Gizmo

9:53 Reception Hall It wasn't that Becky Shuster - soon to be Martel - didn’t like her fiancé's friend Trevor. He'd never been anything but perfectly polite with her but the man was practically impossible to read and getting him to talk was like getting blood from a stone. She was never entirely sure what he thought of her, if he approved of their engagement and if she were being completely honest she’d have to admit she was a little jealous of the unbelievable adventures he’d shared with Eve before they’d met. She also wasn't sure whether or not she was supposed to know that he was Midnight, which was a bit awkward. Eve had never said as much outright but between anecdotes from Claremont Academy and the Liberty League it hadn't been much of a leap. Then there was the way smoke had been rising ominously from behind his sunglasses almost from the moment he'd arrived at the Dutemps Building that morning. That had been a bit of a tip-off. So even if there were a million things left for her to double-check before sitting down to have her hair done when she found him setting up an upscale café's worth of equipment for the coffee bar in the reception hall she squared her shoulders a bit and walked over. "Hey, ah, Trevor? Do you have a minute?" The tall man looked up and set aside the mug he was polishing to silently gesture at one of the tall stools lined up in front of the bar. The stygian mist continued to rise in twin streams from behind his sunglasses in a manner that definitely wasn’t intimidating to a woman who could transform into an eight foot tall monster. Definitely. Taking a seat she started, "So, I wanted to sort of clear the air?" Belatedly hoping that didn’t sound like a smoke pun she powered through. "I know how close you and Eve are and that you’re not really my biggest fan so I know you’re probably worried if I'll be good for her and take care of her but I just wanted to say--" "You think I don't like you?" Trevor interrupted in the same quiet tone he used for everything in Becky's experience but with a note she understood as surprise. The streams of smoke stopped and started in little puffs as he blinked. She grimaced, not wanting to turn the conversation into an argument. "No, not like that but we haven't really talked that much. Or really at all, on your side. And even with everything in our lives I get why you might think I'm marrying her for her money or something like that." She assumed that was the sort of thing wealthy people worried about when their wealthy friends got married. There was a palpably awkward silence as she tried to gauge his reaction to that from his stoic expression. Eventually he parted his thin lips, paused for a moment to organize his words and asked, "You know Eve and I have a telepathic link?" "Yes," she replied carefully, ignoring a pang on envy she blamed on the wendigo spirit. She'd discussed the specifics with her fiancé, how it was really a very different thing than what the two of them shared. Still, there was no real getting around the fact that the bond with Trevor had come first. "Normally good at filtering. But being here, today..." He drummed his fingers against the surface of the bar in what struck Becky as a terribly restless gesture from someone usually so reserved. "Strong emotions. Some… spillover from your link. How the two of you feel about each other. How much you love each other." The brunette shifted a little on her stool, feeling a little embarrassed and wondering if any of that was being relayed through Eve's powers as well. "O-oh. Well, um." "Bit overwhelming, actually." She noticed a sooty black colour rising behind his pale cheeks and slowly realized that he was blushing. Removing his sunglasses to reveal faintly luminous ruby irises set in fields of glossy black he gestured to the smoke rising from their corners. "My physiology, tear ducts, that is..." He trailed off into embarrassed silence. Becky covered her mouth with one hand and stifled a laugh. "Oh my god. You’re crying? This is you crying?" "It is a wedding," Trevor defended himself with a tiny smile of his own, returning the sunglasses to his face. He glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "Eve will toss me off the building if she has to wait a minute longer than planned to marry you. Should go get ready." Rising from the stool she nodded with a slightly wider than human grin. "I really should. But we should talk more later. At the reception?" He nodded in silent agreement, bending from the waist in a suggestion of a courtly bow. Hesitating for a moment he added, "Don’t think anyone else needs to know about...?" He pointed to his eyes with an index finger. With a wink Becky mimed locking her lips shut and tossing the key over her shoulder.

Winifred fixed Mr. Harris with a withering glare, her ingrained stubborn pride beginning to win out over her awkwardness as the conversation went on. "It is several recursive layers of moot. It's hardly my fault that you refuse to accept the fundamental facts as I have laid them out to you." She was simultaneous certain that her ill-advised infatuations were not returned and that her condition made any potential physical demonstrations an unacceptable risk for all involved anyway. Optimism aside she did not see what was so difficult to grasp about either of those points. Those thoughts prevented her from appreciating what would have otherwise been an interesting exercise in hypothesis from Ms. Albright. Instead she huffed quietly. "I shan't be taking the bait and asking how you might have a teenage daughter. Life surrounding the Academy seems to delight in putting lie to otherwise reasonable assumptions." She frowned, narrowed her eyes and pointed a warning finger at Mr. Harris. "I did not mean my previously stated assumptions. I am on to your methods by now, sir." That struck even her as absurd enough that her scowl broke into a small chagrined smile and she let her shoulders relax a touch. The occasional piece of advice would perhaps be not unwelcome, I suppose."

Ghost Girl Move Action: Fly into position. Standard Action: Using the 'Reap' AP on her scythe with the goal of catching both Goons in its cone: Damage 12 (Reap; Extras: Affects Corporeal, Area [General, Cone], Selective; Feats: Affects Insubstantial 2, Knockback 8) [58PP] If all goes well that's a DC 27 Toughness Save with Rank 20 Knockback.

Sigh. Reagent Will Save: 1d20+9 16

Reagent Toughness Save vs DC 24: 1d20+4 22 Jeeeeez. Only a bruise for now. Let me know when you want her to start making Will Saves against transforming.

The website for Chrysopoeia Cosmetics went live as the product began to appear on store shelves throughout Freedom City and sample arrangements arrived on the doorsteps of local beauty bloggers; the always popular Set posted a literally divine smokey eye tutorial which garnered the usual surge in likes and reblogs that came whenever they roped Sekhmet into participating. Adorned with tasteful calligraphy the site was styled after an old-timey apothecary shop and boasted a surprisingly robust backend thanks to a certain technically inclined simian. The core line ranged from foundation with the benefits of a moisturizer to chip-proof nail polish that went on in a single coat to smudge proof, waterproof and somewhat alarmingly fireproof lip colour. Those bold claims were backed up by accompanying videos hosted by a serious young woman in a white lab coat, delivered in much the same way as an academic dissertation even if the volunteers joining her attempted to insert a bit more style and humour. Colours ranged the gamut of skin tones, including those traditionally under serviced. The most popular were quickly placed on backorder with a formal apology posted assuring customers that production was being adjusted in response to demand and thanking them for their patience. More exciting, however were the signature lines! Heat sensitive 'mood colours' shifted from rich imperial purple through the spectrum to a sensational scarlet. The 'nighthawk' assortment shifted between subdued, professional looks to bold club style with the setting of the sun. 'Multifaceted' variants dried into delicate patterns like ice crystals, star fields and chocolatey swirls. The 'inner glow' colours soaked up ambient light to shine with non-toxic and surprisingly tasteful luminescence. As though in acknowledgement of the overwhelming array of choices one page of the site featured pre-selected bundles of sample sized product, highlighting some of the more eye-catching colours. The 'smoke hound' kit included light-devouring blacks paired with softer slate greys while the 'ice queen's kiss' kit encompassed a half dozen different lip colours that reacted to temperature. There were bundles themed around each of the LGBT+ pride flags and appropriately for Freedom City bundles themed around prominent heroes, such as the cheekily named 'Briticana' set of red, white and blues, the 'Earth Mother' assortment of lush greens and the subtly metallic 'Dragonscale' colours that glowed like embers in the right light. The most significant page on the site was a deceptively simple text field with layers of behind-the-scenes security to ensure the utmost discretion. The form invited visitors to request custom orders tailored to their own specific requirements. Foundation suitable for amphibious skin? Available at a week's notice. Unique colours to match a heroic uniform? Easily done. Telepathically activated eyeshadow laced with psionically reactive crystals that wouldn't irritate delicate skin? Packaged with a complimentary exfoliant scrub. After all, the site's copy opined, pairing someone with their ideal product could be truly transformational.

"Is mute good looks on the table? I can do mute good looks," Erik rejoined entirely on reflex, inflection flat with mounting weariness. The fencer could - and had, in fact - deliver a quip with a bullet in his shoulder and a boot on his chest, which was roughly analogous to how he was feeling. They didn't know if any of the children had inherited their respective biological mothers' immortality, if they would continue to age past adulthood but slowly, if they would get stuck in adolescence, burn like a candle lit at both ends. Sooner or later he was going to break his wives' hearts and that was a bitter enough pill but there was a damn good chance they'd been doomed to bury their own babies the moment he'd entered their lives. There was no way to know. There was nothing to be done. If pretending the thought had never occurred to him made him a coward, that was fine with him. But he had asked Talya for more honesty so he couldn't really turn around and play the little-white-lie card. Instead he pulled his hands back and ran them through his hair while letting out a long breath. "Alright. Look. Obviously I've thought about it. Yeah, I live an interesting life. I know maybe a dozen or more folks who don't look near their age. Half of them have died and it didn't take. Did that myself once on accident." He'd tried talking to Ace about that one, back in what seemed like another lifetime. He almost managed to smirk at the pun. Instead he grimaced. "And I've got friends who stayed dead. Seen decent people twisted by power or rage or grief. I've seen other worlds where everything went to hell because some idiot made the wrong choice." His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides once before he willed them into stillness despite his back muscle tensing like he wanted to throw a punch. "So nobody has to talk to me like I'm some wide-eyed kid who doesn't what the real world's ready to throw at him. If I want advice, I'll ask for it." His voice started to raise before stopped short and worked his jaw for a moment, adding more softly, "I can promise that. But I don't have an answer for you. I think anybody who says they really know which way they'd go in the moment is a liar or an idiot."

"Somebody's gonna get hit," Lou grunted as he hauled himself out of the pile of laundry with as much dignity as the rattling confines of the van allowed. "Might as well be the guy who can stay standing after." Cracking his neck audibly he considered the other occupants of the vehicle. With a couple of hours of prep time and a pick-up team from the bottom of the barrel his expectations for evening had been pretty low but he was man enough to admit when he'd been wrong. "Job went smooth," he noted flatly, about as close as he was likely to come toping a compliment or offering an apology.

Winifred watched the strange rocky creature struck by Riley's arrow all but shrug off the explosive and immediately changed tactics, setting aside the stoppered flask of a combustable, tar-like substance and snatching up another filled with something in an unnatural, almost luminescent green. As she did she saw her friend tear at his shirt as it was transmuted and let out a cry of alarm. Wasting no more time she hurled the container at the monster that has attacked Riley, catching it square in the chest. The glass shattered and splashed the corrosive acid across her target where it immediately began to sizzle and eat away at the golden rock. Ducking back down behind her cover before a counterattack could be made she shouted, "Smith! Riley! Are you alright?!"

Reagent Toss Inorganic Solvent at Monster 1, HP Reroll: 1d20+8 22 That's Drain Toughness 8 (Inorganic Solvent; Extras: Affects Objects Only [+0], Ranged, Secondary Effect, Flaws: Unreliable [5 Uses], Feats: Incurable, Ricochet, Triggered 2) {20/20} (chemical, acid). Assuming these things are constructs that'd be a DC 18 Reflex Throw against the Drain followed by another next round.

Lou didn't make any effort to conceal a brief appreciative glance at the muscle tone revealed while Sofia changed but also didn't waste any time clamouring into the trolly with a surprising amount of grace for someone adamant that he wasn't a gymnast. His varied careers had seen him following people as they scrambled over fences or sprinted through littered alleyways too often for his complaints to ring entirely true. "You say it like that and it sounds like my job is $#!%," he observed while curling up, wincing as the bruise on his side objected. He at least attempted not to put his shoes all over Sofia's discarded outfit. "Alright, let's go get Alice paid. She's had a tough day and all."

Corinne took a few steps before realizing that Winifred was still standing by the tree, mouth open and hands raised with the palms upward in a dumbfounded expression. The alchemist shook her head and hurried after the taller girl, speaking much more quickly than she had been previously. "You transmuted your entire outfit!" she exclaimed in a rush, using one hand for emphasis. "Not just materials! Those trousers are of a wholly different construction, you altered the design of your shirt! The level of precision, let alone the raw energy requirements!" She realized she was gaping and did her best to temper her obviously piqued scientific interest. "Lord in Heaven, small wonder you're famished. You make the Philosopher's stone look like a child's plaything. When you said you 'changed' things I never thought...!"

Reagent Standard Action: Toss Inorganic Solvent at Monster 1: 1d20+8 11 Eugh, don't imagine that hits. Does Fred have any Hero Points to work with? I think her So That's What That Does complication might be relevant.

Winifred's eyes focused back on her hosts long enough to eloquently communicate that while she appreciated their optimism she was, in fact, quite sure of her 'chances' or lack thereof. She let out a long sigh and tried to map out how she had possibly ended up having this conversation, particularly with a couple she did not know particularly well. She supposed she'd been keeping those feelings bottled up long enough that it hadn't taken much of an excuse to let them out. Between them Ms. Albright and Mr. Harris were at least better equipped to understand where she was coming from than anyone else she might have confided in. "It might do to broaden my academic horizons, I suppose," she conceded, looking a little drained compared to when she'd arrived for the meeting. "Still, I don't know that you fully appreciate the degree to which my condition renders all of this largely moot." The look on Raina's face any time she so much as raised her voice in argument flashed before her eyes, along with Fang's well meaning but genuinely disturbing assurances that Matthew couldn't be permanently injured. "The Academy experimented with 'power dampeners' almost as soon as I arrived there. They were unable to fashion one with sufficient power than was also portable and the longer I spent in one of the containment cells the worse the following episode proved to be afterward."

"Nah, bruised rib maybe. Nothing you gotta worry about," Lou assured Sofia as they rounded the corner to the elevator where Alice was waiting. He was a little annoyed with himself for getting sloppy and toying with the security guards, maybe showing off a little bit but you didn't wade into a fight with six guys and then act surprised when you took a some licks in the process. The note of concern in the hacker's voice brought on a brief pang of guilt for getting her into something significantly more dangerous than sitting behind a computer but he shoved that away with professional focus. Best thing to do was stay on mission and they'd all get home safe and paid. Looking at the covered trolly the thief had rolled up he didn't bother to suppress a grimace. "I'm supposed to fit under that? I look like a gymnast? I give you that impression?"

"Aw jeez. Now I wish we had Wander and Willow along," Jill muttered largely to herself as Caradoc identified the remains. She didn't ask where he had seem Lemurians before; Steve had been to a lot of different worlds in a lot of different realities and all of those stories had the same unhappy ending. "Does this mean we're expecting magic? That was part of the Lemurian's shtick, right?" She stepped back enough from the monitor to get a look at the team of scientists with them. Normally around people with only a toe in the larger world of insanity that had become her family's day-to-day at some point she would have been a little less direct. She generally got the impression that Miss Americana was using finger quotes any time she said the word "magic" and Dragonfly wasn't much fonder of the concept. Whatever they were dealing with did not leave them with the luxury of being discrete, however.

I'm assuming we need Erik in the Thread 2! Ellie could be in 2 or 3 - I'm assuming she's old enough she'd be cramping Raina's style at the concert. That said I'd be happy to have Fred along for Thread 1 if it makes sense. Also let me know where you need me to write supporting cast like Vince, the kids, Yolanda or Gina Espadas, if relevant.

"I think I may need more tea for this," Winifred mumbled, lifting a hand to massage her temple. "I appreciate the line of logic in principle I remain confident any hypothetical infatuation is one-sided." Despite what certain talking hounds might like to cheekily imply she was sure she would know if that wasn't the case. "Which is not an issue, really. I have no expectations to the contrary. Dramatic declarations would just place everyone in an uncomfortable position, which seems selfish. I just mean that I would like to be... prepared. In case." Clearing her throat quickly, she drew herself up a bit. "And I'll have you know I'm perfectly familiar with the concept of women lying together. Th-that is-- not familiar, only-- I have friends who are lesbians. Or bisexuals. My understanding is there are several variations, I am realizing now that I'm not sure how each of them categorizes herself for certain. W-which may be off topic." She'd done a fair amount of research early on in her time at the Academy in an effort to avoid a faux pas but she had to admit there were some glaring holes in her knowledge all the same. "If... if I'm being entirely honest," she added haltingly, "it doesn't make much difference to me. Men or women, that is. As a girl I assumed it was just a matter of admiration, however... well. I... haven't actually said that out loud before now." The time-displaced Victorian let out a long, ragged breath and stared at the wall.

"Nnnnngh..." Winifred made a quiet murmur as she scrubbed her face with the heels of her palms and willed herself to sit upright. Her face and eyes were still noticeably red but clasped her hands in her lap and set her jaw resolutely. "Scientific, yes. I, ah, excuse my outburst." The teenager was clearly having some trouble meeting either of their eyes, staring rather intently at the plate of biscuits. "I don't mean to be... prudish. People don't tend to turn my head simply walking down the street, is all. I do like to look good, put together and I when others can as well," she stumbled through her train of thought, nodding toward the still open toolbox of sample cosmetics, "but I don't seem to think if those terms as much as other people do." She ducked her head again, blush returning in full effect. "There are - sometimes - people I'm close to who... who I might like to be closer to, however. I'm not opposed to... certain acts. As such." She wanted to be able to hold hands, to kiss, to wake up next to her partner, to demonstrate her feelings. Squirming a bit on the couch she lifted her chin finally. "It would not be safe for them, however even if they were inclined to take that risk. At the risk of being dramatic, witnessing my 'alter ego' as you say would be enough to silence the most arduous of amorous intent, I imagine."

Reagent Initiative: 1d20+5 15

With a strangled noise from the back of her throat Winifred brought her other hand up to her face as well shoving her head down against her knees. Her face was burning with embarrassment and she could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes despite her best efforts. She had thought she was much better prepared to have this sort of conversation than she evidently was, a detached part of her observed while the rest concentrated on steady breathing. She didn't think an actual transformation was imminent but she wouldn't have been adverse to the building splitting open to swallow her up, either. How shallow and base her hosts must think her, but then how childish to be unable to speak matter-of-factly. In a very quiet, carefully modulated voice with her face still in her lap she managed, "I appreciate your candour and willingness to discuss this with me but I was born in 1839 and I think I am going to need a moment."

Scowl hidden behind her teacup, Winifred had been formulating an appropriately cutting rebuttal to the categorization of her condition as a 'gift' but instead choked on her drink at the thought of a teenaged Mr. Harris picking up the quill rather than risk breaking his lady love in twain. "Aha, w-well!" she stammered, blush deepening well past her foundation's ability to conceal. "That seems like a perfectly good... outlet. Um." Head ducking between her shoulders the young woman practically folded in upon herself. "I've been learning to play the bass guitar, personally." She may have had ulterior motives for that as well but then she'd always been efficient. Cheeks still dark she cleared her throat and set aside her empty cup. "This is somewhat personal but most people seem to intuit anyway that my episodes are triggered by increased heart rate, epinephrine production, certain other chemical changes. In practice that would mean fear, anger, anxiety but also potentially, ah... excitement, in conjunction with physical exertion, perhaps." She folded her hands in her lap then unfolded and placed them by her sides, fidgeting. "This obviously wasn't a conversation you intended to have when you agreed to our meeting, Ms. Albright. I, ah, I should..." Winifred buried her face in one hand, inwardly reciting elements and their properties to slow her breathing and centre herself.

"Mhm. As the daughter of Chinese immigrants to London I am not unfamiliar with that aspect of humanity," Winifred drawled, sipping her tea sedately. She spent a moment trying to imagine the pair as small children, tossing things about by muscle or mind before mulling over some of what Mr. Harris had said. "I must admit I envy that hard won control. I come by my condition less honestly, of course so I'm sure it's a rather different affair but I cannot truly imagine taming the Alkahest to the point of having any of this." She gestured about the apartment with her free hand, encompassing the open space along with the thousand little tableaus of domesticity. A bit of colour rose to her cheeks as her words caught up to her and she quickly added, "Ah, my apologies. I don't mean to sound as though I'm complaining."

Set squinted at the armoured figure for a moment before shaking his head. "Mh... Don't think you are. Nice landing, though, love the pose." The godling turned to Ruth and raised both hands as though sharing a bit of juicy gossip. "So, twas a sorcerer, eh? Awful sort, truly a garbage person, blech, decides to slay his prince. The prince, suitably annoyed as one might expect, slays the sorcerer in turn. Both dead, very dramatic, very Hamlet." He clapped his hands and spread them again, illustrating his story with broad gestures. "Tis before almighty, shiny Ra delegated dealing with that sort of nonsense to Osiris so we're all present, souls being weighed, Ammit ready to do what Ammit do, when the prince begins mouthing off! He says, should anyone be condemning the sorcerer's bâ to oblivion it ought to be him! Righteous fury! Much foot stamping!" Set placed a hand alongside his mouth and lowered his voice slightly. "So I say to Horus - the first one, mind - they must have required two separate canonic jars for the pair of dung balls on this scarab! And Isis, well Isis gets a look and if you knew Isis, whoo now! Tis the sort of look to send god and mortal alike fleeing. Long story made short, the pair of them get cursed to reincarnate endlessly!" He spun his index fingers about each other to demonstrate. "Locked in eternal combat, each forever seeking out his bitter enemy!" He shook his head wistfully. "Good times, good times. But you, Ms. Bronze Britches, you ought to know the tale already! Tis a new note in an old tune."

Winifred answered by placing a hand on Robin's shoulder, tilting her head to look up at her roommate with sympathetic eyes. She'd lost her parents at the same time she'd lost literally everything and in many ways it was too big for her to have ever really processed, too big to ever feel truly real. Even so it was an absence that ached, woke her up with a cry more nights than she cared to admit. Robin's loss, she knew, was felt far more acutely. "You let me worry about all of that. I have it on good authority that I'm 'brilliant and all'." Her voice was low and soft as she managed a small smile. "Right now I'd really just like to spend some time with my friend."