Raveled

Attack against Crow (1d20+6=17) Well, if by a miracle that hits, it's DC 18 Toughness.

Brian shrugged and turned the movement into a roll of his shoulders, loosening his neck muscles. "If I get in too close, the bad guys ruin my face, and that would be a crime against nature." He flashed the other teen a grin, bouncing on his feet a few times before setting himself squarely, one foot forward, weight resting on his rear foot. "Mom taught me a few tricks, though. Couple of take-downs, couple of throat chops, couple places to hit a guy where it doesn't bruise... that sorta thing, you know? She also taught me tactics, like doing this." Brian exploded from his stance, taking three short steps forward and aiming a short jab at Morgan's chin.

Attack roll vs Warlock's flat-footed (1d20+9=27) 8o Oh dear lord, this isn't starting well. DC 24 Toughness, and there's full Penetrating on it. Heck, I don't remember a post about Warlock bringing up his Force Field, so that's with a +2 Toughness bonus. Edited my earlier post.

Brian slipped his hand in the glove and waited passively while Morgan tied it off. While the other teen worked on his other glove, he flexed his hand and arm, feeling the tension of the laces against his wrists. It was pretty good, firm without being too tight. Apparently Morgan spent more time in the ring than he let on. Once he was ready to go, Brian strolled out to the main area, bouncing a bit and pouncing his fists together. "So? Any rules we following? If we gouge out eyes, are we handing them back or keeping trophies?"

I am both player and GM in "What the Doctor Ordered," "Just Another Sunday," and "Something Old, Something New." Ironclad Tanks for Nothin' What the Doctor Ordered Not Another Teen Dating Thread Just Another Sunday Conversations: Platonic Conversations: Objective Vignette 3 + 11 + 12 + 2 + 13 + 8 = 49 + Vignette Glowstar Occupational Hazards Pulling Punches The Eagle has Landed 2 + 22 + 4 = 28 GM Something Old, Something New Just Another Sunday What the Doctor Ordered 6 + 2 + 1 = 9

Glowstar took a quiet minute to study the interior of the building, then stepped back, rubbing his eyes. "Okay. Um. No guards on the other side of the door. Civvies up top, at least a few. And a couple levels down, lots and lots of mean-looking... something or others. Monsters, I guess, although that doesn't seem terribly PC. Really big son of-- er, boss monster in the middle, too, next to a big glowy. Either something we have to blow up, or something we have to click on, right? Oh yeah, and your, uh, sisters are do--" Glowstar glanced around for the sidhe girl that had started the adventure and ended up turning in a quick circle. Unable to locate her, he focused on Crow instead. "Where'd your, uh, friend get to? She... didn't stick around in the dorm, did she? Mr. Summers isn't going to like that."

Ironclad took a minute to make sure that the technicians and various other civilians were clear of the stinging gas and didn't need any further medical assistance. She gave Grayston an odd look, thankfully hidden under the blank metal bucket of her helmet. "I haven't studied the plans," she said, "but I'd imagine it was the skinhead supersoldier punching a great big hole in its belly. That might've compromised the structural integrity a tad." She moved over to Blueshift's recumbent form and glanced around, frowning. Finally she focused on Grayston and held out her hand. "Jacket. Now, please."

Glow's using his X-Ray Specs on the whole building, trying to locate the Formorians and the captured fey.

Glowstar stood aside from the group, folding his arms and watching. "I don't see why we're being so careful," he said to Wisp. "We're here to kick ass and take names, right? Let's just bust in there and start knocking heads. We don't really need to know what's behind the door, do w--" The teen hero cut himself off abruptly, blinking and staring at nothing. "Knowing what's behind the door. Um, yeah." He coughed weakly and stepped up, facing the door square on and motioning the others out of his way. "I can do that." The young man stared at the door for a moment, his red-on-black eyes glowing bright and baleful for a moment. It took a bit for him to 'focus' properly, but soon enough the walls in front of him melted away, revealing the interior of the building.

The engineer dropped from Protectron's grasp and hurried to the other aliens, and Cyrne moved to more fully shield the pair behind him from the superheroes. "We are... in orbit, between this planet and the next one out. I don't know any system to give you coordinates in. But if you will help our people, we will take you there. Quicker than a thought."

The comment sent Jessica's mind in an... interesting direction, and she worked hard to keep the reaction off her face. She succeeded partly by raising a hand to rub at her ear and cheek, and pulled Blake into the department store. "Shoes first," she declared, heading in that direction. It wasn't hard to find the section; it was filled with industrial-looking shelves filled with all sorts of footwear, far more than could be considered practical; Jessica couldn't imagine needing that many different kinds of shoes. She picked up a pair of boots with spike heels that looked like they laced up to the knee, dangling them from one finger. The young woman looked between Blake and the boots, suddenly giggling. "I guess if you have a 'Helga of the SS' fixation, now's the time to speak up."

Brian sat down on a bench and changed out of his jeans and tee-shirt, into track pants and a different tee-shirt. He stuffed his clothes and duffel into an empty locker, pulling out the pads and shaking them loose. He strapped on the kneepads and started fiddling with the headwear. He nodded at the gloves sitting on the bench -- not really boxing gloves, but thicker than handwraps, it would stop an errant fingernail from scratching a cornea. "Gonna have to help me with those. Can't say I ever used them before. And don't lace them too tight or anything, okay? I don't want you to have anything to blame when you lose."

Brian didn't move, didn't seem to hear Crow for a good while. He just stood there, barely touching the glass, wondering what it must have been like to grow up with a hero for a father, instead of a villain. Granted, his parents had never involved him in their illegal deeds -- in fact, he now understood that they'd gone to great lengths to keep him insulated from that part of their life -- but it hadn't exactly worked, had it? How might his life had been different if his parents had actively prepared him for the life he was leading? After a minute or so, the young hero shook his head and have Crow a confident grin. "It's good that you're young," he said, following hie new friend into the locker room. "It means you'll heal faster."

Brian bounced the bag a few times, feeling the weight inside shift and jump. "Made sure to," he said. In point of fact the boxing gloves were still in their packaging. He'd never used them when practicing with his mother, but he supposed it made sense. After all, he and Morgan had never been in the ring together, they didn't know how each other fought. It was prudent to protect each other. He'd even bought a head-guard and kneepads; while Brian liked to present the image of a daredevil (especially when he could impress a pretty lady) he had been taught to be cautious. The pair crossed the walkway and entered the gym. The young man half-raised his hand to a few friendly greetings, but he was happy to fall back and let Crow take the point. He slowed even further when they passed a glass case full of photographs and mementos of athletes and superheros -- sometimes the same individual. He stopped in front of one particular picture, studying it closely. The shape of the jaw, the color of the hair were both right. "Hey, Morgan. Is this your dad?"

The other figure was wearing simple jeans and a tee-shirt, apparently oblivious to the cold temperatures that had the rest of the pedestrians on the Boardwalk huddled in windbreakers or wearing full-on parkas and winter accessories. He slowly rolled onto his back, eyes shut tight, feeling the sun on his face; after a moment he sat upright and rubbed at his face roughly. "Between this and Mercury," he muttered, "I'm really learning to hate teleportation." He stood and brushed off his jeans, reaching down to grab a duffel bag that had appeared with the pair. "I'm thinking that maybe a body was just supposed to travel the normal way, you know?"

The twisted creatures turned at the sound of the crashing rock, and did a collective double-take when they saw Warlock. They paused when he spoke and exchanged a few sibilant hisses before advancing on the hero menacingly. One pulled a wide, slightly curved dagger of tarnished metal from his belt; another bend and hefted a had-sized rock; and the last flexing his wide hands, opening his mouth to reveal row after row of sharp, needle-like teeth. The one with the dagger pulled ahead of the pack though, charging the hero and scoring a long, deep gash down one leg.

Ironclad watched the explosion from her elevated vantage point, her mind already working to deduce approximate weapons load, ammo locations, et cetera. She floated back to the staging area, still awash in eye-stinging smoke, and flung the few canisters still spilling gas as far downwind as she could could. They were burning bright and hot in her thermal vision; by the same token she could see that most of the AEGIS personnel, especially the technicians, were still incapacitated. Heavier than air? Won't blow away, won't spread much. So lead them out, instead. The heroine alighted at the SPARTOI control console, fingers and mind moving the fighting machines. "Just grab a hold of the robot in front of you," she sang out, switching between a score of viewpoints in the blink of an eye. "We'll get you out of here, don't worry."

We can get hat Initiative now, if you want. 1d20+4=9 Monsters don't do so well.

The lead creature, Cyrne, shied away fro the fast-talking, fast-moving heroine, but he -- she, it, whatever -- rallied and started answering questions. "I do not know who the Power Corps or the Foundry are. I am Cryne, navigator second class aboard a Ki-Roc colony ship. We wandered into your system, ah, seventeen revolutions of this planet ago. We were damaged and sent out a distress call. It was answered by a metal creature with burning eyes." Three gold face-plates turned towards Ironclad and Protectron, but after a moment Cyrne continued. "The metal creatures brought other metal servants on board. They've been stripping out technology and working us until we drop. I think they may work us until we die."

We're out of combat. You can post in whatever order you like.

Just to be clear, everyone can hear the alien this time.

Several things happened in close succession. The portal closed with a bang -- literally, an explosion of pressure that rocked Geckoman and Blueshift back on their feet. The organic heroes felt a tension, a heaviness against their brains. The silver centaur squirming in Protectron's grip suddenly froze, and slowly went slack. Finally, one of the creatures in the corner touched its chest with one hand and spoke. "Please, let the engineer go. My name is Cyrne, and I think my people need your help."

Glowstar glanced at the other teens, shrugged, and stepped through. He tried to be quick and confident, but with one foot in the dorm and one in the alley he began to feel oddly... stretched, like he was trying to cover the actual physical distance in one bound. He almost turned back, but after a moment's hesitation he barreled through, slamming into the wall of the alley opposite the sudden door. His stomach churned with the suddenness of everything, but he put on a brave face as he turned around to look through the portal. "Come on through," he called, beckoning. "It sure as hell beats the FCTA monorail."

"It's not new. I told you, it happened around New Year's; supervillain, chemical weapons, and now I can hear machines. Talk to 'em, too, but I'm usually in more control than that. I just... slipped." She didn't ponder what had made her lose control, but it was nice that there was someone who still regarded the whole situation as strange and wonderful. She'd had to learn to live with it all the time, and the novelty had worn off awhile ago. Jessica moved her grip to Blake's arm and pulled him towards one of the larger, anchor stores. "I said you'd have to sit through clothes shopping, right?"

Oh, the conversations we have...