Supercape

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.

Starshot Of all the goddamn luck... ...or was it luck? Starshot snatched his gun up and flicked on the power. He reached for his belt and took out the Flare Gun. There had been something lurking in these caves... Cave lurkers probably didn't need to see. Often they couldn't see. But he did, as did his crew. "Laark? Sorreen? Are you there? Where are you? Keep still..." He fired a flare to a few feet, lighting up the cavern with purple-red light through the dust. And dusty it was - he had to stifle a cough. Slowly and quietly, his rifle scanning the area, he activated his helmet, flicking it on to cover his face and pump sweet filtered oxygen into his lungs...

Synth (as Knuckles) "By design" replied Synth to the comment about limited damage. "I'm not too sure either" he continued, studying Cynthia. Sure he was faster and stronger than any man, or woman (at least, any normal man or woman). But he was no fighter. Someone skilled enough would prove a problem. And he had the feeling that Cynthia had more than just skill on her side. "But I'm not here to win, shocking as that might be. I don't even like hurting people. Even slightly. I guess everyone is free to choose what they want to do and what to think, and that includes me. Beating each other up is no way to live" he said, softly...but if some one heard, then so be it. "What I want to know is whats underneath this all. There is more to this than a bunch of guys and gals getting their kicks from fighting. There is more to this than fighting" He didn't finish the beer. "In any case, lets play this out. Too many people over their heads here, I think. Maybe even me. So stay sharp. I have a feeling the curtain is not going to be raised, but torn down..." And I am to tear it... With that he pressed his hands together and closed his eyes. A moment of focus. And then, he made his way back to the ring for the final bout...

GM "Arr! I must be more drunkererrrr than I thought!" replied Flintlock. She threw her bottle of Rum into the sea and only half regretted it. "Then we have a goodly chance of catching up with whatever it was! Huzzah!" "Huzzah Huzzah!" yelled the Skeleton Crew. "Huzzah Huzzah! Wide and far! The sails of the ship do bellow! The winds be right! The prey in sight! The Cannons smoke and bellow!" They sang together. Whilst the rhyme was awful, the jocularity was infectious and the voices quite reasonable. For pirates, anyhow. "I never was one for marryin'" remarked Flintlock to Black Sunset. "Always seeming to get in the way of things. Or things getting in the way of Marryin'. Or maybe it was both. Still, I'd be guessin there's quite a tale of love, sunken treasures, and sabres in moonlight if you care to share?" she asked Black Sunset, inquisitively with a saucy wink.

Flintlock Flintlock rose from her hammock and reached for the Rum. "Just to clear me head!" she explained. Or lied. Or both. In any case, as beautiful as the azure glistening seas had been, rolling and leaning, it had been a fruitless task for her disembodied spirit. Lolloping to the head of the Black Flag she saw the barely-there streaks of quicklings racing across the sea. She shook her head. Rum could web the mind, but - also - it was strange seas and she had seen stranger. Who knew what was out there? And then the redlight...what was that? A mystical sunset? A bloody comet? Not likely the Black Flag could catch it, anyways, swift as the vessel was. "By the Mad Arab's lamp!" she blurted, spitting out the Rum (as part of her would always lament). "What in Leng was that? Set course after it!" she signalled. "But Captain, its faster than a bolt of lightning!" complained Handsome Jack, stroking his grey rotting stubble sitting atop a grey jawbone. "Never mind its impossible! Let's do it anyway!" she insisted, grabbing the wheel of the Black Flag and turning the ship around...

Synth (as Knuckles) All things thisidered he didn't feel in bad shape. A few bruises but nothing that would slow him down. He could heal up in a moment but that would leave him weak and look suspicious, neither of which he wanted. Instead he went to the bar and ordered some beer from Jeb. "Sorry dude. Hope that didn't hurt too much. Least you don't get Cynthia. I got a funny feelin' 'bout her. Something feels off, you know? Kinda unnatural...."

I'm happy to post again but I'm thinking Exaccus and / or EP may want a shout!

The Red Rat Tactical Analysis...processing...multiple...multiple...things... Basically, SLAVE didn't know what the hell was going on. And in honestly, neither did the Red Rat. Women ripping doors off their hinges. Grimy men in trenchcoats. Women turning into Men. Well, it was the 21st Century. But one thing was converging. Dr Stoppleman had broadcast an emergency message and several of the more exotic residents of Bedlam had come a running. Or driving. Or presumably other things like floating in on mystic surfboards. In a flash, her guns were out. If the strongwoman was rushing in, then either there was too much urgency in Dr Sroppleman's peril to scout the situation, or the strongwoman was throwing caution to the wind. In either case, time to jump in. Lets hope its not a hostage and trigger finger situation "One rescue coming up!" she said, running full speed after the Strong Woman, giving the Tattered man a salute, the woman/man person a wink, and sticking her tongue out at the crazy wild bear man. "Pleased to meet you!" she finished, as her cybernetic eyes scanned through the walls of Doctor Stoppleman's office with X-Rays...

The Red Rat Decadent Capitalistic Doctrine Results In Cultural Atrophy! Commented SLAVE through the Rat's eyes as she scanned the Museum and the lamentable results of cost-cutting underfunding. Still, she didn't pay much attention to the AI in her head. If she did, she would probably try to scoop out her own brain with a blunt spoon. Whilst she was watching the Tattered Man enter, she had a feeling she was being watched herself. Perhaps this was not unusual. She was a spy. The feeling of that she was being watched was as normal to her as brushing her teeth. And perhaps the strange dreams had put her on edge. Whatever...being paranoid was her default position, and nothing odd about it. Lamentable as the condition was, it was worth remembering it had saved her life more than once. Perhaps guns weren't allowed in the museum, so she tucked her snub nosed pistols into her Jacket. A cursory search would reveal them, but it looked like the receptionist wouldn't give a cursory look unless she was poked with a cattle prod and given her own body weight in stimulant drugs by direct IV. The man she had driven here was an enigma. She couldn't size him up. He seemed to be investigating the mysterious events of the museum and on this they were of the same accord. But it was too early, for now, to assume anything, or even take a balanced estimation. So she just tailed behind him, observing him carefully.

Have done so let me know if you need any alterations to post.

So I feel a cut to day 2 would be about right now. When Olopi returns? I don't know if either PC does / can / will sleep - or meditate - or do a ritualistic yoga routine. But let me know!

Starshot So then, his crew were of the same position as he was. Perhaps with marginally different angles, but of the same position never the less. Better to make a friend than an enemy, and doubly so stuck on a world of blistering sun and rolling dunes. Laark's point about resources was well-made and reassuring. Starshot was no anthropologist, and had seen enough primitive cultures to get his head into a paranoid spin about rituals. But the point made sense to him. He relaxed his internal guard. The decision was made, and now they must commit to it. Further debate, be it external and explicit or internal and subconscious was of no value and arguably damaging. "I'm glad we are of one mind on this. So then, onward, and let us face what happens with steel and fortitude" he concluded. "But right now, I'm kicking off my boots, having a drink and a stretch. I imagine there is more walking to come..." He wished the drink was vodka. But water would do and was arguably more wise.

Synth (as Knuckles) There's more to this than meets the eye! Some invisible force seem to be at work. But what? There was no way he could see of knowing. At least right now. And besides, this was hardly the time. This was a difficult thing to gauge. Spectacle, Ethics, Deception, Emotion. And besides which, Synth was no fighter. A swing from Jeb confirmed that. A deception and a flurry, a trap to the check. Perhaps Jeb was no expert, but he was certainly more expert than Synth. That said, Synth was fast, synth was quick, and even taking a punch from Jeb was not much to worry about. Perhaps he wasn't made of Iron but it would take a lot to put him down. Next time, Knuckles was faster, taking a blisteringly quick step back. And again. And yet he couldn't quite, yet, pull himself together to fight back, despite sensing that it was blood rather than evasion that was the desire of the crowd. He checked a punch from Jeb and with a snake like lance, fingers extended, jabbed him in the solar plexus. Perhaps he should draw the fight out, but he had no wish to prolong the ugliness. Instead, with a twirl, he rotated behind Jeb and with characteristic speed put him in a choke hold, his fingers like iron, his arms like steel. There was no way to escape...a few seconds of pressure to the carotid, and Jeb was out...

Flintlock "Jack, you have the wheel, you handsome devil!" Handsome Jack gladly took the wheel of the Black Flag and kept her course true. The Skeleton Crew were an able enough lot, but Handsome Jack had, in life and now in death, been an expert seaman, well able to pilot the ship. "Red suns and skulls then. The ocean be vast, but if Sunrise is the name, I'm guessing due East. Leastways, it would be poetic!" She hopped into a hammock and closed her eyes, going quite still. Her spirit left her body, and o'er the ocean flew, unseen and ethereal. Ah! Such bountiful freedom in this form, even if it was an insidiously maddening pressure from dimensions beyond. She could feel it in her heart. Best not to dwell to long in this state, before she was lost in Leng or other unknown realms. Her astral form flew beyond speed, across the glistening oceans, searching for the Red Sunrise...

Flintlock will activate Astral Form, and I guess as its sunrise, look to the east!

Flintlock "All aboard then!" cried Captain Flintlock, striding onto her ominous ship. It was, on the one hand, wood and iron. On the other hand, it was riddled with sorcery, able to traverse weird and terrible seas from beyond. And its crew were undead. "Handsome Jack! Up the sails, loosen the ropes, Gibber the ratchets!!" "Aye Aye, Captain, whatev' that means!" smiled Handsome Jack. Even for a rotting zombie, he was particularly ugly. "Sweet Jennie! Polish the Cannons and make dry the powder!" "They are always be polished. Shut you mouth-trap-holen!" yelled the foul tempered Jennie from below in a curt Swedish accent. To her new guests, Captain Flintlock gave a bow and wave of her hat. "Welcome aboard, quicklings and queerfolk of Freedom City! Consider the Black Flag your home!" she smiled, and with a brush of her hand across the wheel, calmed the dark storms around the Black Flag. 'Twas all very well and dramatic to have them, but she didn't want her guests heaving their guts overboard - or worse, on deck.

Flintlock "By the sunken cities! 'tis getting crowded in here! Let us hope we don't run out of drink!" Or gold, come to that! Flintlock looked at the new entrant with cocked eyebrow, keeping her boots on the table and tapping her chair. Now, truth was, she could whip away her spirit through the ether and over sea and land to see what was what. But then, why use sorcery when it appeared that quicklings had been breeding on the shores of Freedom City. Nay, best to not use Sorcery unless it was needed. Although with strange pirates and stranger seas ahead, it would no doubt be needed. "Well this young man looks more like a knight than a rapscallion" she commented, eyeing Tekton's rather splendid (to her eye) armour. "As long as he don't sink in that get up, I'd be looking to press gang him into service. The knights of Freedom City are usually up for a bit of smiting the unrighteous". Sometimes Knights did the smiting a little too hard and a little too indiscriminately she noted, recalling the Spaniards in South America. Still, 'twas the 21st Century and Freedom City was a lot less raucous and unsavoury than it was. Mores the pity! She bounced to her feet and gave an extravagant and slightly drunk flourish that was half bow and half courtesy and all flair. "Captain Flintlock of the Black Flag, at your service!" she said to Pacer and Tekton.

Flintlock Flintlock put the rum down carefully and slowly lent back, putting pirate boots on the table casually. "Before we light the black powder, lets be sure we need to fire the cannons" she said, equally slowly. The small girl - well, nearly every woman was a girl to Annabelle Flint - had appeared like a bolt of lightning and was no doubt as fast as one too. She had seen a few quicklings in her time. This young girl, Pacer she said her name was?.... ....Well, looked like she had an impetuous and impulsive nature. Nothing bad about that. Leastways, as long as it was aimed in the right direction. Best not give her a musket, anyhows. "Or at least, we be firing them in the right direction" she added. "I don't think this little pixie is much harm, not intentionally anyway" she winked at the young one. "And not to us. I wouldn't throw away the offer of help. Not lightly" she said to the Druid, wondering what exactly the story of that wooden arm was. "I, for one, would prefer to catch your villain without me havin' to call up some slimy horror from Leng with too many tentacles and too many eyes. And seems to me someone that fast is going to be helpful with any catching!"

Flintlock Do you have to be an ocean anyway? Synth Fight the Power Starshot Crash on Volturnus Red Rat From Beneath You It Devours: Are you my mummy? GM The Night Flower Misc DEX Roster if this is worth an award for updating then +1 PP to Flintlock. NB: GM posts to take Red Rat and Flintlock to 25 Posts / 3 PP and Lord Steam to 1 Post / 1 PP. I dont think there is any way to use the rest, but if there is, priority is: Synth, Flintlock, Red Rat, Starshot, Steam.

So for the sake of Jevs pride, just letting him automatically punch (or kick?) Synth.

Synth (as K O'H) It was a brutal spectacle, and Synth was not enjoying it. He couldn't look. Instead, he made her way to Jeb, hustliong through the crowds. He guessed Knuckles wasn't too popular now, fighting as cleanly as possible. His skill in martial arts was limited at best. He just made use of his speed and knowledge of pressure points. Somebody skilled enough - maybe John, could take advantage of his lack of skill, but the only person he honestly judged unusual was Pax - strong and powerful. How Axel was managing to pummel her he was not sure. Maybe just lucky He reached Jeb (via some energetic pushing and shoving) and gave him a wink. "What do you reckon, then? Placed any bets? Does this place even take bets?" His eyes kept scanning for Augustus - presumably the man in charge. What role did he have to play in tonight's entertainment? Entertainment - the thought of it made Synth blanch with disgust. It was a spectacle at best, and an unpalatable spectacle at that.

Yeah sure a scene cut seems fine to me. One thing I would like to play on is Synth's fundamentally pacifist nature. So maybe take a few hits, or fight "humanely" but effectively. Which might I suppose piss the crowd off. I suspect its not really worth rolling anything below PL 6 as an opponent though. Even that would probably give him a bruise at worst.

Synth (as K O'H) "Suit's me" said Knuckles, cracking his knuckles once more. What is this really? An audition? A test? "Well ladies, see you in the pit. Or out of it. Or maybe I'll be seeing four of you, when I get me brains kicked out of me ears and my eyes go sideways harharharhar!" he laughed. It was a bit forced. He hated violence. I...can't. I should be playing the part, to stop whatever's behind this...but...I can't. Synth despised violence, particularly the brutal part. If he had to do it, well, then it would be a chokehold, a pressure point, something painless. The crowd wouldn't like it, he suspected, but there was no way he could put his fist through somebodies nose like they wanted. Not even as Kunckles O'Hagan. Well, too the breach then...

Synth (as Ko'H) Cheap beer in hand - and how the cheapness of hop was apparent to superhuman nostril - Knuckles strode over to the two women whom, he judged, looked pretty dangerous in a fight. "Hellfire and spit, looks like some bloodied noses tonight, to be sure" he started, slapping his beer on to the bar. "I been in a few scrapes, well, more than a few, so I have, but tonight I'll bet I'll be spitting out me teeth" he smiled, showing two missing teeth. "It's me first time here ladies. I ain't gonna be boastin' or trash talkin', truth is I come here to get me blood and sweat racing and hope to tell the stories to me grandchildren. Leastways, as long as some canny knucklehead don't kick me too hard in the family jewels har har!" He cracked his knuckles. "Anyways, you two look like you heading for the prize at the top, if you know what I mean. So, just please make sure you hit me somewhere without any vital organs, if you wouldn't mind. Like me head!"