Supercape

"He is an insurance agent" said Cord, shaking his head. "But, as you say, he is something else too. A living time bomb, probably. And maybe something else..." He lay down the thermal sheets and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. It wasn't too bad, they had been well equipped. "And no, my job takes me everywhere. There is no usual to my job, madam. But I have to say, freezing my ass of this far north is pretty unusual even by my standards. I can see why nobody lives here, and why nobody runs here..." he mumbled, as he tried to get some sleep. A few hours later Sleep had been fretful and not very restful, but at least it had come, and there had been time to have some food. Cord was looking progressively more haggard, cold and with a stubble growing. He was out of his comfort zone. He mechanically checked his tazer and his gun and hugged himself. "Damn I could use some hot coffee!" he whined. "But we best get going I guess?" At this time of summer it was light already - only a few hours of night. "Lead the way madam, lead the way..."

"John, you don't need to trust me. But if what you seen comes barkin' at your door, you know who to call, you hear?" she said, one step away at shouting at him. "I don't want to lose you" she said, in pure frustration. "I've lost other's, and I swore no more, y'hear!" she shouted, this time. Angry with both John and herself, and turned, walking away and kicking a trash can over in pure anger. She stormed out, horrified that she had just screwed up the interview and screwed up the life of John Perdition. She tormed back into the bar and ignored the intrigued looks. "Gimme a shot. Hell, no. Gimme a bottle" she demanded, and stormed out, a bottle of whisky in her hand. She clambered up onto her bike and looked at the alleyway where John was. Was he still there? She leaned over the bike, so nobody could see, and, with the usual nausea, vomiited out Tazel into the sidewalk. For once, she spoke to him with her mouth, "Tazel, do me a favour and stalk him. Don't let him see you. Don't hurt him, don't speak to him. Just let me know where he goes to. keep him safe, d'y hear...." she said, leaning over the motorcycle and slowly straightening up.

Ok this all looks good to me! I will let you guys to the "social" bit for a few. I suggest this moves on to locatring John Smith and the three fragments, the order is your choice. For JS, a Knowledge Civics ROll and Gather Info may be in order. EDIT: The location of the three fragments is of course totally under your control narratively! (As long as its not to wacky lung Ape-world) or, you may wish to use the original stopwatch. All your call.

So Rene does indeed have a history of fighting nercomancers and black magicians over the centuries, but his reputation is pretty blurred. This is actually a bluff or trick to see if Jingles is an oldster who would / could remember those old centuries or a new creature... 1d20+11=15 a bit weak, but hey, he may be stupid enough to fall for it anyway!

"You think you own ze Night?" said Rene, defiantly. "I have heard those words, many times, through the years. Sorcerers, Magicians, the undead. All thought they were safe in ze Night. Then, they met me!" he said back. His voice was not loud, not soft, it was simply born of two decades worth of confidence. Gone was the pretence he was simply some doddering old fool. True, his body was no longer sprightly, but behind his eyes was pure steel. He was grown in stature, somehow. "Do you not remember the stories, Jingles? Of burning houses and drowned witches? Do you not remember them through the ages? who do you think laid those black magicians to rest in Europe? who do you think it was? do you not remember the whispers of the artist?" he asked. "Or has your memory failed you? Are you not as smart as you profess?"

Carmen new in her gut, and the it in her gut knew, that the Monastery was holy ground. Something Tazel could not abide. She turned her smoking head and fiery eyes to the sailors. "I'm sorry, guys, and dolls, but this is when I have to spit something out..." She bent over, and - in considerable discomfort, forced Tazel out of her mouth in a vomit. The little demon came belching out, a flame of about a foot high. "Don't shoot it!" she said, holding a hand up and clutching her stomach as the smoke and fire fell off her and she was back as Carmen Cantos. "This thing is bound to me, and bound to obey my every command. It cannot but obey me...and may very well save out lives..." she said. She need not have given warning. Tazel was living flame and shooting at it would have been like shooting hot air. But it would have wasted ammunition and called attention to them. She straightened up, feeling the cold again. Stay silent, stay still, stay invisible...and warn me if anything approaches. Us poor souls need to catch breath and blood. And here is the best place for us... "Come on, lets lick our wounds and get back on our feet. My little friend can stand guard, but an extra pair of eyes can always help, and this place has walls we can defend..."

He's got a point. I'm no angel. And anyway, angels scare me as much as demons. They should all just stay away... Well, why not tell him that? I guess only way to fight lies is with truth... "I sure never pretended to be no angel, mister. And truth is, they scare me just as much as demons. I don't believe in no God, and I don't believe in no Satan. Only thing I believe is that we got ourselves and we got some assholes who want a piece of us and should leave us the hell alone..." "I might have got you wrong John, but I may just have got you right. My guess is, I probably got you somewhere in between. Now there is no reason to be scared of me. Least, not unless you did something real bad. I did may share of stealing and stuff when I was a kid. Jumped from one foster home to another, at least till I was halfway settled. How d'ya think I ended up in this mess?" she asked. "So listen, come on down. I'd buy you a drink if you weren't cold sober. And you can tell me about what you saw. My name is Carmen Cantos. But some, when I'm burning up, they call me Pitch...and I'd rather you kept that between you and me..."

So for reference deactivating Astral Form and going back to will immunity. And hailing a cab (and bribing the taxi driver to drive fast!) to get to Malloy's place asap!

Rene's spectral dream body floated close to the book, and examined it closely. Things looked clearer like this - well, in so much as he did not need his spectacles to read. Rene knew many languages, and was an expert on all things sorcerous and mystical. But he could not place the symbols on the book. Which disturbed him. Perhaps...perhaps if he had his spectacles, though which wond'rous lenses all things were understandable, he could understand. Perhaps if he could open the book and peer through its pages. But he was but a dream, insubstantial and without substance... In a moment, he snapped open his tired eyes and he was back in his home. He got up and made himself a strong coffee. The day had only so many hours in it, and he wad an inkling that time was of the essence. He needed to get to Malloy's place and examine it for himself. With his coffee still in his hand, he went out to the street and raised his hand. "Taxi!" he called.

1d20+13=21

Ok so technically we could make a few Survival rolls, but Blue Jay would make em automatically! Let me know if you want to add anything or we can cut to the next morning and setting off again / stuff happens.

GM Cord looked surprised as the cave was unveiled, and was glad of the comfort. "Yes, that's part of the job" he said, cautious about revealing to much. "Don't believe all the hype, madam. It's not all evil suits and conspiracies. Basically, we are the good guys. If we keep secrets, its to protect lives, not harm them". "Damn, its bitter outside here isn't it? I don't mind telling you, we don't get trained for this kind of stuff. That's where you come in, you see. What worries me is that Mr Matt Golding isn't trained or experienced like you are. I appreciate his motive, to keep from exploding in any populated area, but he is going to freeze to death out here before long..." "...that's if somebody else doesn't get to him first. Who might be after him? SHADOW perhaps? Anyone, really. A guy packs that much firepower, people are going to come knocking..." he mused to himself. "Anyway, we aren't going to get anything done cold and tired. I suggest we get a few hours sleep and some food, then press on..."

A liar, a tricksy? sounds like you, Tazel. I am sure you two would get on like a house on fire! She gave a quick glance down the dark Alley, as clear as day, to check she hadn't actually set a house on fire. Has she gone to far? probably. She spent her life going to far. Biker gangs, Rock stars, Parties, and Black Magic. Why stop now? Her life was crash and burn. In for a dime, in for a dollar. "If you think I'm bad, you ain't seen nothing else, buster!" she said. Turn it off, Tazel, I think he has seen enough. The smoke and flames died down to her whisper and once again she was staring at darkness. "Look John, you have to trust me. I don't know what, or if, you have got into some kinda hole. But I am here to help, that's what I do. I seen all kind of stuff you wouldn't even believe, and every now and again, I can help. So, let me help..."

See I would really love Mess to be intimidating. And I guess he is intimidating. But opposed rolls arent about how intimidating you are. Its about how successful your action is... 1d20+9=10...

the Mess gave the fighter a fierce grin. Despite his rough past, the Mess had all his own teeth. Possibly as a result of his mutant adaptation to the pounding he took as a kid fighter, they grew back. He certainly had lost a few. "Locked down here?" he said, slowly. "That ain't right, my friend. In the ring, I gotta give what's due. And that means lefty and right get to make dough outta whatever's left of your face. But that's the rules of the ring" he said, levelling hie eyes and crunching his fists. "That's what gets you respect. And you gets that. Thats your due. Locking a gladiator up, when he earn's that respect. That's not right. See, when I get's to smash a fighters teeth in so he is passing them out of his backside for the next week, he has earned the right for my respect. So I let him get away with just that..." He grin turned nasty. "But when someone don't respect my fellow gladiator. Well, I wont let him get away that easy..."

How the hell did he get up there? Is he that fast, or I am that slow? She didn't answer the question, and she hoped Tazel wouldn't either. "I'll go do that if you come down here and start telling me exactly what you know" she called back, smoking away, Flames licked her body and her eyes burned red. The Cantos Cane smouldered, two curved horns had grown out of its brass goats head. "If you really don't know anything about demon's and sorcery, then open your eyes" she said, and let loose a gentle (for her) breath of flame down the alleyway, burning up some of the garbage that strewed the street and sending a wave of heat upwards. I'm nothing to be afraid of, I can assure you. If I was, you would be toast by now. But there are plenty of things to be afraid of. Plenty. And if you made a deal or pact, I'm here to haul your ass out of that pit!"

GM The outside rumblings of Soho faded into the background as Osprey and Tony crept into Nelson's column. The interior was expensively done up, but not tastefully. Like somebody who grew up with nothing and then splashed out simply because he wanted to show off how much money he had. As they crept onwards, Tony grew increasingly nervous. "I don't like it, I don't like it mate. Me gut don't like it, and neither do I. Something's off...something's well off...." They crept into Nelsons office, opening the door slowly and silently. And there was Big Nelson, facing them sternly behind his desk. He was Big, that was for sure. He was probably sixty, maybe even seventy. But still well over six foot. He had put on some weight over the years but he was still powerfully built, a good hundred kilograms. Bald as you like, but with that killer look. Nose twisted up from fight after fight. And two either side, three guards all with submachine guns at the ready. "Bullet Tony! and Osprey! How nice of you to drop by!" he smiled, the smile of a shark. "Girdle and Bit" swore Tony, under his breath. He was partial to a bit of Cockney rhyming slang.

Harry leaned back from his microscope and rubbed his eye, which had a red ring around it from peering too hard, too long. "Well I'll be damned. We got some kind of super-hair here!" he said, picking the hair up and giving it an experimental tug. "Some kind of she-tank, I'll bet. Probably tougher than you, Freddy..." he jibed, to a snort from his partner, who was stuffing a rare steak into his mouth. "Probably got some kind of super strength or something. Picked up that statue like it was a rag doll. Just guess work, of course, but it fits" he said, stroking his hair which was a complete mess. "Still, it doesn't get us anywhere closer to her. Let's see what our lady friend's got from that translation. Maybe a name or two, maybe some phone calls to make...."

"Thomas Mallory! Merci Monsieur! This may be ze name I am looking for! You may just have save the City, if not the world!" said Rene with a wink. "Your brother will be proud of you!" With that he flickered from the room and his dream spirit floated and soared over Freedom City once more. He had lived in Freedom City long enough to know, at least roughly, its anatomy, and when in a dream, time and distances lost their meaning. In moments he drifted through the streets, names wafting past, numbers going up, numbers going down, wheeling left and right and circling, until he found the address. He drifted through the door, wondering what he might find. His roaming dream body might be immune to bullets and fire, to fists and lightning, but he could not help a rumble of anxiety, for Jingles the clown was not just a threat to the flesh...

Okay, so Rene activating his Astral Form (so now he is no longer immune to Will saves!) It has adequate range. Subtle 2, so fundamentally unnoticible, but Selective so the man he spoke to last night can notice it. Throwing you a diplomacy roll in case you need it: 1d20+11=24

Rene moaned in terror even awake. It was as he had expected, a bad night, with horrible dreams. He had barely needed to be warned. His painting had done that for him. No...this was taunting. A gloating horrible taunting but a creature that revelled in the horror it caused. Empty eyes.... The creature could be a creature of dreams. He knew well enough the power of dreams, and was able to travel to these places. But his courage failed him - the world of dreams was dangerous even for him. He needed to know who Jingles was, and soon. He was tired, and Halloween was approaching. Rene closed his eyes and drifted. In a daze, his mind lifted out of his body, the world blurring in front of him. He was dreaming, in a lucid state, the world just as real as it always was, but his essence free of the constraints of the flesh. He was floating, free and ghostlike. High he soared, distance had no meaning, nor had any barrier. Off to meet the worker he had met last night. He was invisible to the eye, to all but the man he had met. "Monsieur, it is I again. I beg of you to listen, and to help. You were right that I have more than a few conjurers tricks up my sleeve. My premonitions have grown stronger. There is a threat, grave and terrible. I fear that one of the men you turned away may know something, please monsieur, I would speak to those men..."

okey dokey sounds good!

"That is good to hear, good to hear" smiled Rene, stroking his white goatee thoughtfully. "Circuses should be about fun, Non?" he said, cheering up. He actually had found memories of the Circus growing up and through the years. They had been a source of enjoyment for all the family. Before the radio and television, they had been a marvel, an event of great magnitude. And clowns had always blended great jocularity with a little fear. "I am glad that your Circus is still a source of merriment. I must visit your marvellous show tommorrow! if you still have tickets, that is!" he added, with genuine enthusiasm, lost in his memories of yesteryear. "I will bid you adieu, monsieur!" he said, doffing his beret and wandering off. As he pulled away, he brought out a picture of his own flat, and, concentrating, stepped into it, appearing in his own bedroom. It was late, he was old and he was tired. And Jingles was disturbing him, He did not expect a good nights sleep, but he poured himself a glass of wine and retired to slumber even so...

Formatting and one or two errors cleaned up. Your first APPROVAL!

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