Supercape

Carmen could not help laughing. "Okay doc, you got me!" Her life had got so tangled up, she had stopped thinking like a human. Stopped trying to be normal. Well, if anything was going to keep her sane, it was normality. If she acted like a human, then she would stay one. "Truth is"..she half lied..."I never did like hospitals. Or even doctors. Not cause they ain't good people. It's just, well, you grow up with a bum leg and spinal damage, you get prodded 'n poked and scanned enough when you growin' up, see? Even the smell of the place...well, particularly the smell...brings back the kinda memories and the kinda feelings that don't feel so great, huh?" "But I can't be slave to those feelings. Can't be a slave to the past. So prod n poke and do what you must" she said, smiling at him. A though struck her. "Hold on...two lycra fetishes? Can't say I like lycra much, least not usually. Who was the other fella?"

This is far out man! Like, waaaay far out.... Even the Radical was lost for words. Sam felt a tickling in the Psycho-reactive Suit, and felt a crawling sensation in her mind. Sooner we get this wrapped up, the better. This place is eating up my nerves... "Sounds like we all want to find the car then" she replied to the Doctor. "Although it sounds pretty freaky, to be honest" she added, pressing her fingers to her temple and frowning. Damn, I'm sounding like him... But perhaps that was not so surprising. It felt like the walls of the universe where bulging inwards slightly, a feeling of pressure, of weight, of gravity. Surprising, no. Concerning, yes. She made a small shake of her head, concentrating once again. Like a moth to a flame, she touched the cone, not entirely sure why. Was she pushing, or was the cone pulling. And with the touch, she sent her mind back, the hours, the days....how had it got here? what was its story? when? why? what? And who?

GM "The Fens, man...the Fens. Oh God it hurts..." he grimaced, clutching his leg. The dressings were already red, and he could barely stand. The King of Suits was right, Carl was dead weight. Was the assassin aiming for the King of suits? Or did he want to burden him? "You mean the job on you? Seemed we both got shafted on that one, huh?" he groaned. "I was just selling, dealing, for Cole. Then some bozo of his, you know, high up guy...kinda guy not just muscle ya know? Anyway, he tells me about a job. Tells me what to do, when to do it, even where to run for if the heat turns up. Stupid me, didn't ask no questions. It was all a set up..." he shook his head. "This bozo of his, ya know, the suit and tie guy. Not a Fens guy. Him got me at Deadshots...ya know? the bar?" Pretty much everybody knew Deadshots. Gangsters paradise in the Fens. Except it wasn't much of a paradise, more a crumbling liquor dive. It had been shut down and reopened more times than anyone could remember. The locals actually kinda liked Deadshots. It was run by some ex-marine guy, tough as nails who didn't like blood on his floorboards.

HP for Daphne for general failure and long fingers. PUtting her at 1 Hero Point.

GM "Sure, doll" smiled Swish, gazing into Daphne's eyes. "Say you sure are a swell gal. I could eat you up and come back for seco....hey what are you doing?" For all his swagger and charm, it was not all a veneer. Swish may have been a thrill seeking, vapid man. But he was good at it. His eyes were like an eagles, and he had cheated, picked pockets, and palmed cards all his life. Even long fingers couldn't outsmart him at his own game. In a flash he pulled out her hand. "So, thats your game is it, doll? I thought you was too good to be to true! Don't try and beat me at my own game, honey! I'm the best at what I d...holy aces! What's with the hand!" So swift and his eyes and reflexes been that he had caughth side of Daphne's Elongated fingers...and his eyebrows almost catapaulted off his forehead into the ceiling with surprise.

"Ze march of time makes all things better? Maybe, maybe. I am old, and every day ze future seems slightly dimmer, ze past seems slightly brighter. But that is an old man speaking. If I was young, today would be the day of sun! enlightenment, liberty!" he spoke proudly. "Ze future you paint, golden is it not? Oui, this is ze future we dream of. And yet, your dream is, how shall I say, sour? For you, it is a sadness, a dream that cannot be clasped? It shines a light on you, and casts a shadow...ahhhh...tsk..." he shook his head. "Madame, tell me. What made you paint this picture, on this day? Have you ever dreamed so? Or has some pale light guided you to this vision? Non! Not just a vision, but a feeling!" he asked, his voice dropping to almost imperceptible levels. Still, he did not make eye contact with the woman, he just stared at the painting with her, a bend in his spine, curling up to make himself older and unintimidating.

That s0ounds like a sleight of hand roll! So its DC 20 to actually pilfer the object. Then, the roll is opposed by Swish notice to see if he actually notices you pilfering it. I will give him a -5 penalty due to attractive feat and all round bluffery / drinking. 1d20+5=20 well then! if you pilfer it, he does not notice! Also lets give you a +2 Bonus to sleight of hand from stretchy fingers!

"Plans? I did indeed. It just happens that visitors were not part of said plans" replied Lord Lockwood, mopping his mouth after a particularly succulent sausage dribbled pleasingly between his teeth. His plans had been to slope off back to bed and sleep off the hang over for the next hour or two. "Well then, I suppose that infernal racket must be attended to. If someone is intent on bruising their knuckles so, I daresay it is a matter of some import. I wonder what drama has inspired it? I hope it is a trivial matter. It is only trivial matters that are truly important" he said, waving his fork in the air with a skewered half eaten sausage on it. He tucked his napkin into his shirt and drove the fork into his mouth. It circled and speared a grilled tomato. "Best let the chap in. Or lady" he told Blakely with a wink.

Cool consider your self stealthed up on them (I was going to give it a DC 15 to creep up on them!) COuld you throw me a DC 15 Notice roll?

GM The trees, moss, rocks and roots passed underfoot. Then, a smell hit Charlies nose - oil. Engine oil. More particularly, the same gritty diesel smell that the Gaschugger had on him, and his boots. Creeping more slowly, carefully, and quietly, Charlie caught sight of the band. Six of them, she reckoned, at least by the number of bikes. The Gaschugger she had tattood was there, and the poor Vince Cotton. He looked even more beaten up than before, and was scared witless. The Chuggers were armed, with shotguns and pistols. Old, crunchy weapons that looked mean rather than modern. Still, they would suffice in a fight. "Shut your trap, dumbass, or I'll shut it fer yer!" shouted 'her' Chugger, pointing his gun at Vince. "Not a peep, see? Just wait, nice and quiet like. We getting paid to keep you alive, but that don't mean we can't beat the hell out of ya!"

Rene Steam Mess Pitch Sunset GM Misc GM posts to initially push Pitch up to 25 Posts, or 3 PP. This should Max her out at 250 PP. Vignette Rollover (Pitch, Rene) to go to Steam. Ref point to go to Steam. Remainder Rollover Posts (Rene) and GM Posts to go, well, wherever seems most sensible! If pushed on preference: Steam, Mess, Sunset.

Well there is only one target left...so...just throwing some bolts of metal at it, I guess. non shifted attack. 1d20+10=24 I guess thats a hit, so a DC 25 Toughness save.

GM "Oui! Ze Bartender! Eyes of open faces, Ears of loose tongues!" "Ettendant! Bartender! May I have un moment of your time, Merci?" Rene straightened himself up. He Beret was adjusted, his glasses pushed onto his face, and his attire pulled to attention. He had the distinct sensation of being flush with alcohol. It was his experience that drinking alcohol would oft cause one to be drunk. He had not quite expected it when it was, in essence, imaginary wine. But then, he knew more than anybody that Imagination was real, and reality just an imagination. Why, who was to say that he himself and all his wonderful and extraordinary experiences were anything more than the visions and writings of some other fool? "Bartender, tell me, what brews in this bar and in this town. Besides your excellent liquor? Is there war ahead? Apprehension? Some shadow, some ill, some beast?"

Bloody Mess Talkin’ About Street Life A Channel 3 Exclusive! Onto the screen pops a man. He isn’t dressed to smart. In fact, he is dressed pretty shabbily. His neck has a tattoo, his fingers are stained with cigarette smoke. He looks older than he is, and is missing a tooth. The man is Joe Summers, a resident of the Fens. Not its smartest resident either. Nor its most eloquent. Still, Joes Summers was there. An Eyewitness Report! Says the scrolling blurb under his face. A weathered face, split by his grin. I was there man, I saw it all! This dude, like big dude, ya know? Like da ones you see down da gym? Ya know, all muscles and steroids and that whack, ya know? He comes pounding down da street like he’s just swallowed a barrel of ‘roids. Max. Yeah! Or Super-Max? I read about ‘dem once. In da daily Word. Some kinda super drug ain’t they? Well this guy, he looked like he was a barrel load of ‘dem, as well as da barrel of roids. Whatevs, man. This guy was pumped up, ya dig? Foaming at the mouth, neck out here, arms like tree trunks. Man, for a moment I thought da dude was gonna explode on us! But I tell ya, man, it was worse than dat! He comes inta da Fens, stomping this, stomping dat. Smashing up da road, smashing up da signs. Picks up a car like it was a damn twinkie, throws it clean across da street! Damn nearly took my block of, man! I tell ya, Dr Metropolis needs ta get his skinny ass down here, pronto, man. Da dude has got his work cut out for him. C’mon Man, get ta work! So, anyways, looked like da Fens was gonna get hit by an earthquake, man. This dude, all pumped up and mean, like real mean, angry, man. He was marchin my way, tossing cars left and right. Den, bam! Dis guy landed in front of him, smack down from da sky. Wearing some red costume. I couldn’t recognise him at first. I just thought. Hey that is one short-ass dude, ya know? Musta been under five feet I guess. Damn tho, he was about five feet wide. Den it clicked. Da Bloody Mess! Ya heard of him? Some kick ass Fens guy. Does some detectivin’ or somethin’ but he is hard, man. Like rock hard ya know! So he stands there for a second, ya know, like facing this dude off. Then he smacked his fists together, and guess what he says. Go on, guess! “Say hello to lefty and righty!†Dat's what he said! And he showed da dude. Ccracked his lefty fist, cracked his righty fist. “Dam right, man!†I shouted. “Give ‘im da Fens treatment!†So the Mess dude, he starts running, like a damn cannonball man, no fear. Man, I swear da Mess was enjoying himself. Smack! Like a damn steam train, into the pumped up dude. Knocked him clean down da street, smack into a truck, over there, man… The camera briefly pans over to a truck with a huge man sized dent into it. There ya go! Ya see? That’s how It is in da Fens, Man. We stick togetha, we look after our own, ya know what I’m saying? Anyway, Da Mess wasn’t finished there. No way, man. He wanted to clean up. In he goes, after da pumped up dude, smack, smack, smack! Guy didn't stand a chance. Don't know if he even got a punch back. Da Mess didn't feel it if he took one. Iron Jaw, dat guy. Anyway, it was a winnin’ combo, man, knocking this guy left, right, and up in da air. Well, ain’t no way nobodies standing up after that. Da Mess knocked this guy out cold, bam bam, ya dig? Knocked him out colder than da arctic, man. Knocked him out ten times, and once more for good measure. So den da Mess stands up, cracks his knuckles, and gave me a salute, man. Big grin on his face. Swear da dude winked at me! Man, dat dude was some hard ass mother-- We interrupt this Newflash Eye Witness Account of the events in the Fens this day! But stay with us after the Ad Break for an update on Big Willy, the Friendliest and Biggest Snake of Freedom City Zoo!

Rene DeSaens Confessions of a Sewer Cleaner. My name is Marcel. Just Marcel. No second name. Names are power, Oui? And there is enough power slipping and sliding through the world without adding more fuel to the fire. I run the sewers of Paris. You think I am joking? An old fart like me? Non! You say, you are just a sewer cleaner. Nothing more. Brighter minds and souls run the sewers. Maybe. Maybe they do. Maybe they seem to do. You ever been to Paris? No finer city in the world. Its food, its smell, its culture. It is alive, I tell you. And old. It is here that light was brought to the world, bringing it into the day. Our streets are infused with culture, life, and science. And magic. Oh yes! Magic! Why, you do not believe? Perhaps I should show you the head of Count Bonnaire, pickled in his jar but speaking still. Nobody knows what he rambles about, mind, but he tongue does not move and his eyes do not follow due to some strange marvel of science, I can assure you. It is not just the streets that course with magic. The sewers do to. A darker, older, magic. It is here that dreams go to die, and the soul with them. We do not just flush the excrement of our bodies. The sewers are the receptacle of poisoned hearts, broken promises, and repressed desires. And those are the sewers I run. Oh, I am no mighty magician. But I know enough. Enough to know that down in the sewers, there are ghouls, there are ghosts, and there are things that go bump in the night. And, on this particular day, one cold winter, the Russian Mafia. Disposing a body. The body was not dead yet, technically. The woman was middle aged, but was pretty, stylish, and voluptuous. The kind of lady any man would love to have on his arm. Of course, that arm would probably get hacked off. She “belonged†to a gangster. And she had been kissing lips and sharing words a little too flamboyantly. Now, I am a man with enough on his plate, oui? Cleaning the sewers is a full time job. And yes, sometimes I pass shores with criminals, but I leave those to the police. This, however, was another thing. Call me old fashioned, but killing a woman like that. Non! I could not stand by and see murder committed. Like a fool, I tried to stop them. Alas, my reward was a broken arm and a flick knife in my gut, a not inconsiderable gut, I might add, and that day I was glad of it. But that was not the end of it. Three hardened Mafia mobsters, armed and dangerous, was more than I could manage, and I should have known of it. Not regular street thugs, these. Hard men. And now, I was to be added to the menu. Alas! To be drowned in the very sewers I cleaned. But that day was not my final. Non! My friend, Rene DeSaens, is an artist. And more than that. Oh, everyone laughs about how he does magic tricks. Many think he is actually a true sorcerer of small power. A few, and here I include myself, know him as a man of dangerous and potent power. One of the most terrible and powerful sorcerers to walk the earth. Old of body, but with centuries of experience and wisdom. “Zut Alors! Just as I had painted it!†There he was, shuffling down the street, in the cold and rain, in his flamboyant attire. Beret, cravatte, brown and scuffed shoes. “Non! Non! Sir, Merci! Mercy!†he cried as the hoodlums pointed their guns at him. For all the good they would do. “I am but a helpless old man! My bones ache in the cold! And the rain is fierce! Forgive me! I am too old to bend my knee and plea for my life!†he stuttered. And perhaps his lies would have worked. He looked old, he looked helpless. And then, one of the hoodlums collapsed, fell to the ground like a tree. Stuck in a deep sleep. The other two looked at each other in confusion. A boot to their friends ribs did nothing. Then, the second man fell, like a log, to the ground. The air was full of his deep deep snoring. The third man started to grow afraid, and raised his gun at my Friend. “What trickery is this? Who are you, old man?†he shouted, before firing two shots. Crack! Crack! “Ouch! Ouch! I am an old man! Why do you shoot me?†muttered Rene as the two bullets sunk into his clothes. They were like gnats bites to him. A sting but nothing more. Then, the third and final man fell to the ground, asleep. “He he†chuckled Rene, before shuffling to me and undoing the binds that tied my hands, and the woman beside me. “I hope they will not remember much. Hopefully, they will remember not at all!†he smiled. His hands were old and infirm, and took some time to undo my bonds. “I do pardon Madame!†he apologised to the lady. “But I am old and slow, and if I loosen my friends bonds, I am sure he can undo yours in but a moment!†Of course, Rene could have burnt or sliced through the ropes in a moment. But, he never used his powers like that. By playing small, he had lived long. “Merci, Monsieur! Monsieur!†said the lady, collapsing into my arms and then Rene’s. Perhaps, if I had not smelled of the sewers and had a bleeding and liberal guy, or my friend Rene had been a hundred years younger, she might have played for hearts or romance. I had that feeling about her. She had it, as they say. And she used it too. But neither I nor Rene was fool enough to fall for a femme fatale. Well, perhaps I was, on another day. I doubt any woman could turn Rene’s head that way. And so it was, my friend had saved my life, and the life of another. He even took me to hospital made sure I was seen to, and thoroughly enjoyed plaguing the nurses and doctors about his seven serious complaints of his old and worn out body. Ah well, I, and one certain lady, were most grateful he was not that old, and not that worn out.

Happy Birthday, Roo!

"Sheesh" sighed Carmen. It wasn't as if Tazel was in the best of shape either. Not that she could trust the imp. He had no be bound tight, and words were his weapons. "Well, its not like I was running marathons in the first place, Doc" she said. "I guess a plaster, or piece of metal work - whatever your orthope---orthoguy, says I gotta have. If I need to wheelchair myself out of this place, then so be it...I ain't the kinda gal who can spend long in a hospital, you know what I'm saying?" "But making sure i'm not cracked up and broken in my pelvis. That sounds a good plan" she conceded with a hint of anxiety. Not that kids had really been in her game plan, but the thought of a ruptured uterus or some awful internal damage in that region was one that played on her mind. She could afford a little wait to check that out, she guessed,

GM The Prince was less than pleased. "The Devil did, indeed! A thousand curses on him! You trust him? Really? A nuclear physicist who sells his work to the highest bidder. Ha! When the world burns in nuclear fire, Morsi shall be the word on the last lips! Pfah!" He raised a hand at Amir. "You were blessed with power. I had to take it! Yes, the Doctor implanted his chips in me. I wanted to be a hero! A superhero! One that could stand up to the power of the United States of America! Understand, I wish no ill on this land, and yet, to stand tall and proud in the lands of Allah! A hero for our people!" he said, eyes glinting. "I wanted more than just the wealth, the yachts, the mansions. I wanted to be a hero!" He turned his eyes to Morsi. "You! You will pay for what you did to me! I am dying, yes. But not before I extract my revenge! Murqin!" Murqin was unsure, but started to reach for his gun...

400,000 years! That's ultra far out, man! A long long time! Baby, don't even think of going back that far! The Radical need hardly have warned Sam. She could project her mind a few decades, maybe even a century, with ease. Further than that she felt faint, stretched, empty. Maybe it would be fine, maybe not. Her courage had failed her to date. "That's a long time. Maybe some ancient pre-human civilisation?" she asked. She felt the echo of the Doctor in her head. Arctic isolation, shifts in the very nature of perception about humanity and its place in the university. These were a heady and unhealthy mix. "Do we know anything about them?" Maybe if I don't project myself fully...just...a feeling....? The tendrils of time might be strong enough where she was not. If she did not project her whole self, but just the wisps of consciousness...it would mean she would not be fully aware, but get an impression of the millenia?

"Hey, I like a Mess" grinned Bloody Mess. Harry wiped his brow. "Good...I mean great...stop the virus. No end of the world. That sounds swell. That whole apocalypse thing was really gonna put me off my dinner, you know what I mean..." he said, voice wobbling and canine gruff. "I wish you all the best in destroying a lethal plague virus thats about to destroy the world then!" he squirmed, backing out of the group. His mac was still caught in the Mess' huge fist. The Mess was only a shade over five feet. But that was both his height and his width. "Stick around, buddy!" he smiled. "We need your nose on this one!" He turned back to Bloodline. There was a caution in his approach, but a genuine willingness to help. After all, the world was at stake. Even if Vampires, and maybe Bloodline, might dine on him like the finest wine. "Me and my partner here, and the lady" he said, referring to Revenant. "We are detectives. The Bloodhound Detective Agency. We usually find crooks and thieves. but I reckon we could find a Vie-Ros too" he said, pausing over the unfamiliar word. "An' my partner here, he is real good at following a scent!"

Ok burned a HP for a slight leap of faith in terms of analysing pockets! MU now also in the computer systems of the casino (thanks to computer skill and skill mastery (Computer skill at 23 by taking 10!)

GM The Casino had plenty of cameras. It was practically stuffed with Cameras. As Mother Unit swept into the computer system, it became apparent that there were even some cameras pointed at the cameras. Flicking through the images, it was pretty obvious that anyone with access would be able to cheat their way to millions in the card games. And quite possibly, the house did. But this was not an investigation into fraud or corruption. Mr Swishes movements were analysed frame by frame from his entrance. "He is fingering his left jacket pocket. Ever since he arrived. The images are not perfect, but I can build up a conglomerate picture! Yes, a small bag of pills, tucked in his pocket. That must be them!"

GM One of the waitresses, whose name tag said "Bella", a young, fiesty redhead, spoke up. "Is he going to sink the ship? the Engines?" she asked, although everyone knew the answer. "You gotta stop him! Please!" she implored, casting her eyes around the rescued crew. Unfortunately, most of them were catering staff and the like. Temporary jobs for youngsters, attractive enough for some bucks and a few months at sea. None of them really knew their way round the bowels of the ship. None of them had been on it for long. Except one. "Him! He knows the way!" she said, pointing a semi-accusatory finger at Sammy Smooth, the middle aged, orange-tanned, slightly balding and sparkly smooth "entertainer" who sang classics to the guests. Sammy Smooth, who had been singing the same songs, drinking the same cocktails, and trying his luck with the young waitresses for years. The only true Veteran of the ship. "Me! No! No way! I ain't going down there!" said Sammy Smooth, losing his smoothness. "I gotta wife! I got kids!" he lied.

"Zut Alors! What a thing!" The painting or the words? or both? Rene took off his beret and wiped his brow. He might 'oft complain of being a helpless old man. The thing was, the latter part of the statement was true. His knees hurt after a long walk, and a long walk he had taken. The faintest gleam of sweat lay on his wrinkled brow, from exertion and the ache. He walked to Marsha's side and examined the painting. "Magnifique! I love ze colour, ze flare!" he said, waving his hand over the painting and not meeting her eyes. For now, he just stood by her, with her. "But tell me, why in all ze glory and spectacle, would you not want to be there, Madame?" he asked softly. "And if you go, then what is ze destination?"

That works for me! Now, lets go for a Notice (Olfactory) Roll. Can you smell that engine oil in Wharton Forest? Super nose to the rescue! Its a fairly obvious smell, so a DC 0 notice roll. Thats to notice it 10 feet away. For every 2 points above 0, you notice it 10 feet further away (as per core rules), so a result of 10 would mean you notice it a 100 feet away! (For reference, if you want to post, its DC 10 to notice its the same brand of oil that your customer used! as you have an acute nose!) You may also wish to roll a stealth roll for prosperities sake, if you want to sneak up on them!