Supercape

Flintlock pulled the knife away, unconsciously. Old men could be a threat, but not this one, she felt. A spark of shame hit her. Instead, she tucked it away, and stood up. "I apologise, old man. I had a shadow of suspicion blacken me. The night is full of peering eyes and silent ears. And my friend here, Mr. Jeff, had tales to tell. It seems that many would like my friend to keep silent, and his tales be neither spoken nor heard. Why, I almost though the Squirrels were listening in on us..." "Maybe they are..." she said, giving a suspicious look to said animal. "Or maybe I have drunk too much. Or too little. Or both..." she finished. She peered into the darkness, examining the man. Men changed with the years, but still... "I have made introduction to my friend, and you seem to know me. But tell me, in this dim moonlight, I cannot recognise you, good sir. Pray tell, introduce yourself!"

"The night has ears and eyes, I think, Mr Jeff" said Flintlock. She reached under her skirt and pulled out her knife. It was not a long knife, but it was long enough to be seen. Truth was, she could summon up something horrible to rend anyone in twain in the blink of an eye. But the point was, it would be horrible. And such things were not done lightly. If a nasty look and a knife would do the job, then so be it. She didn't actually want to stab anyone. Its just they looked intimidating. "Good evening to ye, Sir!" she doffed her cap and gave a friendly smile and penetrating glare at the man walking towards her. She studied his reaction. And next up, she would walk to that man lying behind the bush and give him a nudge with her boot. She drew the line at interrogation of squirrels at knife point, however. She was a bit loopy, but that would be quite mad.

GM The Gas Man was long, but Jack Longwheel was fat. By the time the Gas Man hauled him into his armoured van, he was huffing and puffing. "Its alright folks. Just had too much to drink, thats all..." he explained to a few concerned onlookers on the street. "I'm taking him back home to nurse a hangover..." he smiled. He was not particularly persuasive, but he was tall and strong, wearing big boots, and had a gritty square jaw. After a misfire, he started up the van and drove off. It was still easy enough, especially in Freedom Cities traffic, to keep up from the rooftops. About half an hour of wading through traffic later... Greenbank The railways and buildings were rusted and crumbling. Hobos drank and slowly died. Rats had a splendid time. Real estate was cheap. And an abandoned depot, still standing, just, was the destination of the Gas Man. Two badly disguised "Hobos" stood outside. Too clean. Carrying guns. Well nourished. Not drunk. And nodding respectfully at the Gas Man as he drove his van into the decaying building. It had, in the past, apparently been "Purveyor of finest tonic water" owned by "Mr Joseph Fiddlehammer and Sons". If one understood the barely legible, crumbling, faded once-proud sign above the equally zombified building.

So thats 25 on the shadowing roll. However, I will impose a -5 penalty for all the time taken to dart around and change; you will have to rush to catch up. Notice check for being stalked: 1d20+8 17 He does not notice!

Notice roll ? Chattering vexations: 1d20+13 32 Notice roll.

Nothing Illegal. That he confesses, or knows about! Plastic was some new found invention. She preferred wood, the smell, the organic feel. But plastic was the modern word. Useful, practical, and even beautiful sometimes. But why would someone steal plastic? It was hardly valuable. Like Jeff said, a mystery! The military was another matter. A few police, a few security guards, a fence. She could deal with that. She might even deal with the military. But starting a war was different to irking a few policeman. The chittering sound vexed her. She was not paranoid by nature, but Jeff's nerves were infectious. "I appreciate the wisdom, Mr Jeff" she said. "But the thief must be caught, if the seas are to be kept safe. My only other inspiration is the perilous course of setting bait. Loding my ship full of plastic and hoping someone comes sniffing..." Or, she hated the thought. "...or seeing just who might be interested in your words, and who comes looking..." And maybe more than looking.

GM At the Royal Buck Pool Sveta lay on her back, dark olive skin and luxury red bikini. Martini in hand. Sunglasses on eyes. Everybody made sure they were very attentive to appearing not be paying attention. This was a superhero. you could almost taste the swirling egos and every attendant emotion. "You two had a history" she said, more of a statement than a question, full of confidence she was right. "Don't tell if you don't want to speak. To be honest, their are bigger fish to fry. Plenty of fish to fry". She sat up, Martini still level. She had knocked back a fair bit, too. And she seemed as level as her Martini. "This conference, I have heard whispers and insinuations. Gossip and rumour. Half of it might be lies. The other half might be honest mistakes. But still..." A trace, a fleck, of concern, as she looked away. "World electronic banking. Theory, of course. But attractive to many. We are half way there anyway. But say, if somebody does pull if off here. Say they managed to insert a virus, or rewrite the code. I'm not a computer expert. But say someone used that power for themselves, or some ideology. A lot of wealth could swim the wrong way...." she whispered. "I'm Russian. You get paranoid with that. I don't like to see wealth swim to the rich and away from the poor. Now, you having more wealth than I can dream of...you tell me what you think of that?"

"Damn the fates. They are cruel buffoons" answered Flintlock. She pondered the stars. "Treasures, gone in the blink of an eye. Quite a feat, even this day of marvels and wonders" she commented. She knew well enough of the superheroes and villains of today. Some who had been around for centuries. The modern day, she had concluded, was just like the pasy. It was just there was more of it. "Well, methinks time to take a look at that ship of yours. Might take a bit of skullduggery, but all for a good cause. But before I go off snooping and a-sneaking, tell me, what was the cargo? Anything important?. Anything that was not, quite, legal...?" she asked pointedly. It might be farmyard agricultural tools. It might be leather hats. In which case, this was probably random. Equally, it might be drugs, weapons, or even slaves. She would take a dim view of all three, but slavery would press her anger in a most vexing manner.

"Its possible, chin up! If I can get you there by any means natural or unnatural, then Ill get you there. Just send me an invite to the party afterwards. And make sure there is rum" she said, shaking Jeff's hand. "Ill wager you know Singapore better than me, so lead on..." She gave a signal to her crew to not follow and go back to the ship. A pirate ship in Singapore might be landing in hot water, even if it was by the rowing boat they hit land. "My crew. Backstabbing lazy thieves" she said to Jeff, waving them on. "Keep her out of port. Run away from any trouble" she explained to them. Hopefully handsome Jack could keep the Black Flag afloat. It was the fastest thing on the waves. But then, their were those damn sky-planes. Didn't want them bombing her ship. "Lead on sir, lead on!" she said to Jeff.

"Curses eh? Poxes and blight, and a missed wedding night! Still, at least you are here to tell the tale?" Something old, tasting of Singapore, hit her. Tales of magical realms and spirits. Still, for all the occult mysteries of the world, 'twas plenty mundane in the world that had the bones of cruelty and mischief. "I can get you home" she half-lied. The man might not like a trip in the Black Flag, quick as she might be. "I have a ship and a crew, and would be heading back to America, if that would suit you. Get you back to your bride. But, can't set sail for the other side of the world when there is a Kraken at port. But I'' swear this; I'll get you home soon as I am able, free, fast, and, if so needed, ignoring all the red tape and vexatious legalities, hmmm?" The man was about to be married, not one to seduce. "And I have a mind to sort this matter out, myself. Also, if be needed, ignoring red tape and vexatious legalities. Can't be paralysed by stuffy men pushing pens when there is piracy afoot..."

Flintlock sauntered over to the bar. She knew how to handle sailors. A little bit of flesh, not to much. A twinkle in the eye, mouth held at the right angle. It had ended in many nights of drunken passion over the years. Modern times, though...who could tell? "Which one of you strapping men care to share his woes to a friendly ear?" she said, brazenly sitting by them, and leaning back in a seductive, friendly manner. "Yer captain over their, full of melancholy, but holds his tongue. Wise to, seeing as a loose one would get him fired. But I'm in a rum pickle, and would hear your tales. Missing cargo, piracy, sea beasts, what have you, whatever. Don't want to lose my ship or my crew to the same fortune" she said, leaning forward and pressing the men for answer.

Flintlock nodded enthusiastically. She wished she had the money to buy everyone a round of drinks. But, truth be told, she doubted they took gold doubloons here. "Damn the suits. Probably never set foot in a ship. Probably nearest they get to the sea is standing knee high on a beach on a still day, in some holiday resort. Drinking a cocktail with an olive" she said, spitting on the floor. "Well, they ain't worth spit to me. I won't be risking ma life for them. Huh!" she said, laced with anger and contempt. "Look here, I appreciate ye candour. I know ya jobs on the line. But I would mightily appreciate it if you could tell me how I could find out what the hells been going on!" she asked, pleadingly.

GM For a moment, the Gas Man scratched his grey stubble and considered. Not too long. Jack was fat. "I don't surely know" he said, honestly. "Thing, is I don't think they surely know either. Or, leastways, can't quite believe their eyes". He shook his head. "You know, they are a few cans short of a six pack, I'll tell you that, for free honey" he said, almost laughing. He hefted Jack again, and, in a show of good faith, holstered his gun. "Well, I can't officially say anything 'bout nuthin. But a deal's a deal. So, I might just say something like Radioactive. Zombie. Sewers. Which wouldn't be saying nuthin about anythin', if ya get my drift" He laughed properly. "Yeah, sounds crazy. But that might be what certain people have been saying, least ways, the team that certain people might have sent after a certain thing" he said, almost confusing himself. "And yeah, you can best believe that certain people didn't believe a goddamn word of what other people said". He scratched his stubble again. "I'm not sure that made a whole lotta sense. What I might hypotheticals be saying, is the team they sent after the anomaly. Only one came back. In hospital now, gabbling about some zombie in the sewers that caused all the strange readings....Guess you might wanta call Freedom City Sewer Maintenance..." Feeling the strain of Jack, He used both arms to heft him again. "I'm off ta find Mr Gabbymouth a bed for the weekend. Deals a deal" he said, resolute. "If you ever need Gassin' ya know who ta call..." he said, giving a salute. "I may have dropped something..." he finished, walking off. Indeed he had. A printed business card. For all your hardcore bounty hunting and security needs Whatever the job You got the cash I got the gas Call GAS - MAN 0770770770

GM The Gas Man gave a laugh. It was a slightly, every so slightly, nervous laugh. He didn't like fighting superheroes, especially since he got whupped recently by Bonfire. "Get yourself a gas mask next time, honey" he muttered. He hefted Jack over his shoulder, and kept his gun out. "And eff why eye, I don't much care if the people I work for are smart or dumb. A jobs a job. Pays better than the Marines, I can tell ya" he said, confidently. He started walking down the alley, leaving Echo behind, and Jack snoozing on his shoulder. He was, for all his goon like persona, not a complete fool. His gun saw out and he was alert for any sudden tricks. That said, his victory in the tug of war had notched up his confidence a little. "I got plenty more grenades I can accidentally drop. Do yourself a favour, and leave this one to me. I'll do you a deal. You let me take jabber mouth for a weekend of rest, maybe I'll forget client confidentiality. Maybe I might just accidentally let something slip out when you ask me a question. Deal?" Not a complete fool. And one who clearly liked to bargain.

Yep, you are merely exhausted!

Tug o War with Echo: 1d20+3 21 conversely good rolls from Gas Man. If its ok, lets go with the second fatigue check DC 15 Fort at this juncture for drama, but go ahead and post the tug of war!

Pitch pondered for a moment, but the truth was the fire in her blood and her sense of urgency would not allow the matter to be mulled over for long. An itching frustration was her disease, and she was burning with it. "To the cave. For me, at least" she said, holding the stone for inspection. "Its pulling me there. Perhaps it is malign, perhaps not. But whatever road, whatever fate, I am going there. I cannot turn from this. I would always wonder what was down the hole. As Alice would say". She tucked the stone away. "But this one, you better sit out. Keep watch. Play cards. Have a smoke. Whatever your fancy. Just be careful. Don't go down the cave unless you have to..."

"Maybe he did play smart and just drink coffee" said the Gas Man, keeping his gun levelled on the masked woman. "But maybe not. It don't actually bother me, muchwise. I get paid to make sure he doesn't open his mouth. That means letting him sleep off the next few days. Maybe he has learned his lesson" He almost smiled. "Again, don't matter to me. I get paid if he is smart, I get paid if he is dumb. And anyways..." He grabbed Jack by the Collar. The Gas Man looked in good shape, enough to carry Jack. "...got the reputation to think of, honey". He was not without caution, still wary of a masked woman with super powers.

Sense Motive vs Bluff: 1d20+8 23 Unfortunately, a good roll! Gas Man will grab Jack by the collar. We can go to combat if you wish, although note Poison Fatigue is hitting soon. If you wish to grab Jack, lets make it opposed strength rolls. Of course, you may wish to try something else non-combat! (or just roll with it!)

Flintlock ordered a round of Rum, to the eager lips of Lucy, Pete, and Rezno. For zombies, they still retained the ability to get drunk, and, much to everyone's regret, have hangovers. They spent a moment quaffing drink, and casting eyes around the place. It was hardly the den of inequity that it had been a hundred years ago. But still, anywhere that served alcohol could, on occasion, become rowdy - although rarely dangerous. Flintlock made her way to the bar, leaving her undead crew in the safe hands of alcohol. Finding a suitable victim for gossip, a group of younger sailors, she brazenly invited herself to sit with them. Attending to her accent, lest its antiquated intonations seem too quaint, she threw down her opening gambit. "Good day to you, Gentlemen. Pardon me for me tongue" she said, giving a saucy wink, "but I heard tongues wagging about piracy and vanishing cargo. Pray, have you heard? you can't be too careful these days!" she said, pleasant and twinkling.

You may want to roll intimidate / bluff / diplomacy depending on what your actions are! (e.g. threatening, reasoning, pretending you have shaken off the gas / are able to summon the seven curses of Clee-Shay, etc...)

GM The Gas Man paused to consider for one moment. On the one hand, I don't wanna tussle with a cape. On the other hand, I wanna get paid, and this gal looks like she got hit by the gas... Slowly, he drew out a large automatic pistol. Very serviceable. A little worn. Like it had seen action. He looked like he enjoyed the fact it was big. "Listen, chick" he started, a slight southern drawl to his deep voice. "No need to get ants in ya pants about this one. Mr Sleepyhead over there, he just might be getting in the way of people who don't want anything in their way. He just needs to sleep for a day or two, keep his big goddamn mouth shut for a while. Nice and easy..." he explained. "For his own good, the ways I see it. He got taken to da cleaners last year for opening his big mouth. This way, he gets to rest his eyes, keep his house and savings, and everybody happy, ya see?" he said, rather cautiously. For all his rather crude diplomacy, the gun was still out. Not quite pointed at her, but still out.

"Singapore?" asked Captain Flintlock. "Aye Singapore!" answered the Skeleton Crew, as "thin" Lucy struck up a ditty on her beaten fiddle. The undead started singing and dancing and jumping from foot to foot. "Oh, the girls are the sweetest! The food is the meatest! The sun is sunniest The rum is the rummiest Singapore, my heart belongs to you, Singapore, you tear my heart in two...." "Oh...." Several verses of progressively ill remembered song, degenerating into a mish mash of various languages and laughter, the crew had decreed. Singapore it was. "Set sail, and keep a sharp look out!" said Flintlock. The Black Flag looked like a pirate ship, but the rotting skeletons of the crew did not always need to. With a blur and slight smell of saline, they had changed into modern day sailors, dressed in appropriate (perhaps slightly odd) garb. Flintlock, for once, decided to change too, but being of mortal fibre, needed to do the old fashioned way. She descended to her quarters, and, in a few minutes, came out dressed like a fine European lady, with sunhat, skirt, and handbag. UP her skirt she had of course secreted a knife. A lady could not be too careful in Singapore. She was not, of course, a lady. But the principle applied. Cutting through the swell of waves with an unnatural speed, the Black Flag proceeded to the Port of Singapore. The rowing boat was made ready, to make sure. "Handsome" Jack, the first mate, would keep command of the Black Flag. One-Eyed Pete, Thin Lucy and Razor Renzo would accompany her. Minus swords of course. Modern day Singapore did not look kindly on the open carrying of the cutlass, mores the pity.

"Ah yes, Pirates, foul rapscalliions. Hang the lot of them, say I. So I do!" said Flintlock, looking innocent and whistling. She doubted the man had more to say. It was possible he was just drunk, but when it came to the bone, this was something to attend to. Whether it was deep one cultists, or modern day pirates, this was something the Black Flag and Cap'n Flintlock would be sailing too. "Thankye for ye tale, sir!" she said, giving a little bow with a little wobble. She set her hat on straight and straightened her skirt. "Time to set sail, dry the powder, and plough the waves!" she declared, loudly, with a little laugh and a little dance. But first, She wobbled over to the Bartender. "A drink for me, and a drink for me mate!" she requested, thumbing the old man. "And tell me if he is a lunatic, a drunkard, a sage, or all three!" she winked.

"Aye, I can believe it, sir" said Flintlock, the edges of her intoxication receding as she started to focus. "Many a people live under the sea, some small, some big, some malign. Most malign, if I tell me own heart honestly" "But what would they want with todays cargo?" she asked, insisting now. "Gold? Rum? Burning oils?" The concept of petrol was a quaint one to Flintlock. She understood it well enough, but her ship ran on ethereal winds, and the strange lands and shores she visited used exotic powers rather than fossil fuels. Unless one counted powdered faerie as a fossil fuel. Malacca though, aye she remembered Mallaca. Dinner with Captain Nemo under a starry night. A duel with Captain Huffington-Blythe of the English Navy under a hot Malaysian Sun, and the aged Patriach Afifi Quah, head of his mighty merchant house, demanding her head for piracy and theft. She rubbed the scar on her shoulder remembering that close shave. "Perhaps we do not know, but tis mystery enough for me to set sail to find out! How come you by this tale?"