Raveled

I was serious with the Heimlich maneuver, but this should be even more fun. Go for it. FYI, it's a bit of fish bone.

Yvette took the glass of milk in unsteady hands and brought it to her lips. She took some into her mouth, but after a moment she just spluttered and spat it back up. "Can't... breathe," she croaked, and coughed hard. She was bent over the plate of fish now, and her skin was turning red with the strain of trying to unstick whatever was in her throat; Maybelle was close enough to see tears in her eyes. Another of the judges stood up to get a closer look. "Oh my god, she's choking!" He looked out at the crowd; they could see the drama unfolding on stage and many of them were dumbstruck, merely watching Yvette struggle to breathe. "Does anyone know the Heimlich maneuver? Is there a doctor around!"

It could actually be an interesting story to have Daedalus 'die' in a very public manner and then have him retire from public life for a few generations. IIRC that his standard operating procedure, and it would be a way to clear another slot if it's needed.

I'm not sure what the current status of Megastar or the alt!Thor that was on the AlterniTeens, but either of them joining the League would give them some heavy-hitters.

Well the obvious contender for more power is to bring Bolt onto the team, but how do you stop him being Captain Thunder II?

Asli waited until Anne left and then, standing in the middle of the apartment, worked her magic. Colorful ribbons wove around her and geometric shapes briefly traced across the floor and the couch as her power reshaped her outfit. The floor-length dress grew even longer, until it was covering her feet and pooling on the ground, and split into robes and stole. Her blouse changed color and grew thicker and sprouted gloves that covered her hands, and the collar grew into a mantle that rested on her back. She breathed the last word of power as Joe stepped out of his room, turning to face him. She stepped up and linked her arms around his neck, resting her arms on his shoulders. "I guess it's all about getting paid, even for henchmen," she sighed. "I guess I'll just have to bite the bullet, become rich and famous and go triple-platinum." She kissed Joe lightly on the lips, enjoying the last few moments of privacy. "Then I can just go around like Valerie Cain and pay the henchmen to go home."

Happy birthday to the great gregarious Scot.

"Sure, and some ginger in the rub. I tried using, uh, some soy sauce a few years back as a base instead -- turned out watery, thin." The man used a huge pair of tongs to turn a slab of ribs over to cook the other side, and sauce and fat dripped from it, making the charcoal fires flare dramatically. "More like a dip than a spread, you know? The real secret is to cook it with wood, not gas. Wood has a flavor all its own -- I can cook over hickory and get a whole different tang than over pine." There was a sudden knocking from the rear of the tent and the big man turned to regard the machines piled up there. It didn't seem like there was any place to hide back there, but even as the two men watched there was another strong knock. "What in the Sam Hill," the man grumbled, hanging the tongs off the side of the grill and wandering towards the big ice box. Up on stage the first dish was rated and removed, and glasses of milk were provided to cleanse the palate and douse any fires. Next up were ribs with a sweet, Southern sauce that a couple of the judges ate with their bare hands. After that was a bed of chicken wings with so much spice and tang that it completely overrode the flavor of the meat. Then back to the fish, and it was Yvette's turn to carve. She did so and the presenters each had their bites. The sauce exploded on Maybelle's tongue, hints of ginger and vinegar and soy sauce. She was considering the exact composition when she noticed that Yvette was having some problem with the spice; she was coughing hard and tapping her breastbone.

Happy birthday to our friendly neighborhood troll!

Results 1d20+10: 19 [1d20=9] Results 1d20+5: 18 [1d20=13] You're a worse Batman than the person who doesn't want to even be here!

Results 1d20+7: 14 [1d20=12] Chrome's very first roll. EDIT: Used the wro~ong character's Initiative modifier.

So can Chrome just open the door and pull a fire alarm? Would anything stop him doing that? Would it stop him after being punched?

The chef watched Jake carefully as the boy bit into the savory cut of meat. "Grandma's old recipe for iron-clad stomachs," he said. "You watch yourself with that sort of spice, boy. There's some paramedics standing at the edge of the park, but they aren't gonna do much once you've already burned a hole in your guts." He reached out with a ladle and pushed a small bowl towards the teen; it was filled with a browned sort of loaf. "Creme loaf," he said. "Milk's good for burns, try a bit." Up on the stage, the first of the plates was being delivered to the judges. It was fish, expertly filleted and arranged with leeks and tomatoes. The first judge stood up and was handed a sharp steak knife, and he began divving up slices of fish to the different judges. Each place was set with a stack of small plates, another, larger, stack of napkins, and a tall glass of milk.

Should we just do a Gilligan Cut? "That crazy lady isn't following us back home."

Quinn, I want you to make a Nauseate check vs. DC 18. Immunity to Fire Effects doesn't make you immune to hot peppers.

Each of the celebrity judges got their chance to handle the microphone and introduce themselves, to throw out a little patter with the presenter. Just before Maybelle was a short woman with aggressively styled hair who had designed a number of the best penthouses in the city. Yvette Rothschilde combined a dry wit and upper-class disdain with a talent for making interior design comprehensible, and as such had done the usual talk show circuit before trying to open her own design studio. What she was doing putting her own personal stamp on barbecue was anyone's guess. "Yes," she was saying, drawing out the long word, "working with what nature gives you is an important detail in all walks of life. Whether it's finding the right spices to bring out a meat's true taste or opening your windows to your amazing yard or even just picking the proper drapes to accent the colors just outside!" The presenter forcibly separated Yvette from the microphone and, just a touch miffed, she walked on back to her place at the judging table. Gratefully he moved on to Maybelle. "Next up here is Maybelle McQueen, owner and head chef of the Southern Queen, one of Freedom City's finest restaurants. Got your eye on any competitors this years, Ms. McQueen?" Down in the grass, there were several tents and booths set up and hawking their wares. One in particular drew Jake's eye, a both that proclaimed itself the home of HOT AS HELL RIBS. There was a big-bellied man behind it with a much-stained apron who sized up Jake. "Come and try a sample," he said, waving a hand to a small plate of cut meat. "Gonna warn you, though, I cook 'em hot-hot-hot! Don't come whining if you can't handle the heat, boy-o."

September 4, 2016 Liberty Park, Freedom City Lunchtime The Labor Day cookout was in full gear this year in Liberty Park, the city's largest green spot being covered in colorful tents and packed shoulder-to-jowl with cheerful citizens. Children and parents were celebrating the first long weekend after the start of school, salarimen were relishing the extra day of repose, and just about everyone was enjoying the last burst of summery weather before the inevitable decline into gray, snow, and cold. Tents had been organized along the road-side edge of the park, offering BBQ and face painting and fried food and local art and cold drinks and local radio personalities. In particular, grills and smoke and savory flavors were enveloping the northern corner. A raised platform had been put together and a long table laid down there, with a bright banner above it and speakers affixed at the highest point. The speakers crackled to life as a man in a blue tee-shirt with "WBAL" emblazoned on it tapped on a microphone. "Freedom City, welcome to the annual Labor Day Liberty Cookout!" He paused for cheers and applause from the audience. "This is our biggest year yet, and this year our panel of celebrity judges have fifteen different mouth-watering barbecue plates to sample and rate!"

Something that I would like to see are more NPCs from the books brought in and even updated to take into account the twenty-plus years that had passed since GRR first published Freedom City. I feel like there's a lot of great bad guys like the Sky Lord or Goanna who don't get used enough, while others like the Power Corps or White Knight are getting trotted out every month or two to get their faces pushed in again.

Blue Jay Un-Organ-isd Crime Sounds Like a Sequel Miras Domesticity Savage History Corona At the Point of a Sword The Stranger Stronghold All That Glitters Chrome A Little Party Never Killed Nobody GM For Love of a Son Creme Melee

Results 1d20+8: 21 [1d20=13] So he has a Bruise.

That will hit. Make a magnets pun.

The man with the glowing aura grunted as the Avian warrior's staff impacted him, raising his hands and taking the impacts on his wrists and forearms. He was an expert fighter, and after a little quick fumbling he was able to turn aside the blows without a problem. "C'mon in close," he said, slapping the probing end of the staff away. "See what it feels like to being the middle of an explosion!" He grabbed the staff and pulled, opening his hands wide to try and embrace Bird of Arms. Jann wasn't a neophyte either, though, and the man wasn't able to so much as touch the Avian's feathers. "Dammit, stand still and let me hit you!" Down in the lobby, the man in the red outfit glanced out at Gauss. "Tip for the future," he said. "Don't fire warning shots." He sauntered towards the main elevator, speaking over his shoulder. "If someone's really going to surrender, they wouldn't be hurting people in the first place!" He pressed the button to summon the car and then leaned back, crossing his arms casually. "Shoot to kill or don't shoot at all, girl."

Wow, let's get this moving again, shall we? Aura-dude is going to try and grab Bird and just hug him to death. Results 1d20+8: 13 [1d20=5] That's not going to hit Bird. Mayhem will continue to rampage down below.

Luthor watched the police cruiser drive away and felt the knot in his stomach ease just a touch. They hadn't been picked up, they hadn't needed to fight off a bunch of cops, they could just go home. With any luck the CD would be encrypted or something and Lena would even have to drop the trail right there and then. He climbed into the truck and shut the driver side door, but didn't turn on the key yet. "Listen, uh, lady," he said, calling out to the muscular woman. "Thanks you, you know, not ratting us out. And... I'm sorry I closed a door in your face. Just didn't want to get picked up by the fuzz, not in Bedlam. You know?"

Warren did a double-take at Mickey. "Is your brother, uh, reading a book?" He shook his hips while still trying to keep the tiny girl in his field of view. "He's knows this is supposed to be a party, right? Dancing and punch and, and, and other stuff." His feelings of unease were lifting now that he had proof that other people were having a worse time around than even he was. That, and he was talking to a cute girl. And then people started dropping onto the floor, even as the music continued playing. Warren slowed to a shocked stop, staring around himself with wide eyes. "This... this isn't supposed to be happening, right? Where are the teachers?" He flexed and leaped, soaring over the crowd and landing near the big double doors leading out of the auditorium. If nothing else he could get out into the rest of the school and pull a fire alarm or something.