Fox

"...hmmm." Indira hummed to herself for a half a moment, pondering that one, but she was already moving across the ceiling with a skittering noise that spoke of a dozen unseen little claws; they were already gone by the time she lowered herself, spreading long and flat, like a make-shift metal curtain that separated Jessie from the walking dead. Not quite enough to cut off all access, but enough to block line of sight, she hoped - and deeply uncomfortable. Her eyes were on the zombie's side, and they were not kind. "We would like answers," her surface hummed. "I think you will move with us to another part of the boat and give those answers to us - to all of us - or perhaps we will let our friend have you. She has had a long day. I think she could use the catharsis."

Dragonfly sat back in a chair - as best she could with her armor in the way - and pondered. "Probably," she said, though she first sent a thought out to cut the mic and keep them from being overheard. "Weakens containment somewhat; obviously can't just simulate a door to freedom, but opens avenues of attack. Risk is primarily to Americana's servers, probably her call when she gets back. Likewise, playing any data from one partition to the other." It did at least bring her attention back to the screen and its virtual patient. "You took a bullet to the head; lucky you didn't lose more than you did. Whatever you do remember, short-term or not, would be useful for triage as much as mystery-solving. We have some recordings and buffer data, mostly sensory playback, but would like your take and context."

Unerring though it was, Natalia didn't even attempt to catch the brownie. She didn't have to: it slowed and slowed as it arced toward her, decelerating until it hung, turning, where she could simply grab it out of the air on her way toward Black. Black was almost as much a prize as the brownie was and the gravity-controller didn't pretend an apology as she stole him off Ryder's bag, floating him closer to her side of the counter as she deftly freed brownie from plastic. "It's no wonder they're always everywhere," she mused, nibbling at her brownie with one hand and scratching Black's faux-chitinous hide with the other. "I would be too, if I was stuck in a bag all day."

"Relax, Davyd! Enjoy the ride!" Elizabeth grinned at him from under a baseball cap (which she'd pulled from literal nowhere) and a pair of mirrored sunglasses that were probably real, in that she'd pulled them out of her bag and not the aether, and which were slightly too large for her face. This was probably a feature rather than a problem. She'd been all smiles since they'd set out, cheerfully putting practice into practice by gunning it as fast as was safe - no faster, but very definitely no slower and she'd casually announced more than once that she was hoping they'd have a leg with fewer rocks so that she 'could really drop the pedal and see what her baby could do'. She'd wanted to drive the big truck since she'd first seen it, and it was all that she'd dreamed and more shy of some lesser cars to crush at the finish line. "45 minutes should be just fine if everything's going as well as Micah says," she said, mercifully turning back to look at their path across the desert, gently weaving around an especially obstructive bit of rock. "It'll at least be enough to set up the power cell swap and some in-person checks. Speaking of, how're our speed demons doing? I'm not giving up my truck for anything, but your end of the race must be amazing."

"Well, you have to complete the look," suggested Matt with all the good humor of someone who hadn't expected a joke to survive a turn around the table. "What's the point in doing anything halfway?" He was mid-drink of his beer when an ashy, steak-muffled voice floated up from beside the table. "All chaps are assless," it said. Matt was not going to dignify that with more than a pained look and a subject change. "I'm a little jealous of that sweater, though - looks like you've had a lot of practice. How long does that take to make?"

Doktor'd! Just some quick edits on Masque, reflecting some of what she's been up to; hopefully when I get a proper computer again I can recover my books and make some proper revisions. Replace the Age line in her description with: Born: April 2002 2pp to Skills, divided up like so: add: Driving 7 (+10) improve: Diplomacy to 'Diplomacy 5 (+8, +12 Attractive)' 1pp to Feats: improve: Luck to 'Luck 2 [to 5, from powers]'

"That would be a good defense if I believed for a second that you wouldn't do the dishes anyway, Cricket," Natalia said, finally removing her sunglasses to lay her golden irises on the treats. She wanted all of it, which was entirely unacceptable and she'd have to stick to her guns. "I won't turn down a free brownie. Not after today, anyway, and possibly not ever." "He could stand to be less endearing," she added, folding her glasses and hooking them on the edge of her bag. "One of these days your brother is going to start breaking hearts and I'm increasingly concerned he won't understand why."

Briefly wondering what it would be like to have a sibling, Natalia made her way halfway into the room, smiling a smile that at least looked genuine. "It's good to meet you, Jenny," she said, and that sounded concerningly genuine too. "They were fair words - we do go to a private school, and I am pretty. Ryder, on the other hand, might need to learn that socially competitive people probably don't want to be introduced as such." She paused, one corner of the smile slipping down as she pondered that one. "...not that it would stop him. I suppose that blatant honesty's part of his charm."

"You're at ArcheTech," answered Dragonfly, peering at the simulation with interest. "Aegis wanted a consultation, got more costumed scientists than they expected. I'm Dragonfly; Miss Americana's here too, obviously. Others will introduce themselves only if they want. Not going to try to speak for them directly." She paused, tapping a finger against her armor. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"He's had a busy day," Natalia drawled. She stepped in after Ryder, though she was careful to stay out of his and everyone else's way - never deferential, just always somewhere nobody else was moving. She'd given Jenny the same quick appraisal she'd received, but past a quick nod she'd moved to looking around at the dining area like it was foreign territory or full of traps. Or both. She hadn't removed her sunglasses. "I'm not sure I've been collected so much as invited, but he is very forward sometimes and one does have to wonder. It's a pleasure to meet you, none the less."

"You laugh but I could make a cowboy hat work," Matt insisted, looking up from a beer as if to imagine it. Fang made a steak-muffled sound suspiciously like laughter. "Absolutely black, yeah." Dreaming eyes were brought back down to earth, challenging anyone to crack before he did and losing immediately. "I could buy a cheap Yamaha guitar, see if songs 'bout trucks and cows sell better. Buy the whole outfit, vest, boots." He paused for a moment. "Assless chaps." Fang's laughter became a lot less subtle. "Seriously, though, that sounds awesome, I hope you have a great time. And you probably should take Cathy up on that, or you're admitting that the ponies are more stubborn than you are."

Wraith was already moving when the gun came out - even as the Captain took aim she was dropping part of her torso down from the ceiling, the bullet hitting her metal skin with a lot more thud and a lot less ricochet than one might have expected - like he'd hit gel instead of steel. The gel grew three narrow eyes and a whole host of lashing, claw-tipped tendrils. "Do not do that," she admonished; the tendrils lashed out, coming at the zombie from a dozen directions to none-too-gently tear the gun from his rotting grasp. They wrapped around it, possessively, drawing it up to her body as she debated whether it was safe to eat. "It is not safe. In such a small space you will damage someone's hearing, at least."

APPROVED!

Wraith's Toughness Save vs. getting shot: 24, so no worries there. Wraith's going to attempt to disarm the captain. Shooting bullets inside a submarine isn't safe! Disarm Melee Attack: 28 Assuming that hits, we get an opposed roll of Wraith's damage bonus against the captain's strength: Wraith's damage check: 24 If he loses, it's Wraith's gun now.

I think I was briefly out of my mind when I mentioned not allowing arrays of devices; I could have sworn it was forbidden, but I can't find the ruling. So! Never mind on that, for now, unless someone else comes back to correct me. For what you're modelling, though, the Alternate Power still shouldn't be attached to the Device itself. A device with an alternate power would be, say, Tony Stark's many battlesuits (an array of devices; each slot in the array is a different suit entirely), or some kind of electric hero with a power suit and some out-of-suit powers (where they've arrayed their electric powers with a device that uses them as a battery - can't use the device while using other powers!). Multiple Weapons is not an Alternate Power thing per se, it just says that the device is represented, thematically, by multiple objects. A gunslinger with four identical guns might have a device with Multiple Weapons, but only one Damage power inside; a character with several fancy rayguns may have a single device, tagged as Multiple Weapons, which contains an array, each slot of which represents a different gun's power. It's really just bookkeeping and some efficiency. In this case, you've attached Alternate Power to the gun itself, which implies that there is an entirely different thing, which is not the cannon, that should be on the sheet as an alternate to the cannon itself. If it's a single gun with two modes, that's just a normal device, which contains an array, and the Alternate Power feat should belong to the array (or an actual power inside the device if you don't want to write out a full array power). Double-check the cannon's Device line, too; it currently says it's a rank 6 device that only gives 25pp, which is underselling it a bit.

Natalia made a noncommittal sound as she took in the lot of it, sliding her sunglasses down her nose a bit to let those golden eyes scan from sign to booths to decor. "It's somehow everything I imagined it would be," she said at last, pushing her sunglasses back up. It wasn't clear if that was supposed to be a compliment. "I assume you live upstairs, unless you all sleep on the fruit pallets." She cocked her head, and then had to run a hand back through her hair to settle it back in place. "If we'll be waiting for food, I don't suppose we could pause long enough that I could buy a brownie? What I do laughs in the face of conservation of energy, but it does still burn calories - good for my figure, and an inconvenience otherwise."

"Sounds like an excellent way to ensure a visit to the nearest bathroom," opined Matt, though it came with a good-natured grin. "Might take you up on that later myself, Riley." Fang made a disapproving noise, but it was muffled around a mouth full of half-eaten steak and Matt didn't seem to pay it any mind. "And, hey, Cathy! It must've been...." He trailed off, brow furrowing as he tried to place a memory in time. That wasn't always trivial. "...I don't actually know how long it's been," he admitted. "That's kinda terrible of me, I dropped off the radar for a bit. How've you been?"

"What I choose to wear in the comfort of my own dorm room is my own business, Cricket," Natalia admonished. There was no real malice to it, but she could pretend there was. "It has no reflection on what I was actually doing. Besides, pajama time is vital." This she delivered as great wisdom, handed down from on high. "That you would question such a thing is a sad reflection on what you wear and when." And that was about all the stalling she could manage; she took a deep breath, looking at nothing in particular. "If they raised you I cant imagine they're capable of poisoning someone through anything but an over application of enthusiasm. I admit that I'm a little curious what kind of people would create...." She didn't finish, but she did wave a hand vaguely at Ryder's....Ryderness. "I suppose I'd have to be on my best behavior."

Fang settled to the floor, gnawing her steak and leaving a curious lack of a mess behind as she did. It was probably not coincidental that she was firmly placed between the reunion and the greater bar. Matt just laughed, settling back and scanning the bar for what other patrons were drinking. "As someone who's been legally drinking for all of half a year myself, and never got too far into it, I guess I can only recommend you try a little bit of whatever sounds interesting and isn't gonna knock you flat."

Alas, Wraith has no Impervious! She probably should, though. Concerns for her next round of edits. Wraith's initiative roll: 20

Fang craned her head out to sniff the offered steak, nudging at the plastic with her nose. And then she pondered, very seriously, before grinning a toothy grin. There would be peace between their peoples. "You'll get your mixtape when you rekindle the romance, man. You never call, you never write, where'd the passion go?" Matt gave Fang's head a quick ruffling, but he looked at Fred, raising an eyebrow to match hers. He wasn't as good at it as she was. "Fred," he said, apologizing for everything and nothing. He was glad to see his friends again. He did eventually slide into the offered seat, sliding the bag Raina's way. "If we do go clubbing, probably put that somewhere safe. I have it on good authority that it's a really good old scotch, it should burn something awful, and if it's not your kind of drink then it'll make a great bribe or something. Guaranteed to not be haunted, not that they didn't try."

"It's the miracle of nature," Matt called out, making his way over to the booth. There was a large black dog already there; there hadn't been, before, but there was now, and it was avidly watching the monkey. Matt's hair was as shaggy as ever, but he wore it better than he had as a teen - he wore a lot of things better, all told, nicely filling an almost indecipherably faded band shirt under a tailored black linen blazer and slacks. He wasn't quite clean-shaven, short stubble clinging to a pleasant jawline, but it was the kind of not-quite-clean-shaven that probably took more work to maintain than it would have taken to grow and trim a proper beard. He looked like he hadn't slept for a while, but nobody had ever seen him well-rested so at least that was nothing new. He was swinging a nondescript paper bag on a pair of twine handles, which he carefully sat on the booth's table before it could get bumped on something or someone. "Soon, Riley will return to his swamp to dwell among his people, lurking just below the surface to protect them from becoming handbags and awful boots. How've you been?"

Dragonfly (maxed) Where Do We Go? (6) Wraith (maxed) Auspicious Season (7) Nocturne Monkeys on Parade (15) GM Monkeys on Parade (7) [* 2 = 14] 10 GM posts to Nocturne to bring her up to 25 posts/3pp. 4 GM & 6 Dragonfly posts to Grim, to take him to 10 posts/2pp. 1 Wraith post each to Gremlin, Masque, & Eclipse so that they at least get 1pp; the leftovers can cover anywhere I've messed up my math. Ref point to Nocturne, please.

Hrm. Assuming the witch isn't obviously defending herself and nobody beats Wraith to it (and they're welcome to do so!), Wraith would reluctantly Interpose the zombie's shot.

Nocturne "Intimidated? Such compliments, Cricket." Natalia ran fingers through her hair, brushing it back and surveying the street to find it lacking. "I suppose," she said, "that I could rearrange my schedule. If it's important. Fighting monkey mobsters did take a while, but less time than we originally thought it might. I am busy, Cricket," she added, mentally compacting a schedule that was by no means full, "so if you had something in mind it had better be worth my while."