back to their guest. "If we're going, sounds like it better be now, kid."

"You sure you don't have to ride off into a sunset somewhere?" Eric drawled as he pulled out the chair he'd originally been sitting in and took a seat. Miraculously, his drink appeared to be entirely undisturbed by the commotion. He took a long sip and set it back down. "Seems like it'd be rude not to stick around a little longer, don't you think?"

What, now I have to use the correct words to communicate effectively? Picky! Yeah, I meant Well Informed. My concern with Beginner's Luck is that it eats HPs, which I guess is fine if you don't overuse it.

Yeah, Luck is definitely on my shopping list. That all sounds like good advice. Which would you recommend more, Beginner's Luck or Well Connected?

Even behind his bandanna, it was clear Jack was raising his eyebrows in surprise. "S.H.A.D.O.W.? Well hot damn, old man, why didn't you say so in the first place? Those freaks aren't getting a foot in the door on my watch." The swordsman frowned as he concentrated. "Peanuts, huh? Well, there's a couple of guys around who sell roasted nuts out of stands..." His eyes lit up with realization. "But only one of them is near that new construction site. Bunch of families got offers on their houses lately; torn 'em down to make room for something else. I thought it was supposed to be a strip mall or office building or whatever. Could be our place." As he spoke, a map of the West End appeared on the screen of the console he was standing beside as Vince zoomed it to the location Jack was talking about.

Ngh, I know. Most of the time it's pretty good, but I definitely need to juggle some points around. I figure with +6 Charisma, he probably doesn't need ranks in Diplomacy. I'm so far not really sold of Sleight of Hand, either.

Ha, alright, that works. For the sake of argument, Vince is set up to do super quick information searches, so he could probably help anyway, but it's just as well Jack doesn't come off a totally ignorant.

Jack hesitated. His civilian identity was his most closely guarded secret, and he'd exposed himself far more than he was comfortable with already that evening with the broadcast boxing event. It had been a decade since he'd seen Mona, and he didn't have any real reason to trust her with something like this. Still, with her recent revelations, she was at a crossroads, and as dark a path as he found himself on, the fencer wouldn't wish it on anyone else. A show of trust might go a long way. "Aw, screw it," he sighed finally. "It's not like anyone's going to beat it out of you." Reaching up he pulled off his bandanna, revealing his wavy black hair to be a wig. Beneath it was a tanned young man with dusty brown hair shorn close to his scalp. "My name's Eric Espadas," he said calmly. "You, uh, used to babysit my sister and me, when we were kids." With a name to go with the unmasked face, Mona recognized hints of the boy she'd known in the swordsman. Eric had gone from wiry and surprisingly quick to tall and lean, with a frame layered in the lithe muscles of a gymnast. Baby fat had melted away to reveal strong cheek bones and angular features covered by a day or two of rough stubble. In the darkness of the night his deep blue eyes looked black, and the paragon couldn't help but get the sense of a man pushing himself a little too hard, getting by on too little sleep. On a less innately handsome face she might have called it haggard.

Tricia gasped. "Oh, Mac, you're not going to make them pay for all of that, are you?" "Hmph," the bartender grunted, standing up from behind his counter. A heavy set man in his late sixties, Mac wore a blue and white striped dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Figure it's worth it to get rid of those morons. Ten years go, I woulda tried throwin' 'em out myself." He snorted. "Woulda gotten by butt handed to me in my own bar, too, odds like that. You guys do that, whatd'yacallit, tae kwon do stuff or somethin'?" "No, nothing like that," Eric replied, righting the last of the intact chairs. "Just some basic self defense courses down at Dana's. Keeping in shape, you know?" "Sure, sure," Mac agreed amiably. "Well, it's good stuff, anyway. You two are welcome here any times. Just maybe take it outside next time, huh?"