Supercape

GM Luiza was singing in Porteguese, pumping her fist to the sky and half shouting. Although Velocity could not understand the words, it was clear the lyrics were somewhat incendiary. The crowd was whipped up into a frenzy. Luiza herself was looking particularly flamboyant. Still wearing a mask, and dressed in huge wafts of red clothing, she was quite a spectacle. She barely batted an eye when Velocity skidded up to her. "You would not understand! American Capitalistic Dog! You don't listen, you don't question, you just sing the tune of your corrupt government! America! Land of Slavery! America! Land of Slavery!" she chanted, whipping up the crowd with her fist. "Stay out of Brazil! Your time will come!" she hissed, spitting at Velocities feet. "This is free speech! You will never stamp us down! Come join our sisterhood!" She totally ignored the reference to tear gas. Perhaps she did not remember it, perhaps it was not important to her. But it was not something that provoked the slightest response.

GM Boris looked up as the motor of the second bug started up. He was wearing his goggles and had the sniper rifle strapped to his back. "You!" he said, staring straight at the robot. He paused for a second, or two, before working out what to day. "This is not your fight, not your business, robot. I won't lie to you. I am Russian Military. Spetznas. I am being here to make sure what we found stays in Russia. No funny business. you understand?" "I am not being here to fight Americans, not fighting the Liberty League. You understanding? I am being the here to stop theft, make sure Russia keeps what Russia is finding? You understand? No matter what base captain says. This is direct order from military. Not for the fighting, but to stop taking what is ours. That is my job!" he said in broken but confident English. He unslung his rifle from his back, slowly and calmly. "I not wish to be the fighting with robot..." he explained in a cool measures voice.

OOC thread for A Canadian Wilderness adventure for Blue Jay!

GM Monday 12th August, 2013 Freedom City Airport..late morning... Agent Cord checked his watch, standing by the small single prop plane in the airport. UNISON was not the best resources agency in the world, or the States, but it could stretch to chartering the flight to Canada. Not that it would, by his estimation, be a particularly easy or comfortable ride. He was a man of slim and slightly short build, probably in his early forties, but still fit. He was a totally average black suit, a totally average white short, and a totally average black tie. His brown hair was cut short, and his features rather unremarkable. His eyes were hidden behind some mirror shades. In his left hand, an unremarkable suitcase. The observant would, perhaps, notice a small bulge in his left armpit. Agent Cord didn't really approved of using minors in UNISON's operations, but there was no doubt from the resume. The Blue Jay character had some particular skill sets they could use right now. Her history had embedded her with unparalleled tracking skills. A few other specialists in the world would come close, he judged, but they were both expensive to hire, and would not necessarily have Blue Jay's other skills. He wasn't expecting trouble, but on the other hand, he was paid to expect the unexpected.

APPROVED!

GM Fingers finished his coffee. "I'm slowing down but haven't stopped" he said, ironically slowly, studying Sam. "As for why I chose you, its because you a damn good thief. Or, perhaps, a damned thief. What I want is not from this earth. Its not even a thing. Although its not really a person either. Its a demon...." he let the words sink in. "I think you stole something this little devil had. The Cantos cane. Yes, I heard about that little incident. Don't ask me how..." he said firmly "But it had your name written all over it..." "The demon looks, I hear, like a small black rat. And hangs around with a two bit thug by the name of Filth. I can't really say which one of them leads the other. Perhaps both. Perhaps you could enlighten me. But when I would very much like to get my hands on that little rodent. And crush its little neck..." he said, a trace of venom in his words. "And, from what I hear, the pair are pretty furious that there plan to steal the Cantos cane, or perhaps its owner, was foiled by some thief. Luckily for you, your part in that caper is a secret. Whilst Filth hasn't the brains to work out who did it, The Vermin-demon does, given enough time"

Ok - Post away - Velocity will find Luiza, the singer who let of the smoke bomb, singing revolutionary songs - if you post finding her ill reply with her actions etc. Otherwise there are no bombs or other booby traps she can find in the centre of the carnival. Foreshadow and Graft can do similar searches, but the centre appears clean. Whatever is planned, it isn't the distractions of the periphery.

GM Fingers stuffed the blood spotted napkin into his pocket. "Nothing. I'm fine. Just old, that's all" he said, lighting up a cigarette to go with his coffee. "Glad you could come. I was a bit worried you would show up with some handcuffs or do some hocus pocus on me. I'm too old for jail, you know. I would die in there..." he said, giving a sardonic chuckle. "And I have no intention of dying" he said, flicking his decaying but end of a cigarette into the street. "So, how are you?" he said, without much enthusiasm. "You look well. Fresh faced and young. Full of life" he drawled. Whatever else he was, Fingers had a winning smile. "I never really got to know you. Properly, that is. Always a mystery child. But I have a nose for people, a suspicious nose, some my say. And a nose that has a lot of contacts. You should see some of the stuff I have shifted over the years. It would give you hair as grey as mine" he said, laughing. "And I guess you have your nose about me too. I don't touch stuff that's too hot. I pass things on - information, items, money. And keep a bit of the last for myself, enough to live comfortably and more. But I'm getting to old for this. Gangs are taking over the city, and they don't always respect the code, you know? drugs, prostitution. Pfah. I wouldn't touch them..." he said with a look of disgust. "But right now, I would dearly like to acquire something. I can barely call it stealing, because its already been stolen. And I need a thief to steal it back..."

NOtice: Sam notices specks of blood on the napkin he coughed into. Gather Info: you know only what you know (you have a degree of narrative licence about your history with fingers, I will roll with whatever you choose, and of course anything juicy or complicated raises the possibility of HP!)

OOC for >This Upon meeting Fingers, can Kit roll a notice roll DC 15 I have left the background deliberately hazy, feel free to narrate it how you wish, I will roll with it. YOu may wish to have used Knowledge [streetwise] or Gather Info on him, if so, post them!

GM Saturday 10th August Late Afternoon Starbase Coffee House... This particular Starbase Coffee House was just like all the others. Nothing made it stand out - and that's why it was a chain. One could not fault the service, the coffee, or the decor. But neither could one rant about it either. You knew what you were getting, nothing more, nothing less, despite bold advertising that would suggest otherwise. The coffee was good, but not out of this world. It's pleasant blandness served one man very well. Oscar "fingers" Ferson was old and, by his own admission, beaten with the ugly stick. That hadn't stopped him. He had a devilish smile, and a quick brain. He was cautious but clever, ambitious but not greedy. Illegal, but not immoral. Fingers fenced goods. He didn't touch drugs, he didn't touch killers. He just knew people who knew people, and new how to make plenty of contacts to "facilitate the flow of goods and money". Fingers had his fingers in many pies. Hence his name. Fingers nursed his coffee, a rich, creamy mug full of chocolate and marsh mellows. For all its abundance of calories, he looked painfully thin. He inspected his watch, and coughed violently into a napkin. He recovered, and folded the napkin neatly. He had called Kit. And he hoped she would turn up. Without police or handcuffs, ideally. She knew enough about him to cost him serious lawyer money. But then, he knew a thing or two about her, too.

Pitch paused, mind whirling. She had a natural instinct to distrust demons - an instinct that had served her very well. She would never trust them, not completely. And she had an ingrained hate for them - for screwing up her life so badly - that would never fade. Although in her more reflective moments, she wondered about how much of that hate was displaced from her father. "So, you have to bring back the good's do you?" she asked, brinstone of her own in her words - quite literally, as Tazel poured forth smoke and sulphur from her mouth. The little demon in her stomach was agitated. "Well, I don't fancy handing over any souls today. Or any day. And I'll face any demon who tries to take them..." Pitch didn't know exactly what demon's where. She doubted sometimes that even demon's did. All she knew was they didn't belong in this world. "So you better take something else, or nothing, or bring your father here so he can collect them himself..."

Ok so you have about twenty eight minutes till the main show starts! Feel free to pause and do what you will, I will ask for rolls accordingly. It is of course perfectly fine to sit back, alert, and enjoy the music (or even a dance!) If you do fancy making speeches, or entertaining the crowds, its perform rolls.

GM Ana cocked her head and listened to the various speeches. Her lips curled into a smile but did not part. "As you say, as you say..." she said, ambiguously. "Perhaps we need those very speeches at the Carnival!" she suggested clapping her hands. "I am but an artist, it is the people who run a country. Not me, not the police, no, not even the government or the mayor, as delightful as he is!" she said. She gave a glance at Lady Brazil, who gazed at her without moving. "Our little figurehead, Lady Brazil, is quite an orator. I was planning to slot her in for a speech. But any of our guests would do, if they fancy taking their words to the crowds!" she explained. "But you wish to save lives, I understand. Which lives I wonder...what choices, what choices...never mind" came the endless rambling of Ana. "I can guide you around the stage, the fireworks, the lasers. Although I doubt you will find much, although it is possible. What you should do is keep your eyes and ears open for the main show...."

GM M shut his paper and inspected Cannonade. "Excellent. You look just like a pleb. If you could manage to effect a sneer and induce a dim witted parley, then you would be the perfect Luddite. At least the Cannonites seem to have some vestigial intelligence to them. The Luddites are little more than angry ruffians" he said with some contempt shining through his pleasure at Cannonade's disguise. "Well, the resources of our ministry are, as ever, at your disposal. This is an undercover operation, however, I wouldn't go around with exploding umbrella's or poison tipped lapels. Just a suggestion, of course..." he said airily. "Now, my suggestion is to inflitrate the Snooty Fox. I doubt Ned will be there himself, but its where they hang out. I rough and unpleasant watering hole in Deptford, by the docks. Our noble seamen seem to have more than a passing support for the Luddites". "Of course you may wish to knock on the door of Mr. Alfred Fields, the Luddite candidate for deptford. Or, for that matter, Sir Poncenby, the fool who got caught in the opium den. Or the opium den itself, of course. Or even face your adoring crowds of the Cannonites, see what they have to say..."

So, if we are going back, the Hound is going to ask around, seeing what Carl is about, and what the reputation of the gym is. Taking 10 on Gather Info for a 22 result. Not enough for hush hush info, I guess, but probably enough to get some rumours.

The Mess undid his boxing gloves and slid them off. He felt his nose bleeding, but a moments concentration and his pudgy nostrils stopped dripping. Blood was his business. He put his hand through his air, wiping away the thin sweat that had broken out. He had plenty in reserve, but even a few moments boxing got the heart racing, despite his fitness and turbo powered blood. "I still got the knocks, eh, Harry?" he joked, entertaining his partner with a brief moment of fast shadow boxing. The Hound gave a broad smile before handing Carl his mobile number and taking the Mess outside, arm over his broad shoulders. "We are in business!" he said to Crimson Tiger. "We are going to get a call this evening. So I suggest we retire back to the agency, get a nap, some noodles, and maybe make a few phone calls..."

GM Ana shrugged, keeping her eyes on Velocity whom it appeared she engaged with and respected more than Foreshadow or Graft. She seemed to actively avoid looking at Lady Brazil. "Rio is a city of smiles, Sir" she said, more formally but not without charm. "It is just that kind of place, where everything clashes together, smiles, tears, dreams, and reality. It is not without its problems, that is true - the Rosa criminals, corrupt politicians, and corrupt police too. And there is poverty here. Rio, where you can soar, and be trampled on. Perhaps in the same night..." She waved her hand. "Pfah! I am a revolutionary myself" she said, without shame. "Do you think artists get paid in this city? No! hah! I could be a card carrying member of the communist party, but for the fact that they are so grey and dull" she explained. "Rio would smile at freedom, sir. And that is what the Carnival is about. Freedom for a night, away from the worries of the world, away from the boot of the Police, and the more subtle chains of the Church and State. So let them rejoice!" she said, almost singing. "I guess I would be hauled up and interrogated by your CIA for my left wing philosophy? yes? no? Do you work for the men in shades and suits? the secret police? hmmm?" she teased. "You wear masks surely enough, and what is behind them? but no matter! this is, after all, carnival night. Mask's will fit right in!" Ana might be bright, poetic and beautiful, but she almost sang her words, flitting from one topic to the other. She was quite excitable, wrapped up in the night and, one might say, herself.

GM Later, in Madam Redpowders Office... Madam Redpowder had a steely stiffness and a perfectly elocuted upper class British accent that could cut glass. One could wonder exactly how patriotic or loyal she was - her interest seemed primarily directed at mastering her craft. And her craft was disguise. Of course, behind the accent and the mannerisms, she was also an able actress. An impenetrable one, at that. Her "office" was the basement of the Ministry of Extraordinary affairs. As she busied herself around Cannonade and Carrie, M lounged about with a small glass of port and the newspapers. "Here we go again!" he huffed, reading the Steaming Times, a local rag of the cheap titillation variety. "The Right Honourable Cecil B Poncenby, Whig party, caught at an opium den in Deptford. Poncenby, who is challenging the seat of Deptford, is given drubbing in polls by the Luddite contender, Alfred Fields. Poncenby offers spluttering apology to the press, calling his visit a moment of madness..." M sighed as he read out the article. "Now then, what would Madam and Sir...be inclined towards wearing?" she asked, slightly turning her nose up at Cannonades attire, and bringing out a splendid coat and tails, complete with Top Hat, which looked, remarkably, like it would fit his frame.

GM "Well I should know, I love making a scene!" laughed Ana, her jazz hands exploding into five fingered stars, accompanied by a sway of her hips. "They would create pandemonium" she concluded, more seriously. "A stampede? a riot? something to scare, or inspire, or perhaps both?" she pondered. "That isn't a helpful answer, I know. But perhaps you do not ask a helpful question. In such a dramatic stage like this, there is already a scene. How does one top that? Perhaps the question is one of motive? she asked. What has happened so far? some schoolboy pranks, pick pocketing, a few minor brawls, yes, I have heard of them all. An assassin nearly gets killed. Is this a vigilante? and if so, is that story so wrong? The chief of police..." Here, her voice grew hushed. "...a man with sticky corrupt and pudgy fingers in many pies...." "...is nearly poisoned to death? what is this, poetic justice? or just justice? but so far, few tears will be spilled. Rio will not weep. Some may actually rejoice. Chaos may reign for a brief moment" she shrugged, thoughtful. "I would ask yourself not what will happen, but why?" "But the plaza is yours, as are my services. At least for the next thirty minutes. I can show you everything! Although I must greet the Mayor when he arrives!"

GM At the central plaza of Rio After a day of partying, the sweat, joy and fever was rife, and doubly so in the central plaza of Rio. Bands had been playing all day, from classical to latin, to contemporary pop. Dancing had been non stop, and the evening had been punctuated by fireworks. Alcohol was imbibed, and no doubt other intoxicants had passed hands. A few cases of Zoom drug usage had kept the paramedics station set up here busy. Ana Tavaras was a striking woman of an uncertain age. She was slim, and of average height, with petite and pretty features. Her skin and eyes were of that uncertain and mysterious olive brown complexion that gave no clue as to her heritage but augmented her beauty. She could have been a model, but her intelligence and charm was evidence that she could turn her hand to anything and succeed. She inspired envy and love in equal measure. She was unfazed by the arrival of Velocity, Graft, Foreshadow and Lady Brazil, all at their own times. "Welcome to the Carnival!" was her opening upon meeting them, accompanied by a polite and gracious smile. "I organised all this you know" she explained, maintaining a modesty when she boasted. "I am an artist by profession, and the dear Mayor thought I should have a hand in the planning of this night. And they thought my ideas good enough to hand it over to me, bit by bit, week by week. So far, it has been a success!" she said, clapping her hands and gazing to the sky. "Despite the little...irritations" she conceded, frowning slightly. "But the grand finale is tonight! Fireworks, Music, like you have never seen! all here at the centre stage! we have everything - lasers, smoke machines, the best musicians, the brightest fireworks...it will be fantastic!" she said, full of her dream. "It kicks off in...just over half an hour...." she said, studying her watch. "I have nothing against you American's" she explained, with every ounce of niceness. "But I don't want this night messed up. Please, the city needs this. And the Mayor, who will be here for the kick off, he needs this too..."

GM "Something is stopping this ship, and I mean to find out what!" demanded the Admiral to Blod. He gestured to the sky, ring blazing alive, creating shafts of lightning, high winds, and monsoon rains. "I can feel the power of the ocean, of the storm. It's a harsh mistress, but one I love!" he proclaimed. "Now - tell me what is stopping this ship before I cast you into the ocean!" he demanded of the welshwoman. For indeed the ship had stalled, burning away but immobile. The sheets of rain were slowly dying down the blazes, but not fast enough. The incendiary devices the ship was laden with was not enough to blow a hole in the hull, but more than enough to ignite the deck furiously. Clearly the Admiral's skill included demolitions. "I worked hard for the Navy all my life, but saw too much of it. Beaurocrats and politicians cutting my men to the dogs, not supporting them, exposing them to dangers and throwing them to wars that we didn't need. Enough with them! Today, I get my revenge!"

The Admiral is up! He is going to summon a storm, creating Distraction 10 and Hamper Move 50% conditions. Everyone maintaining sustained powers (who is not underwater!) please make concentration check DC 10 to maintain sustained powers.

Done! Ill say he takes a bruise or two, technically, but unless we are going to be in a fight the next few minutes, that is probably well within healing time!

The Mess refrained from pumping his blood up to maximum efficiency. He was pretty sure he was as good a fighter as these guys, and far stronger and tougher. He took the first blow square, a powerful jab which crunched his face and hurt, but allowed him the opportunity to sock the first guy straight to the jaw, sending him reeling. The second guy started to pummel him, as the Mess brought up his guard and countered with a similarly fast flurry of blows. The guys kept standing, he would give their jaws credit. But even as the first guy shook off the cobwebs and landed a couple of inefective body blows, the Mess circled, light footed, to deny them a flank. He pressed in with some powerful hooks to the second guy, before knocking him out cold, and throwing him into the corner. By the time he turned his fists to the second fighter, everyone knew it was all over. The Mess was just too strong for them, hitting him was like hitting a brick wall, and he hit back even harder. "That's my boy!" clapped the Hound, giving a sparkling smile to Carl. "What to do you say to that?"