Supercape

GM "By the Good Lord Vishnu, girl you have quite a lip on you!" spluttered Pennyworth, raising his voice so that the other dozing politicians and circling political satellites who were "resting there eyes" awoke. His drink sloshed and spilled in his glass. "The impertinence! Well, I never heard such a thing! And my vexation is doubled by the fact you may just be right!" he said, slamming his fist on his rubbery knee. "Well, let's hear it then, Girl. Don't hold your tongue now you have spilled it from your lips. Truth is, I wouldn't mind a bit of honest Englishwoman's wit, true to heart if dulled of education" he said, spewing compliment and spitting insult in the same sentence. "I'm either lapped by sycophants or threatened by Luddites. I don't know which is worse some days..."

Ok Just a heads up how this is going to pan out.. As Synapse is entering the building with Smith... As Young Brittania says "How Can I help" Blackpool is going to get snatched! So, I am going to play out a few posts with Roo between Catalyst and Blackpool, and then we hit the Blackpool napping... 'Roo, we can play this two ways: Blackpool gets snatched via GM fiat, or we play out to see if he does indeed get snatched / who you catch / what he is able to do. Let me know what you want - i.e. Blackpool snatched as a plot device, or see where it goes with what happens. In the meantime, if you could play out a bit with Blackpool!

GM "Ah there you are" said Professor Blackpool as Jasmine entered his office. He was a tall man, and thin, old, bald, but not infirm. The lined face had decades of high level research pounding away behind it. He was perhaps the national expert in biochemistry. Perhaps even the international expert. At his level, he had nothing left to prove. He was a damned genius at what he did. He was sitting down, wearing a grey suit and a bow tie, as was his nature. Reading spectacles sat atop his nose. His face was neither kindly nor harsh. His smile neither entirely false nor entirely convincing. His wards dripped confidence and authority, but he was no autocrat. His face may have been handsome once, but was perhaps described as keen - small, refined, but sharp features. "I have seen a lot of your work. And your thesis. Very impressive, Ms. Benoitt. Or may I call you Jasmine? You can call me Thomas..." he said kindly, offering his hand. Of course, a government agent was at hand by the door, relaxed but alert. This was a place of official secrets. "Never mind the suits, never mind the suits..." said Blackpool, waving dismissively at the man. "Government business, top secret, yada yada, you know the drill..." he said as if the whole thing was somewhat tedious to him. "I hope you are familiar with my work any way. I am rather in need of a lab assistant, you see. Someone with your fine mind, your experience. All a bit hush hush, but potentially vital work. Potentially revolutionary!" he said, excitedly. "Cellular regeneration!" he explained. "I have spent years, decades working on it. Metabolic augmentation, Telomere deletion, DNA cloning, Sequence mapping...you name it..." he went on. "And I think I am very close to perfecting my work. The only trouble is, I can't actually synthesize the organic compounds I need. If they can be created at all. That's where you come in..." He coughed. "You could change the map of human medicine with me. I read your work, and I think you can crack the problem. Just think of it! And you will have all the funds and resources you need here at the Ministry. Just the small matter of..ah...the official secrets act..."

Freddy smiled at Lucy and stood up, all five feet of him. Despite his height, he looked like a force of nature with his physique. "Right, I'm going to get warmed up..." he said with a wink at Lucy. "I gotsya plan, babe" he said, giving her a thumbs up and fortunately not being too indiscrete with his plan. He walked off to seek out the other fighters. Partly, of course, his eye was sizing up the competition. His squat body could withstand an enormous amount of punishment from fists and elbows and knees - and any other generalised bashing and smashing, but he preferred, like any good fighter, to not get hit in the first place. And any good fighter liked to size up whom he was fighting - if nothing else, to psyche himself for what he was to face. Skipping and ducking and weaving in preparation, he kept his eyes open and ears flapping, heading in the direction of the grunts and pants of the fighters.

+4 seems good for me!

Ok to start off people may wish to make a few rolls about Cruxberry and Booth. Knowledge [Current Events] would be the one in question! DC 15 DC 20 DC 25 DC 30

GM Smith smoothly picked up his huge briefcase and in one fluid movement stepped out of the car. The man was in good shape, and silent as a mouse when he moved. An archetypal suited, booted, impassive agent. "Your cooperation is appreciated" he said in his same controlled voice. "The Ministry, in case you did not know, is run by Sir Cruxberry" he said, his voice betraying the slightest tone of respect - a crack in its otherwise featureless landscape. "He is conference now. I'll just call his secretary to...update him on the situation" he explained, before pulling out a phone and making that same call. "Yes, we have the secondary candidate. Yes, she has agreed to help, provisional on access to information. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. Yes, she has signed the official secrets act. No. Yes. Very good" he said in short, efficient order. "Time to go in" he said, waving his arm forward to Synapse. Continued in

OOC for thread, as we start pulling the team and relationship map together, and may see the beginnings of conflict and investigation!

GM September 1st The Ministry of Powers, London There were, of course, a number of government agents. Armed ones, too. And a number of bustling, virtually faceless civil servants. But the only two men with any gravity in the plush office, decorated in oak, with lined leather volumes gilding every wall were the Minister for Powers, the Rt Hon. Cecil Booth, and Sir Cruxberry, who actually ran the agency. Cecil Booth was middle aged, slightly rounding, and moderately intelligent. A career politician, he had never been particularly successful and had never really failed. He had slowly risen the ranks, never destined to be a star, but never destined to take a fall. "Good old dependable Booth" was the genial comment that accompanied his name, when it was mentioned. He was even respected by the opposition parties, which of course only served to further dampen his career prospects. He had never wanted the portfolio for the Ministry of Powers, but once he had it, he had applied himself to it. Sir Cruxberry was older, ex army, and a veteran of war and spying. He wore a patch over one eye and walked with a noticible limp, but his solitary blue eye shone bright. His form was lean and his hair was white and clipped like his moustache. Somehow, one was left with the feeling that ones boots were not quite polished enough when one talked to him. Or that he could kill you in some ingenious but terribly effective way without breaking a sweat. "Thank's for popping over" said Booth, offering Young Brittania a cup of tea, of which he had already drunk several cups and was quietly trying to hold on to his bursting bladder. He was quite excited to have the heroine in the room. "For Queen and country and all that" he continued, with encouragement. "Look, I expect you know what this is all about. The Vanguard, they vanished without a trace a few months ago. Quite the mystery. Left us defenceless, and beside that, we would rather like to know what the devil happened..." he said with a helpless shrug, backed up by the precise gaze of Cruxberry who spoke no words but communicated his iron agreement.

GM "A dangerous ploy, but well considered" answered Eldritch. "Do not think that the boundaries of this reality will stop her. Her domain does not lie within our world. She is strongest in her own domain, endless swamp and mire. It is from this land, its beasts, insects, and vines, that her eyes and tendrils will spring. You have already caught her eye, it seems, but she is a subtle and mad thing. Keep your wits about you" "Set the trap then, and fare well. I will observe where I can, but know I cannot interfere" he finished, before Willis continued. "...teleported before" he finished, his eyes crossing slightly. He shook his head. "Good heavens, I just felt mighty peculiar in the head. Real mighty peculiar, God Bless my soul..." he muttered, pulling out a hand kerchief and patting his forehead.

So if you are looking for clues on Hatchets Body, lets have some Search Rolls! For the more icky minded forensic people, Knowledge (Life Sciences) might give you a few insights into him. Other than the fact he has been shot in the neck!

GM "It might very well be retirement" said the impassive face as the car started pulling through the crowded streets of London. "But we cannot very well ignore the absence of a man who can hurl battleships, a woman who can emit enough light to cut through solid steel, a half plant creature who could cause mass famine or, indeed, the reverse, and the a man whose IQ is unmeasurable and can control peoples minds" he said with steel. "And we can particularly not ignore them when these four individuals were our primary, and best, defence against metahuman threats" he finished as the car pulled into a blank concrete buildings. "So, Miss Farrington, your country, and your countrymen, need you. Whether you acknowledge that or not" he said bluntly, holding the car door open. Outside, blank and featureless walls of a car depot waited.

Edits made

32 gets you divine inspiration!

GM "Whaaa! Not the face! Not the face!" screamed the thug as Osprey approached menacingly. "Please please! I'll tell you everything!" he sobbed, clutching Osprey's dark brown cape with both hands, hugging it like a blanket. "I don't...I don't know much..." he sobbed "you gotta believe me...please...don't hurt me. I heard about you. You gotta believe me!" he whimpered. "Its the Middleman. Its all his gig. Max comes in from America, via Africa, up to here. Sold on the streets of London. Apparently there is some crazy underground fighting, guys all souped up on it. Gets real nasty. Down in Soho, I think. Guy by the name of Big Nelson. He runs the shows. But, you know, the Middleman, he controls everything. Gets a cut from it all. Anybody messes with him, they end up in trouble, one way or another..." he gulped. "Nobody knows who he is. But he knows everybody..." he said, for once his eyes slipping off Osprey and into the shadows, left and right. "We never seen him. We just got hired but some guy we know. A hard case called Bullet Tony. Ex-con, got a real rep. Apparently he got shot in the head. Only Tony didn't die. He just got angry. Got a head full of metal and a mood like sin. Hangs around the Dog's Tail..." Pretty much everyone in South London had heard of the Dog's Tail. A large pub, built in the worst part of town, with the worst type of customers. It was a mystery it was still standing. The police didn't go near it without a riot team, and the word was that the chipped red paint was chosen to the splattered blood didn't show up so badly.

Sorry for delay (ill big time) Ok so the thug will definately spill some beans! DC 0 for basic information, DC 10 for spilling more than absolutely necessary, DC 20 for singing like a canary. Intimidate roll please! If you could refine a bit what Osprey would like to know OOC that would be great - not required as I can ad lib someting for the story, but it might give me some clues!

GM Mr. Smith's face was as impassive as ever. "Perhaps not. You need to understand that Crab was perhaps the greatest asset of the four. Champion was the strongest, our very own Centurion. But for all his formidable strength and power, and it was formidable, Crab, or Headcase, was subtle, intelligent, and much more useful. His intellect alone was immeasurable, and his mental power was almost unparalleled" he explained. Despite the stony face, Mr. Smith almost seemed to take pride or vanity in the man's abilities. "He could be anywhere, hiding out. He could very well still be in contact, but out of sight, pulling strings unseen. Or, he could have died. Or he could have travelled to another country. Or another planet. We simply do not know. Given he could have controlled any number of people and wiped their memory, it is impossible to say" he said with a stiff but efficient shrug. "As for the Vanguard's missions, they had tailed off somewhat in later years. There were certainly signs that the team was cracking. Crab was more interested in national security, espionage if you will, and to be blunt, we were more interested in him helping in that field. Lucy Diamond was always erratic, and Dderwen seemed to spend more time in the glades of Wales than in the city. Champion...well, it is felt he was past his best years" he explained.

Taking 10 is indeed fine The "Terrorists" are in fact mercenaries and are using the Soldier Archetype in M&M Their Grapple Bonuses are +6 which means: 1d20+6=14, 1d20+6=10, 1d20+6=20, 1d20+6=13, 1d20+6=22, 1d20+6=19 And yes, I accidentally rolled for 6 of them duh! To keep things clean, as one of them is a draw roll, I am going to just say you grapple all of them successfully - and as they are minions, they are fully bound! Post away!

"Sheeeeshhh...." whistled Harry as Lucy did the sexy thing. He had always found her attractive and sexy, and that clanged in his head like an pair of cannonballs. She was dead. Or rather, he reminded himself, differently living. Still, when Lucy say on his lap he could feel steam coming from his ears. It was all he could do to stop barking. "Yeah babe, its gonna be a real show tonight..." he croaked, trying to sound cool but betrayed by a tight and dry mouth. He looked around trying to distract himself from Lucy. And distact himself from himself. He whispered at Lucy without looking at her. "How are we going to find Benito here?" he asked, anxiety and...other passions...running in his sweat. "How abouts you ask to steal a kiss of the fighters? Like Battlin' Benito...you could make a great ring girl" he suggested, partly as an idea to find the youth, partly to stop the uncomfortable feelings Lucy was generating.

I think the Mess will just warm up, although ill throw a notice roll for him anyway just in case he sees anything - presumably there is some where he can warm up? 1d20+5=6 well I guess he is preoccupied and emotional.

Ok so I guess its time to head back and do some appropriate rolls? Providing we have time, taking 20 for: Freddy to go knocking to see if there is any word on the street about fences or big deals: a 29 Harry to Gather Info on any art dealers in town who might be interested. If only someone had know art / history... Open to other ideas from Tiff

Freddy smirked and Lucy's comment. "She gotta a point, Harry. I could lift something like that..." he repeated without much use, and with a somewhat self congratulatory flex of his admittedly impressive musculature. "Yeah yeah. Point taken, point taken..." muttered Harry, tapping his chin and running his hand through his hair. "So, so, some superheavyweight super-guy then. That, or a fork lift truck. And I don't see any track marks. Well, hell, if we are going the super duper route, some guy could have just levitated it out, or some hocus pocus trick. Damn..." he scratched his jaw. "Back to task then. Focus on what we got. A scent. A perfume. What we need is a motive, and a method. I think its time to do our homework, Mr. Chen..." he said, politely bowing. "Back to the Agency..."

"Smoke gets in your eyes" sang Carmen. "Well that was a good catch, Rachael. Those could sure come in handy" she acknowledged, giving the woman a wink and a smile. "Tazel, its time for you to hop back inside. And no talking about it..." she commanded, voice firm. Of course, the fiery demon would like nothing better than to disobey, but the chains that bound him were all but unbreakable. Such was the nature of his kin. As Carmen inhaled deeply, the demon was sucked right back into her body, transofrming her once more into Pitch, full of angry smoke and fire. "That's much better" roared Pitch, her eyes glowing. "Ready when you are, Nikki. I have a lungfull of hellfire ready for our friends..."

Rene felt giddy as he travelled with Marianne. It was not, he realised, giddy from a sense of movement, or spinning, or rushing, or any such velocity. It was giddy with the sense of power that infused him from such a translocation. Then again, he had been shot and nearly died recently. That could do strange things to a man's constitution. He blinked once, twice, in the pitch black, but despite moments of acclimatisation, pitch black remained as black as pitch. What he could sense, with more than his eyes, was the painting. The world is full of magnificent impressions, and the eyes do not always to justice to the wonder of the imagination. Sight can be deceptive, and Imagination can cut through darkness and obscuration. He folded these reflections into his mind for later contemplation. Perhaps there was more to vision than his eyes. "That painting" he asked Marianne "It is the sketch I made? so long ago?"

GM "There is no time like the present" said Rene, stretching out his hand. "I mean that quite literally. After seeing my face from the future, which is rather shocking for any young man, you understand, I find the whole pretext of existence rather weak at the moment. The thought of time being so permeable to perception and thought is nauseating, to say the least. So, whilst I have no objection to travel via extraordinary means, let it be from place to place rather than time to time, eh?" "I care not for the future or past right!" he declared. "And with that said! Let us be onward!" he smiled.