Supercape

Synth (as Knuckles) "Good advise" replied Synth intently; clearly Cynthia had more experience of the brutal world they were in that he did. Although given he had none, that was not hard. But credit to her, she seemed to know the grime and the knocks of the landscape. In which case. He downed a drink. He downed another. "More....More....MORE!" he demanded, drinking as much as he could, possibly even enough to cause intoxication of a synthetic organism. If it happened, so be it. He was not actually sure what such high quantities of alcohol would do to his body. He didn't drink a lot, and had not noticed any effect when he had. But tonight, the facade demanded a very great deal of alcohol indeed. As he quaffed, he stumbled, he slurred. "zzzzMORE!" he demanded, slumped over the bar. "Im hear to ZzzzELEBRATE! I am zzzzuuuh GREATESHT!" he said, pouring a drink from height into his mouth. And then, he fell backwards, out cold. Or so it seemed. Instead, Synthetic brain started taking over synthetic body. Lowering pulse, lowering blood pressure, slowing breathing. In all manner of appearances, he looked out cold. Eyes closed, but ears and nose quite alert.

Synth (as Knuckles) He became serious a moment. "I'm here because..." he looked around to check he was not being overheard. At least not obviously. "Because this is a filthy deal. Look, if people want to bash each others brains out, well, so be it. Stupid, if you ask me" he explained, loking down at his own Knuckles. He could almost smell the blood on them. "But this gig, it reeks of money. Bad money. And people looking for something, or somebody, they can use. I don't have any proof yet, but I've seen plenty to think the whole thing is rigged. Something funny in the drinks. Too much money. People watching the matches with eagle eyes, without cheering" he explained. "What, you think this doesn't feel off? somehow? nothing strange? tell me its all part of the scene, nothing normal, and I'll believe you. But I'm willing to bet you have seen or heard something that didn't feel right" he finished.

Synth (as Knuckles) "The first, well how about that!" said Knuckles, raising his glass and spilling a fair bit over his somewhat soiled coothes, fill of sweat and drunk, And the last? "Nobody can beat me! I am the greatest!" He was sure he had heard that somewhere on TV. He didn't watch a lot of TV. But when he did, he tried to make sure it was the classics, or something like that. When the last call came, he declined a further drink. Instead, he sidled over to Cynthia, acting more drunk than he was. "What's your story? You pack the meanest punch. Fast, strong. Gave me a run for my money, that's the truth. But here you are, not drowning your sorrows in free beer, and not scuttling away to nurse your ego. Just sitting around, watching the show. Not talking, not drinking" he challenged her. Not intimidating her, but, he decided, boldly.

Synth (as Knuckles) Easy come, easy go. Not for the first time, Synth questioned the philosophy of money. In any case, it seemed to loosen tongues. So he played along with it, throwing drinks left, right, and centre. And, to add to his part, he made a show of cracking his knuckles and laughing. It probably wasn't a good facade, but people believed what they wanted to believe. "And then I gave him a left hook, knocked him out cold. The other guy, well, I made sure I ripped his [loud cheer] from his [loud cheer[ and stuffed it up his [cheer] with a pair of golf balls!" he slurred. "What's with this joint anyway?" he asked everyone. "Where do your champions go? Up to the next league?"

Synth (as Knuckles) "Sure I can" answered Synth, trying to drum up enthusiasm. He had none. He felt flat, deflated. The victory felt like stinging guilt in his hands. And now, to compound the misery he had inflicted on Cynthia, she seemed to be taken somewhere else for, well, therein was the mystery, but he did not imagine it was good. "Line em up, Ill knock em down" he explained, forcing a smile. Despite "winning" he felt he had lost, something had slipped by him. But there was always another angle, and if all else failed, another day. And besides, alcohol loosened tongues. He threw the money in the air for all to catch. The notes fluttered and blossomed, filling the air. "Drinks are on me!"

Synth (as Knuckles) "I haven't got anything" replied Synth, who was actually pondering what to do with the money. He had to accept it to maintain the facade. A few extra coins would keep a roof under his head, and he could swallow that - but the bulk of it, he determined, would have to redistributed somehow. He would not accept blood money out of principle. "Wheres the bank? Do you handle that?" he commentated, although his mind was still on Gus who was proving a vexatious man even to him. He would try the patience of a saint. Perhaps the flush of adrenaline was driving him, but he found himself harbouring dark thoughts towards him. He cracked his knuckles - appropriately, for his assumed name. But it did feel the night was baring poor fruit. Perhaps it might be time to draw it too a close and see what Gus' prize was all about the next day. He glanced at Cynthia. Unless she had insight into the peculiarities of the evening. He might do well to keep his eyes on her...

Synth (as Knuckles) I trust that fool not one atom. Perhaps Gus was not a fool, but he was vexing. Synth was a calm soul, for the most part. But the flush of adrenaline he had poured through his veins in the fight, often lead to a more extreme emotional soul, at least for a time. His limbic system might be as synthetic as the rest of him, but it was still there. He took a few deep breaths. Instead, he turned his attention back to Jeb. "What's going on here? I don't believe this joint is as squeaky clean as Gus claims. For one thing, I can smell something funny in the drinks" he expalined. "I'm not letting this drop, you know. One way or another, I'm going to squeeze the truth out. Before someone gets seriously hurt..."

Synth (as Knuckles) Straight from the bottle?...But how? Unless it was not the bottle but the glass. "Well something smells off. Might even be me" he said, relaxing slightly. But not too much. Everyone should be on edge. "Gimme a glass. No, gimme two..." he asked, preparing to sniff them when handed over. "Not just the glass might be off. This racket don't smell of roses, either. Delayed mystery prizes - huh, if I wasn't such a trusting guy, I could think that meant there weren't no prizes at all. Which would mean I would have to crush some skulls and break some bones" he said, a flat out lie. Violence was no answer. "So what would happen if I made a complaint to the management. Namely, your boss?" he asked Gus.

Synth (as Knuckles) Whatever it was, Knuckles put it down. Sure, he could probably take it. But probably wasn't good enough. What was also worrying; this faux - drink was being handed around freely. What was it? Poison? "This tastes off to me" he said, voice like lead, looking at Gus. "Something funky" He peered at Gus steadily. "Cut the games, Gus. No prize, but free drinks spiced up with something. If you are looking for another fight, I can easily oblige. How about I Kick your ass so hard I knock out your teeth. then I can force feed you this through a straw until your stomach ruptures and we see what you have laced it with, huh?" "Or you can just give me my goddamn PRIZE!" he shouted, slamming the drink on the bar.

Synth (as Knuckles) "Sure, I'm a Jaeger kind of person" answered Synth. Possibly it was a code word or something. Probably not. "Better than be beer anyway" Perhaps he was tense but then, he had good reason to be. Perhaps he should relax. But then, he had good reason not to. Perhaps he should drink - although it took an awful lot for him to get drunk - but that was plain stupid. His breath was coming back, and that cold slimy feeling on his skin was starting to fade, replaced by a warm sheen of sweat feeling. He had to push the violence out and start focussing. Time enough for nightmares about the fight later. "I'll drink till i'm under the table. But I still want the prize!" he reiterated.

Synth (as Knuckles) As the adrenaline started fading, Synth felt his sweat become colder. He felt a sense of sickness at the damage he had caused Cynthia. All in a good cause...he said to himself, but the thought didn't taste good. No matter what the justification, and in retrospect the justification felt thin, he could not deny the base disgust at his violence. He felt sick. Its a good thing I feel sick...he noted. Its when I don't feel sick that I should worry.... He felt empty and drained, as the flush of adrenaline wore off. It would take a moment to catch his breath, but right now he didn't have to fake fatigue. Slightly tremulous, he half stumbled into Gus. "So whats the damn prize then...free beer?" he asked, almost contemptuously. The anger he felt at himself was easily displaced onto Gus, who was making money out of this...

GM "Grue! Grue! Me knows they are here. Me...alone....Grue! Grue!" came the rather flat, garbled and distorted words from Klikk's universal translator. All six limbs scuttled on the floor and in the air, twitching. "Is it you? Is it you?" he said, pointing at random (rather alarmed) guests. "Is it YOU?" he whipped round, pointing four arms at Barrier. Without waiting for an answer, he whipped round again and pointed his finger at the Rusted Robot, Enlightened Smirk. Quick as flash, he scuttled up to the artificial critic, seized him by his middle limbs, and started pointing and poking at him with his upper limbs. "You! It must be you! Grue! Invader! Intruder! I heard the transmission. Not all, but enough. New flesh, old metal. It said. A disguise beyond perception! I see now! Grue can disguise themselves as ROBOTS now! Admit it! Admit it!" For once, Enlightened Smirk was speechless. His left eye flickered uselessly. His crfumbling joints creaked horribly. Then, in a vexatious agitation, Klikk tried to shake Enlightened Smirk into submission. Normally such an action would be an aggressive but not injurious one. But Klikk was agitated, his Space Kinght suit was charged, and Enlightened Smirk had decided on a fragile body. Klikk pulled Enlightened Smirks right arm off to a few rather meagre sparks. And a gasp of silence hit the hall.

Synth If anything unnatural was going to happen, then it seemed Cynthia needed pressure. Or the crowd needed blood. Or both, quite probably. Synth reached into his adrenal glands and, with that uncanny ability to control every synthetic organ in his synthetic body, squeezed. In just a second the adrenaline flooded his body. A hot sweat flooded his skin. He could feel his heart racing, furiously pumping the adrenaline and the blood around his body. His muscles twitched in anticipation. And then he was off, leaping forward swinging fists wildly. He gave no thought to his defence right now, instead letting speed and power and fury fly forward. It was not graceful or pretty, but it did have a primal beauty - a bezerkir rage, or at least, near enough, Swing after swing after relentless swing at Cynthia...

Ok lets go for a show. Activating Rage to bring Strength up to 30 (And defence to +8). Should make it more interesting. Thats ten rounds of rage. Hopefully the fight wont last that long. Again, to make this more spicy, going all out attack shifting 2. That should lower defence to +6! Punches Cynthia: 1d20+12 24 Should hit (I hope!) so a DC 25 Toughness Save

Sense Motive vs Cynthia: 1d20+8 16 Looks like a miss?

Flintlock "Aye aye!" replied Captain Flintlock giving her drunken half-bow, half-courtesy, which was always flavoured as melodramatic flamboyance. "Right then lads!" she turned to address her undead crew. "Lads" in this case included three women who did not mind overmuch about the address. Everyone was a "lad" on the Black Flag. "Time to board and search. Well, if there be much to be boarding. Don't drown!" she japed with a slap of the knee. The skeleton crew might sink at worse, but drown was unlikely. "Pete, Rose, Lucy, Billy, Razor! you are with me! Don't forget your cutlass!" she said, lolling from side to side on a rigging rope and waving her hat. "Jack, keep the Black Flag at the ready. Jennie, keep the cannons ready. Spike, keep your eyes ready, Lash, keep the timber ready, and Gutboy....keep the Rum ready! Har har!" Cheers arose as the Fat zombie cook, Gaston "Gutboy" raised a hand with a manky rotten haunch of lamb in it, waving his meaty flag around and around in celebration. Despite being zombies, the Skeleton crew loved food and drink. Arguably more of the latter. Gutboy knew how to cook. But he wasn't particularly good at it. Turning from her crew to the carnage ahead, Flintlock and half her crew prepared to searchin'...

Synth (as Knuckles) "Gotta do better than that!" said Synth, cheerfully, to Cynthia. Nothing mysterious happening yet...but... but eyes open! Keeping a half-eye on the crowd, Knuckles crept forward, swinging his fists fast and hard. It would have been quite a punch to land, surely, but every swing was telegraphed and even if it would have landed, it was easy enough to side step by an experienced fighter. Perhaps it looked like Knuckles was holding back. Or at the least, was a wild swinger. Perhaps his mind was not on the fight, but the events behind the fight. Perhaps, unconsciously, he simply didn't want to fight. Knocking someone out and breaking their jaw was not on his agenda.

Ok so its probably not relevant, but move action for another notice roll (on the odd chance it is, please roll for me ) Standard action will be a straightforward attack: Attacks Cynthia: 1d20+10 11 Ill presume that misses and post accordingly!

Synth (as Knuckles) Knuckles took a few steps back, poise dropped for a moment. Synth's vision blurred a moment. Curse me for a fool! Sometimes, all his speed and strength was no match for someone who actually knew what they were doing. If it was not for his artificially resilient bone and nerves, he had little doubt that uppercut would have sunk him. It would certainly have floored most men, even seasoned fighters. As it was, with gritted teeth he forced his vision back to focus and his legs back to form. "Nice try!" he said, perhaps even blurted, at Cynthia. He could feel a little blood in his mouth. "GIve me all ya got!" he goaded, fists raised. I'm not going to let her pull that one again, anyway! This time he kept his fists up, and his head weaving, waiting for her next attack. He scanned the audience. Was anyone watching? Well, lots of people were watching, baying, intent. But was anyone watching with a different flavour?

Toughness vs Cynthias Crit: 1d20+10 26 Well that shrugs that off. So for the next round Synth is going to ready a block, and as a move action see if she can notice anything in the audience namely anyone looking like they are trying to influence the fight or scrutnising in a suspicious way. That may be a tough call and a wasted action but throwing it into the mix: Noticing the crowd: 1d20+16 18 is unlikely to cut it. I guess that readied block is going to kick in so I will roll: Blocks Cynthia: 1d20+10 14 unlikely to work, so maybe gets punched again!

Barrier, overnight, noted that there was a distant small instillation on the other side of the vent, just into the "extreme cold" zone of the planet. He spied a few of the robots traversing to and from there. It is about 1 mile out. One can assume that if Barrier points this out (which is likely), Paradigm with supervision can see it with super vision. It is well concealed and small, but looks like the "prison / cell" type building the Tinker referred too (and is presumably holding Munn). As for the Wis DC check You are getting the feeling that the gestalt experience is emotional - i.e. that everyone is more emotional, or having their emotions amplified somehow. If you want to, you may wish to roleplay this yourselves, but it is not necessary - the effect is a subtle one on the whole "populace" - a group effect more than an individual. Thevshi if you want to do anything particular overnight thats fine by me, but short of admiring the music or scouting the place with Barrier, not much will happen (of course you might make stuff happen! )

Also could you both throw me a WIS DC 15 Roll for this day. Barriers nocturnal activities; an INT DC 15 Roll please.

Synth (as Knuckles) "Well, here goes nothing..." In the ring, Knuckles moved like a silent, oiled snake, feet sliding across the canvas with perfect balance. He held his hands up in a basic posture. He didn't really know how to fight, and he didn't really want to learn. But eyes. Yes, his eyes could study. His nose could smell. The smell of sweat, the smell of blood, but any other smell? And then, Cynthia. He could name a few dozen pressure points. He knew the winding tracts of nerves, the fragile angles of bones, the flow of blood vessels. With rigid fingers, any could be stabbed. That at least he knew - a macabre side effect of knowing anatomy, a knowledge meant to heal could be used to harm. But most importantly, he studied how Cynthia moved, how the muscles and nerves acted. What was going on here? Was there to be any clue in how Cynthia fought? With that regard, he was going to let her take the first swing...

Hmmm. Possibly. Not on him. He is wearing a leather jacket normally but I imagine that has come off and its a tank top. I would guess probably a belt buckle but thats probably it? I would throw an initiative but as Synth is actually aiming to find out whats going on, he will delay until Cynthia throws the first swing in any case, so its academic. Also if you feel Cynthia is skilled enough, happy to throw in an impomptru complication of Synth not knowing how to fight and getting tricked into a critical hit straight out the bat (at your GM judgement(

GM The Night Opera never really stopped, but overnight it subdued, with long drawn out beautiful and esoteric strings and chords that was relaxing with a hint of odd. Act two started the next day. The morning was abuzz in the reception hall. Various critics and dignitaries discussing the piece. "I is being of beauty with piece much love" "Mmmmwaaah....I do love septuplets! Why the third interlude was the most innovative use of polymeters I have ever heard!" "The make up is fantastic, darling!" "It only demonstrates the slow decline of the artist known as Lexa. She will never reach the heights of 'Fluid Ethics in the Limbic Realm', sadly..." "I hear it has already reached 98% on Decomposing Flora meta-critics!" and "The Iambic Juxtaposition only serves to enhance our appreciation of the Gestalt Zeitgiest of quasi-existential anxiety in the face of neomodern nihilism!" The latter was spoken by the artificial sentience Enlightened Smirk, one of the most famous art critics in the known galaxy. A ferocious silicon wit, he chose (for artistic reasons) to house himself in a decrepit rusting robot frame with regal purple costume. He walked slowly and had one ancient eye on the blink. "Entropy, my dear!" he would say with an apparently enlightened smirk. Sphere was feeling less serene as it approached Barrier and Paradigm. "I apologise for bringing you yet more consternation. The Star Knight, Kit Klikk, appears to be in a state of extreme stress...." it said, adopting a wobbly yellow colour on its surface. And Sphere was not wrong. The Star Knight was pacing up and down, clicking uninintelligibly, and even grabbing a few guests, staring at them intently, A few of the Tinker;s robots had started approaching, mindful of possible violence. "Whats grabbed him? Had two many Voxxian Volvanoes?" said Red Spear, hand on hip, silently coming up to the two Praetorians. In her hand was a Voxxian Volvano, a glowing red liquor full of stimulants that boasted an unparalleled ability to both cause drunkedness and cure hangovers in one.