Supercape

Rene Rene sat himself down, tired. He had no wish for drinks, or food, right now. He was disconcerted. Had it come to this? Spirits and Gods. Gods and spirits. Bah! I spit at them all! Except Marianne. To his my mind, liberty was the highest force - the freedom from force. "It is desperate times" he mumbled. "Forgive me, but my heart is heavy and troubled. I bring Ze spirit of liberty, Marianne, always closest to my heart, and whose philosophy is mine own" he explained. "These days might threaten our freedom. Or our lives" he sighed. "It will take me no time to call her. Her answer, however..." He shrugged. He smiled at Phantom, whose image shone in his head. "Ze Master Mage is here, then" he said, not unkindly. If anyone was to be Master Mage, she was eminantly suitable. And yet, he never liked Master Mages, at least, not the title. Broken Crow had taught him centuries ago, and he had warmth in his heart for his tutor. And indeed for many othe Master Mages. Yet despite this warmth for the person, he disliked the title. Master. An ambigious word. Either it impled mastery of magics (and implied a heirachy of mastery), or it implied an authority. The term, and the implications, rankled him. Such philosophical defiance was best set aside. Phantom was wise and benign and if she wished the mantle of Master Mage, then good luck to her. And if she was here, it was good luck to them all. "Ze world needs all ze strength it can muster" he added, bowing to Phantom. "Ah! It is good to see you. It fosters hope. I am sadly just a helpless old man, you see..." he smiled. And gave Nick a wink.

GM As Alex moved towards the stage, he could feel a twinge. Then a twang. The a sharp pain in his chest, something cracking. A rib...or maybe the echo of a rib. Whether he was flesh and bone, or steel and iron, he could feel something grind in his ribcage. A sharp and most unpalatable pain. Which was better than most of the twenty off people in the mosh pit with broken this, and broken that. And yet, despite the screams, Broken wishbone and Skulll carried on playing. "Behold the bones!" yelled Skulll into the microphone, before catching sight of Alex. He lost his nerve a bit at this. Something he had clearly not be expecting. But something drove him forward anyway. "By the mistress of bones, stay out of this, metal head!" he demanded, pointing his roaring chainsaw-guitar at Alex.

In fact, an Injury and a Bruise!

GM "Her fluid, yes. Very valuable" agreed the Hornet, interested now. "As for distracting Sin, yes, that would serve function. But..." Here he paused, uncertain. "I say this clearly. I am a genius, beyond what would be considered normal even for geniuses. Few in the world can match my intellect. I have not met my cunning and intelligence. Except once" he explained. "And that man is Zui Sin. As I am to the normal man, he is to me. To even fathom the depths of his brains is a feat I struggle with. The layers of his plots are seemingly infinite" he said, fear creeping into his voice. "Distracting him is a task that is most daunting. If indeed it is possible" he concluded. "What have you in mind?"

GM Pixie remained invisible, but he heard her shout in his ear through the din of Broken Wishbone. "IM STILL HERE!" she yelled, voice shrill. "THAT HAPPENS WHEN I GET STARTLED!!!!" she continued. And she had good reason to get startled, for from the mosh pit, to the tune of a dynamic tritone cord over a 13/4 bassline, you could hear screams of pain. And progresively, panic. Now, mosh pits were hardly safe, and every now and again there was a broken bone. First aiders would rush to help, but the two women how came rushing through the crowd with a kit looked white faced and shocked. And the one, the younger one, screamed and clutched her legs. Legs weren't meant to bend that way. All around the front row, broken arms, broken legs, and quite probably all sorts of other broken bones were evident, and hardly helped by the panic and franzy (for some were still entranced by the music and violence)....

GM "Nothing secure here" answered Moon. "Out of town, maybe. Freedom CIty, perhaps. I know an Indian reservation where i have...contacts..." He grinned and his eyes glinted like the silver moon. "I can hide you out a bit. The Bad Beat, maybe. Dick Young took it over last year after it burnt to the ground, Jazz club, used to be an old haunt for crooks but it's full of eclectics and musicians now. Can't say its secure, but it is anonymous" he explained. "Id still prefer to get you right out of town" he said to the woman, who nodded. "The question" he continued, stroking his stubble, "is how, and when?" And to this, he looked at Arrowhawk. He spared a glance for Shotgun Steve, but whilst the man knew the streets of Bedlam like the back of his filthy hand, he wasn't exactly reliable, or safe.

Rene On another Day, Rene would have come by taxi and walking, and made a great song and dance about his hips and knees. But these were dangerous days, and Nick Cimitiere was no fool. He had stepped through a picture of the Parkhurst hotel, and landed there quite calmly. It had been some time since he was last here. He had been distracted, never enough time. He had never made enough time. Bah, he was not the young man he once was. He was truly old now, his body propelled more by force of will than physiology. He suspected he had a decade of life at most left. Well, it was a life well spent, for the most part. Sour and bitter and peppered with regrets like every life, but he could hold his head up high on his death bed, and savour the spices of it too. "Nick, you old devil, I am here" he grumbled as he came in.

Rene is bringing the French Spirit of Liberty, Marriane; he believes in every god but only has Faith in mankind. He will distrust Gods and spirits by default but he is a cunning old practical devil. The root of this is he distrusts any authority; hence the only spirit he has a firm connection with are the spirits of liberty. This situation puts him in a torn position; practical desperation versus a defiance against any type of submission. Part of the reason he is going is to ensure that no terrible deals are struck.

GM "AND NOW!... Trump de de dah trump deee daaar daaaaaar! "BROKEN....WISHBONE!!!!!" Marcus Skulll entered the stage, along with his band (yes, the drummers drumsticks were bones, it seemed) to the sound of of industrial rock beats and that lovely strange music. His guitar was, it seemed, a chainsaw. And doubled as both. He fired it up, its engines adding to the noise, and started playing the feedback as he did. Cheers, predictably, errupted. "Is that a chainsaw!" gulped Pixie, in fear. And then, she vanished. Not metaphorically. Not into the crowds. She just vanished. Invisible, or magicked away. Pop! She was there, and then she was not. This made even the cool Felix gasp. "What the f..." His no doubt innocuous words, involving no swearing, were drowned out by a mighty diminished seventh cord that peppered into a strange rhythm, and the crowd cheered some more!

GM "You make a nice couple" grinned the man right back. "I'm Felix" he said. Felix Mossau. The name clicked now. An electronic musician and journalist. A cool mixture of experimental and modern, nobody could quite define his music, for it crossed too many genre's. He was successful, but more as an avant garde artist and writer than shifting a lot of units. "As for Broken Wishbone, I'd pretty much agree" he said to Alex. "A sound summary of their sound!" he laughed, giving him a thumbs up. "But do they have anything to do with wishbones?" demanded Pixie. It was enthusiastic, rather than threatening. "Not as far as I know" said a quizzical Felix. "Although..." His face darkened. "I heard Skulll had fallen in with some cultist girl. Under her spell. Witchcraft, if you believe that kind of thing. Not sure if that has anything to do with wishbones. Don't they have some mystical power or something?"

Diamondlight That would explain it. Well, start to explain it. A ruse, a trick, surely. But the nature and flavour was as yet obscure. "I had nothing to do with that sniper. Other than stopping him" he protested, and protested firmly. "If there is a conspiracy..." ...and that's a big if. She is showing signs of thought disorder. Paranoia. Psychosis? he hadn't studied post graduate psychology for nothing. "...then I had nothing to do with it. What proof do you have? Surely you do not expect me to disprove your conjencture? I cannot prove a negative, and should not be expected to. What evidence do you have for your assetation?" Russel's Teapot. He had studied philosophy too, of course!

GM It was the slightest of changes, a relaxation one might call it. The change in stance, mayhap. It would hardly be said that the Hornet was off guard, for he surely was not. But the astute would say he was less tightly coiled - even if martial training was quite present and he would not be caugh flat footed. "Very well then" he said, more slowly, slowly moving his feet. "I am dangerous, skilled, and cunning. Much like Sin himself" he started. "I have no time for modesty, I know what I am. By ten I was mastering sciences beyond that of a graduate. Chemistry, my fascination" he explained. "I walk a fine line with Sin between threat and asset, and it is not a line I can walk on forever without a fall. Whilst I am in no rush to jump, I must prepare to do so" He paused. "Now you, my giant friend. What are you doing here, and what do you want with the frozen woman?"

GM "Sure!" "I'm Pixie. Pleased to meet ya!" she said cheerfully. And rather loudly. Even the interval music had a tendency to make one need to raise the voice. Without waiting for an introduction, she keenly pulled Mr. Lloyd towards the gentleman deep in conversation. Closer up, he looked pretty much the same as before. The astute medical eye would note some deformities of the legs; something orthopaedic, one might presume. But his body was otherwise lean and strong, his face strong of jaw and chiselled of cheek, his eyes a grey blue that sparkled. He had two groupied chuckling by his side, and a couple of other men and women speaking to him. "I loved your last album!" and so on, with variuos variations and permutations. He smiled a broad smile to every compliment. He turned over to see Pixie and Alex, and was about to open his mouth when Pixie jumped in. "Tell me all about Broken Wishbone!" she demanded - not unpleasantly. "I would have thought you would have found out before coming to a concert. Or did your boyfriend drag you along for the heat?" he asked, a rumbling broad tone with a mid-atlantic flavour. He studied them both carefully. Smart and deep eyes, studious but warm. "Maybe ask him for his opinion?" he smiled, giving Alex a look - inviting his answer.

You can make an untrained Knowledge (Pop CUlture) Roll DC 10 DC 15

GM And this was just the warm up band! Some three piece imitation called the Ballbusters. It had to be said, they had balls. Big red bouncy plastic balls. That they busted with sledgehammers to the beat of their industrial rock music. Not bad! They finished their final song to much applause and much busting of balls, and the lights went up and the backing music came on. Everyone was waiting for the main attraction, and it would not be long. It was getting hot, it was getting sweaty. The crowd was a mixed bunch, although their were more men than women. Very eclectic. Mr. LLoyd saw one guy in a wheelchair, to the side, and to the back, deep in conversation with a few men and women (fans, although whom of?) who was getting a lot of attention. He was in his thirties, well groomed and handsome to the point of nausea - although it should be said that the women talking to him did not look particularly nauseated. "Whose he?" said a small girl who bumped into Mr. Lloyd and pointed at the man. The "girl" was not actually a girl. A young woman, maybe seventeen. Maybe twenty. Not much older, surely. Wearing a thick bobble hat despite the heat, and black and grey clothing, t shirt over long sleeved t shirt, a few chains, ripped jeans. Big green eyes and ruffled blonde hair under her cap. She was five foot, or just a few inches above, and had a thin frame. How she would survive in the mosh pit was anybodies guess, but she didn't look frightened, just curious. And rather pretty, with a certain fae cut to her cheekbones and nose - although her speech was most assuredly American, and hardly refined in style.

GM "Gold does not male one great. One makes one great. And gold makes one" replied Eve, a smile to her lips that was hot and cold. "No more than the next man" she answered, meeting gaze with gaze. "She was a pretty girl, Verity. Turned the head of many men, and I dare say a few women, too. I am sure she had some admirers, and we had the odd case of sexual harrassment. Men will be men, as I am sure you are aware, and most doubly so in a hot house like the Iron Works, which remains the domain of men" she said, stiffly. "Friends though, surely. She was well liked enough. I would not stretch to popular but she rubbed few up the wrong way, and plenty the right. And as for her work, she was good. I would not stretch to exemplary, but I had little cause to complain. Worked hard, that I would say assuredly".

GM "A death, in Bedlam?" sighed Ms Eve, looking away. "Who would have thought it?" she whispered, cynical and sour. "This city is putrid, is it not?" She stood up and gazed around her antique bedroom in her antique house. "Putrid and vile. The worst I have seen in se...in a long time" she muttered, bitter. "Its why I surround myself with beautiful things from the past. To remind me that man is capable of some elegance despite the blackness...and light...in the heart" she explained. "You know what they call me? Antique twist. I like it. I am antique. And twisted" she said through suitably twisted lips. She turned to Lady Horus one more. "If it happened in the Iron Works I suppose I am woven into this tale, am I not? And presumably as suspect, too. So be it, then, such is the nature of my life" she said, firmly. And now, she put the derringer away. "I don't directly involve myself with the Iron Works. At least, I don't actually go there. I was in fact playing cards last night. Rather late, too. I possibly had too much gin" she said. "I don't like the Iron Works, but I do run it. Through people like Verity, and Mr Todd, its cheif engineer. That greasy fat Mrs Cartwell, the foreman..or forelady, I am not sure of the modren language on the matter, it changes every year and I can't keep up" she said, waving a languid arm.

OOC for this

GM For one night only....Broken Wishbone... Headed by the presumably lunatic singer Marcus Skulll (yes, three "l"s...for art), Broken Wishbone were an upcoming metal band with a heavy, heavy clean beat. Staccato riffs and tight drumming gave them a crisp, bullet like vibe. A heavy a talented bass line gave them an unusually powerful melody. TIme signature slips gave them a unique twist. And Marcus Skull had a way with words that spun frustration and optimisim together into a rather nice soup. And they were playing at some rather dingy club called the Neat Beat. It wasn't a great name, but it had a certain anarchic vibe in contrast to its name. Alcohol free, drugs free, it was both clean but rebellious. It was sold out, and had sold out quickly, but Mr. Alexander LLoyd had got a ticket....

GM And so... In the centre of Liberty City Park, at a high vantage point, there was a new statue. Ten feet tall, deep in repose, and quite immobile, said Statue did not respond to the people walking past, taking pictures and sitting on it. It did not even repond to the AEGIS agents who took samples and monitored for every possible scientific parameter. It did not respond, either, to the drunkards who, full of bladder, thought it most prudent to relieve themselves at its feet. If they new the truth, they would surely have held on just a bit longer. No longer a threat, Block Head stood silently, absorbing the sights and sounds, and slowly thinking. Ever so slowly... ...thinking. ~ Fin ~

GM "I have no interest in hurting anybody!" replied Block Head confidently. Of course no interest in hurting anybody was not the same as interested in not hurting anybody. That part hung in the air unsaid. "Now is time for observation, reflection, contemplation! Yes, I see now that one must learn before one proceeds, else, how can one now how to proceed? One might walk in circles, or run in straight lines, or anything inbetween" he said, body still, all five mouths speaking in unison - a sign, it seemed, of clarity of thought, of truth of words. "I shall plant myself in the middle of Freedom City, as a statue! And look, and listen!" he concluded, quite determined in his course.

In.

GM "You bet!" Rev gave her characteristic snap of the fingers, ending with a thumbs up sign - and a small pilot light burning from the tip of her thumb. "Its all going to hell anyway, may as well throw ourselves in to the very depths!" she concluded. Sure, she was scared, but she was excited too. This was proper hero stuff! Quite how to do it, well, that was another matter. She deeply wished to know where SFX was. She was the smart one. Rev was the...well. Rev was the Rev one. "Where we going?" she asked. Getting ready to take to the skies...

GM This time, the shotgun swept away, coming up to rest on Steve's shoulder and away from its previous targets. "Fair enougfh then. Maybe you ain't one of them alienators shut up" he muttered, putting a grubby finger in a grubby ear. "They come here, they get a barrel full of ol' beautiful, yer can be shure of that" he added, firmly. "They call me crazy, but I tell ya one thing for shure - I look out for the people o' the streets" he said, firmly. Despite every flaw and misfortune he endured, he shone with some nobility for a moment. "Whatcher goin' to do? Yer can sleep here. Ill even give yer a can of beans. Courtesy of Shotgun Steve" he added generously.

No effect then!