Supercape

GM The crowd blew the ceiling of the pub. They put their arms in the air, as if they did not care. Screams and silence ricocheted off the walls and into the street below. Outside faces pressed against the windows of the already over filled pub, trying to take a peek at the origin of the sonic spectacle. There was no doubt who would win. they had already won, bar the announcement. Stepping off the stage, the pair were met by the Duke, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat. "In all my years - and believe me, they are more than you would think - I have never seen such as display of theatre and music. I am impressed, and the greatest challenge of advancing years is to see something you have not seen before. Old patterns mutate, but they are still the old patterns. This was as fresh as a bed of roses. Bravo!" Of course, the pair were jostled by new found fans and celebrants. A couple of quick witted folk were trying to get in quickly - offers of management or a record deal floated among the crowd. "This is proving to be an extraordinary night. More successful than I could have hoped for. But this is not the place for conversation. I have a private room and some champagne, if you would care to celebrate in a bit of privacy. Bring whatever new fans or friends you wish - I would just like a conversation and I can't hear myself think out here!"

New Student Gamma Buzz AKA "The Cockroach Kid" AKA Baltazar "Baz" Botez Year: First Pronouns: He/Him Goal: Become a pirate radio DJ bringing truth and justice to the world! (Secretly: Get a chick who can tolerate a half insect superhero) Favourite Music: Anything but Country and Western or Death Metal. Particular familiarity with Mexican Folk and Rap. Possible Roomy: Timeout

And a hero point for general awesomeness. Multi-girl: Unharmed - 2 HP

GM Summer tapped, strummed, plucked and hammered the fretboard of her guitar. The song was no adorned with runs and clever harmonics. It was a performance that would have, on her own, given her a thunderous applause - perhaps even the crown of the night. But this was Bernadettes night. The crowd alternated between stunned silence and screams of adulation. This would be the show of the night - of the year - of the century! And everyone knew it. The other contestants shook their heads and got their coats. The Duke rose to his feet = he was a short man, perhaps five six, but somehow he had the regal air that elevated him another six inches spiritually. He did something he had not done the whole night. He clapped. Encore! Shouted the crowd. Encore! Even the bad tempered Leprachaun, stewing in his own bile at the bar, shouted Encore. Even the Duke shouted Encore. It was pure improvisation - matching a pop song with a heavy metal flavour. But somehow Summer pulled it off, exploding onto the stage with guitar pyrotechnics, grating sweeps and piercing pinch harmonics. But that was just the beginning... ...how would Bernadette stun the crowd this time?

GM Summer nodded, cracking her knuckles. They made such a ripple of crackles, they were almost a percussion instrument in themselves. 'Twas amazing the utility of mutant fingers, if one stopped to consider it. But stopping they didn't have time for. The two punk girls, aka Riot and Ruin, were screaming and shouting and the whole stage was errupting. The punks had gone a step too far hurling abuse and obscenity at the crowd, and the bouncers had to step in. Quite a struggle, too. Both girls were hurling speakers and drums around, with a loud cacophony of crashes, and a small firework display as one amp caught fire. They were quickly bundled off, still fighting, whilst some of the crew put out the fire. "Get on, quick! Your next!" hissed the compare from the side of the stage. Across the backstage, Bernadette could see the Duke roll his eyes at the two punk girls, looking most displeased. He lit a cigarillo (in defiance of the pub rules) and sat back to study Bernadette and Summer, his nose upturned in regal confidence, and yet his smile rather generous. And now, the stage was empty, waiting for guitars and vocals to entertain a riotuous crowd...!

Post IC on that, but can you (in anticipation of an inevitable performance), give me a perform (sing) roll?

GM Backstage was hot and sweaty. The sweat was born not just of the heat, but by adrenaline. By nerves, excitement, trepidation. One young man had already fainted and cracked his skull. He was a good looking boy, and was already being tended by a couple of well intentioned young women. Well... intentioned young women, anyway. The Irish folk band had taken bows and headed off, to lukewarm applause. It was the kind of crowd who would give a goodhearted cheer to anybody bold enough to take the stage with a smile on the face. The atmosphere was tingling, positive - nobody was inclined to spoil the mood with a boo or hiss. Although a heckle might well be on the menu. Two punk girls with microphones and drums took the stage next, and started to belt out some interesting and aggressive music - it certainly was original, and whilst it relied more on spirit than technique, the attuned ear could tell they were actually able to sing and play. They started with a number called "Kiss my hiss" which had the crowd hissing along at the right moments. "Well this is it...." said Summer, her voice faint. She looked like she might pass out too. Her mutation was bizzarre, her skill on the fretboard unmatched, but Summer "Fingers" Sand was no fighter. She didn't have the power, endurance or grit of Bernadette. "Are you ready?" Maybe it was the stress of the environment. Maybe the heat, maybe the commotion... ...but Bernadette was aware of something... pulling her. Not physically - and certainly not a compulsion, or malevolant mind control. Something very subtle, something that gently and innocuoulsy suggested she be here. Or more precisly, something that was pulling her double here, with Bernadette tagging along. This place was attracting duplicators! Was Summer part of this spiritual seduction... she couldn't duplicate herself, but her fingers... ah yes her fingers! She could duplicate her fingers!

GM Grabber Gibbons dropped to his knees. He was a tough guy, but he was no dragon, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. "It fell of a tru --- no wait, I can't use that excuse. How about my long lost grandfather gifted it to me in a will? No? I can't use that excuse either? How about it was buried under my lawn and I found it with a metal detector? No? Dang, I am running out of excuses...." He clucked and flexed his fingers, eyes darting left and right. "Alright, alright. It was some mad scientist guy. I mean, I dont know if he was a scientist, or mad for that matter. But he loaned it to me, on the basis that I would get half the gold. Which was quite a lot - even if it isn't this much..." he explained, waving his arms around the chasm of treasure. "If you come from where I come from, it was a lot. More than a man can dream of, even if you are me." He shook himself out of his wistful thinking. "Yeah. Some engineer, inventor, kind of guy. Had lot of computers and stuff. Wasn't even playing Shoot em dead until they die ... that's my favourite game by the way. Was doing proper science on them. Lives out of town, by the sea front."

Ill put Diamondlight into that, if it fits

GM Summer raised hey eyebrows and then looked down, chewing on the suggestion. "Less Jarrin'? I mean jarring? Yes, we can do that. I mean, you are doing me the favour here, it's your call.." Her long, bony fingers writhed independtly. They had joints and tendons and muscles that laughed at the simplicity of the average finger. To Summer Sands, the average human hand was as dexterous as a dog paw. "Lets go backstage then, give us time to prepare?" she asked. "Unless you want some dutch courage yourself? I am buying..." The bar was heaving. Drinks were everywhere, as was a drunken jocularity that preceded the progressively more toxic and maudlin stages of intoxication. Even the bouncers were smiling and bopping along to the bad Irish folk band. Across the bar, in a VIP session, sat a white haired man with an impressive white beard. He was short, stout, but had a kind of regal solidity to his build, mirrored by somewhat ostentatious archiac clothes - a purple waistcoat, sile white gloves, a monocle. Despite the anarchronism, he pulled it off. "They call him the Duke" said Summer. "He set up this competition. Some very odd characters have come, thats for sure. But I am sure you and I can win!"

I think thats about all Echohead can do at this stage

GM Grabber Gibbons did indeed give a hand, his limited brain working overtime to make the best of a bad situation. Zing! And there they were, in another place filled with gold. "What the hock-a-tootin darnation cottoncakes is this?" he gasped, spinning around to take in the cave full of gold. Lots of cave, and lots of gold. "Where the dandy are we? What did you do? What sorcery is this?" He knelt in reverence, brushing the gold beneath his feet, feeling it with his fingertips, his eyes wide as saucers. "Look man... I don't know who you are or what you can do. But if this is yours, then count me in. Whatever you need Grabbin', I'm your man, They don't call me Grabber Gibbons for nuthin!"

No nothing! Just awarding you an HP for being so heroically concerned for the kids :D

GM And so, later that day... At the Irish Charm... Well, it would be an Irish-themed pub, wouldn't it? It was a big place, a crowded place, a hot stinking mess of a place. The crowds loved it. Many were dressed in Green and adopted faux irish accents. The landlord, a stout, short man with pale skin, orange beard and genuine authentic Irish accent had even taken to wearing a green hat. "The Leprachaun" they called him, although not to his face. He was a cantakerous old man who was handy with his fists and despised the whole Irish theme. But then, his hatred of the pub he had built was famous, and part of the attraction. "A whiskey. Double..." shouted Summer. She had to shout, for a rather bad Irish Folk band were currently on, to much cheering and mockery. "Ferking kids" grumbled the Leprachaun, rolling his eyes. "Pegged you down fer a Guiness. Like every other Irish wannabe..." he looked at Bernadatte, daring her to order a Guiness and conform to his stereotype. Summer gulped the double down in one shot, screwing up her face. "I hate whiskey. But... dutch courage eh...." she said, wisely putting the shot glass down and resolving to drink no further. "What are we playing? I can cover anything, you know" she said with some pride. "I thought a cover of Sunrise Dawn..." Sunrise Dawn were a manufactured teen pop band, as bland and jolly and good looking as you could imagine. Their first Single, we are Sunrise Dawn, was storming the charts due to massive popularity amongst teenage girls. "...in the style of Blackhammer Bonesplinter" Whereas Blackhammer Bonesplinter were a dirty, offensive death metal band with a well deserved reputation for complex musicianship and guitar pyrotechnics.

GM "You just screwed my loader" complained Grabber Gibbons, although he was big and strong enough to carry plenty on his own. His hands, however, did not have the rotating characteristic of the loader, which had managed to drill right down to the vault - and through it. "...And what did you do to it anyway? Looks like you turned it to Gold? What are you? Midas Man? I bets its fools gold, hahahaha! You cant fool me. Grabber Gibbons is too smart for that. Wait... is it real gold? Wow... we could make a fortune!" He tapped the still golden loader exoskeleton. "I mean, if you can do that, why even bother with the jackpot, eh? I got some great rocks I could sell you. We could make a fortune... I supply the rocks, you turn em to gold!" He tapped his forehead and have Luke a wink. "Old Grabber Gibbons got plenty of brains, you see!" Irrespective of Grabber Gibbons brain power, or lack of it, he was not so foolish as to pass up any oppurtunity if it involved gold. He still started picking up the vault gold and hauling it to the surface. And the clock was ticking. Because the goons by the vault had broken free of golden chains and were on the march. "Pffft! Thieves! Vagabonds! Crooks!" yelled Blowfish, the fat goon with the tic. Luke could just make him out at the bottom of the tunnel, tommy gun in hand. And he was not alone...

GM Summer stopped strumming, breaking out into an awkward smile. She didn't answer - not straight away, for that was not her nature. Instead, she put the guitar to one side, handling it with reverent care, and stood up, giving Bernadette an akward hug to match her awkward smile. Summer Sands had always been shy, and here she was, still shy as ever. "I've been ok. Trying to make it as a musician. Because... you know..." Summer was a T-baby. She couldn't fire lightning bolts out of her eyes, or bend steel with her bare hands (or, as some were able to, just her thoughts). Instead, Summer had a relatively niche and peculiar ability. She could split her thin ten fingers into even thinner ones, giving her a total of sixteen fingers and four thumbs. Even more bizzare - she could then detatch some or all of her twenty digits and send them floating into the air to do her bidding. Summer "Fingers" Sands indeed. She was a skilled musician, but having such incredibly dexterous and multitudinous fingers made her even more so. She could pluck strings and hit notes in ways nobody else could. But alongside the strange gift came a nervous disposition. The world didn't like T babies, and if six fingers was the sign of a witch, then what was ten? "Got to keep the pinkies hidden" she explained. "I mean, you know I can play with only ten, right? It's just... well, I get the urge to use more. Its like... playing with an itch on your nose..." She sighed, looking downcast. It was a vexatious conundrum, and one Bernadette had heard before. Despite her shy nature, Summer was a talented musician and - if she could overcome her shy nature - a talented performer. To add poetic misery to the equation, Summer had one more minor ability, she could shine. Literally shine. She could illuminate the air around in her in sparkling colours. A guitarist with sixteen fingers, four thumbs, and her own inbuilt light show. What else could she be but an entertainer? "How are you?" she asked Bernadette. "Ready for this? I can play anything you want..."

OOC for https://www.freedomplaybypost.com/topic/13652-double-the-treble/

GM Boston, Saturday 16th July The sun was high, the heat was high, the humidity was high. Plenty of fluids, sunscreen and shades were the order of the day. A tall, lanky girl dressed in baggy trousers and a crop top sat roasting in a park. She had an acoustic guitar on her knee, which she was strumming with considerable dexterity. She wasn't putting a lot of effort in - more of an idle strum, listening for new tunes, making up compositions, but the trained ear could tell she had remarkable skill with her fingerwork. Long, marfanoid fingers, bordering on the uncanny. The girl was maybe five nine, five ten, but even for that height her fingers looked about an inch too long for normal. The girl was Summer Sands. Olive skinned, brown eyed, long black hair without any style. One of those faces that was too odd to be beautiful, without being too weird to be ugly. A long face, with something wistful in her expression, something enigmatic in her style. She was, as they said, lost in music. She was also waiting for someone. Bernadette O'Connell Aka the merely magnificent Multi-Girl... Summer Sands wanted to enter the open mic upcoming talent show in Boston. And she had reached out to Bernadette. They both had the same music teacher. Summer had left Claremont two years ago. Summer was a T-Baby.

GM "My mama? Yeah, I guess. If she don't chew my ears off. You know what mama's are like..." Nevertheless, getting his ears chewed off seemed to be a relatively small price to pay; Beanpole's demeanour brightened, and something vaguely like a smile hit his lips. "Seriously. I may be a crook, hell, I probably always will be, at least till dey lock me in da slamma. But you saved my life. So if I can help you out one day, let me know. As long as it don't get me killed. Turns out, not being a zombie gives you a whole new appreciation for being alive. And I sure ain't gonna eat no brains, hell - I'd rather eat pasta. And dat's saying something!" Beanpole had enough cash to hail a cab and make his way to his mothers, antibiotics in his hand. Where would his life go from this point? It was hard to say, and it was another story for another time. Right now, Chimera still had a rogue Necromancer to contend with, and Blowfish was circling the town looking for vigilante justice. But at least she could get a strong coffee from the hospital cafe... ~ To be continued.... ~

GM Beanpole shrugged. "I guess I can go back to da Pasta Palace. As long as Blowfish don't cut me in two with a chainsaw. Huh." He didn't look overjoyed at the prospect. "Maybe da doctor can give me an official medical statement, say I'm not a zombie?" he asked, looking at the Doctor. The Doctor tried to keep his eyebrows level and his lips straight, with limited success. "I can indeed, Mr Pole. You are, medically speaking, not a zombie. But psychiatry is not my specialism..." "Well I ain't nuts, if dat's what yer saying" said Beanpole, animated. "I ain't crazy! and I ain't no zombie either! Make sure you put that down!" he said, tearing his cannula out and standing up from the bed. "Right you are sir. Officially not a zombie, officially not a crazy. Official medical opinion" said the doctor, hastily scrawling something on some paper in illegible handwriting and stuffing it into Beanpole's hand. "And what ya gonna do?" said Beanpole, turning to Chimera. "I mean, I guess I owe you a solid, even if ya is a cape!"

GM "Come see for yourself..." A few minutes later, in a hospital side room... Beanpole was lying in bed, a drip up his arm (for no clear reason other than having a cannula in a vein seemed like a good idea on the basis that "better to have it and not need it rather than need it and not have it") and a dressing over his bite mark. Other than his normal skinny, lank build and a slightly frazzled mental state, he seemed entirely healthy. "Bloods all normal. Blood pressure normal. A bit underweight. You could do with a few more bowls of pasta, sir" explained the doctor to the so-called Mr. B. Pole (as it said at the bottom of the bed). "Can't stand da stuff" muttered Beanpole. "I'm more of a tofu and sushi guy. But..." he shot a frightened glance at Chimera. "...don't let da boss know. Truth is, I flush da pasta down the toilet..." He turned his face to mock disgust at the thought. But the doctor was right; Beanpole could do with a few more bowls of pasta, or anything, come to that. "Can I go?" he asked. The doctor shot Chimera a glance. "Yes, as far as I can see you are fine. Just take the antibiotics and... ah... it would be good to have a trusted friend keep an eye over you the next couple of days, just in case you get an infection. Or... ah... something else happens..." Necromancy, as the doctor had said, was not on the medical school syllabus.

GM Grabber Gibbons looked behind him, peering into the darkness, past the glinting gold into the eyes of Luke. A wiser man would have cut his losses. But Grabber Gibbons was not a wiser man. Not even a wise man. Nor even a man of average wisdom. No, for Grabber Gibbons was a man of greed, and when greed ruled the castle, wisdom was drowned in the moat. "Cold beer, eh? Sounds good...." He started crawling back, before Greed gave birth to a desperate sort of cunning. "Wait... sixty fourty split. No, wait... mmmm best try my luck..." he mumbled out loud. "Seventy-thirty I mean. Looks like a can carry a lot more than you, so fairs fair, right?" He wiped his brow, still panting heavily. Behind him, back by the vault, Luke caught the faint sounds of activity. The kind of activity and sound that would be tantamount to guns be cocked and curses being proclaimed. The gold chains would not hold the goons forever, and the alarm had been raised...

More than enough!

Its chase time! To start off, lets have a DC10 Escape Artist Check to squeeze through. If you cant make that, Grabber will be out of eyeshot. DC 20, and you can start making ground catchiung up as you pop through like a greased eel. Anything else, the chase will continue topside.

GM Grabber was a large man, but the tunnel was larger. For some reason, he seemed to scrabble up the tunnel with remarkable agility - perhaps he was more comfortable on four limbs than two, given the expanse of his midriff. Perhaps it was that he was not merely fat, but under that adipose tissue lay generous amounts of muscle. Out of shape, perhaps. Because he started breathing hard, started sweating. Luke tore the golden exoskeleton aside with effort. It was jammed in, and the only way he could squeeze past was by both breathing in and beding solid gold bars.. ...and even then there was a hideous chance he would get stuck! And the clock was ticking... "You belch-bottom!" yelled Grabber down the tunnel. the light may not have penetrated far, but the walls of the tunnel carried sound, and echoes, extremely well. "You know how much gold that is? I can split it with you.... fifty fifty!" The yell was from the top of the tunnel, street level, and interspaced with violent pants. Grabber Gibbons was out of breath, but nearly out of the tunnel. And Luke was trying to squeeze, stretch, and squash....