Supercape

Could you throw me an initiative roll? [url=https://orokos.com/roll/985626]Initiative[/url]: [u]1d20+7[/u] [b]23[/b]

GM The two punks spun round. "You!" they said in unison, before engaging in a soundbite-driven argument that ping-ponged between the two of them. "Smash the patriachy!"... Bash! A male security guard got a baseball bat between his legs. "No! Smash the oligarchy!"... Bash! the cash registerer exploded with coins as a baseball bat crunched it like a tin can. The girls were strong! and angry! "No! Smash the theocracy!"... Bash! A wooden crucifix on a wall splintered under the tip of a well aimed swing. "No! Smash the technocracy!"... Bash! An amp exploded in sparks as a baseball bat impaled it. the power surge shorted the lights, leaving the whole venue in semi-darkness!" "No! No! No!" screamed the two sisters in unison. "Smash the meritocracy! Cheating by using talent and hard work!" With the socio-political scapegoat finally agreed upon, the two punks screamed and charged at Bernadette, the hated winner of the compitition!

Gamma Buzz "Space Station?" said Baz, hopping from foot to foot with excietement as he repeated himself. He couldn't quite digest it - if his anatomy had allowed a slack jaw it would have been swinging around his chest, complete with excessive drool. Possibly it would have shattered on the floor beneath them. He shook his head and took a pastry. It smelled delicious, it tasted delicious. Baz could eat pretty much anything, from a cockroach nest to a vat of acid. His stomach was made of impervium. But that wasn't to say his palate did appreciate the sweetness, the fluffiness, the wholesome goodness of a pastry. Although cookies were his favourite. Particularly if they had raisins in them. Freedom CIty just gets better and better! And this Harrow fellow isn't bad either! Sure, there was a touch of envy, but this guy was the guy to be around. "What music do you like?" he asked, jumping onto his makeshift bed and fiddling with the i player. Maybe, just maybe, he could impress Lawrence with his encylopedic knowledge of music. At least, in the mind of Baltazar, it was encylopedic. As long as it was made in the last five years. And he listened to it.

GM "Why of couse" said the Duke, with a tiny bow. Bernadette caught the mask of jocularity slip for a moment; the duke was dissapointed. Summer flapped her hands, not sure if she should stay with the Duke or Bernadette. In conclusion, she opted for a poor comprimise, seemingly maintaining a position exactly equidistant from the two. Outside, the drunken, rumbunctious crowd had thinned - and the crowd that had remained was either spectating on, or engaged in, a brawl. The two punk girls - Pinkageddon - with pink in their hair, where screaming, shouting, smashing up instruments, stage equipment and sometimes people, armed with baseball bats. They had been props on the show, but the bats were clearly quite functional and smashing baseballs, or in this case, skulls. "The Duke told us we would win!" screamed Mindy. "We been sticjed up!" shouted Mandy. Mindy and Mandy, the punk girls of Pinkageddon. Bernadette could see that the two of them - despite great efforts to accentuate difference via style, hair, make up, and clothes, were identical twins. And very capable with the baseball bats. Around them was a trail of smashed amps and bleeding spectators. And the two of them were making a beeline for the duke! Out of the corner of her eye, Bernadette could make out the Leprachaun, stroking his orange beard, raiding his orange eyebrows, with a sardonic sneer on his lips as he observered the chaos.

If so, I think that makes 3 greey HP!

You can hear some commotion / brawling out of the DUkes room. Not quite high enough DC to make out details, but it sounds like a fight is brewing on the stage area.

Gamma Buzz "Space Station, wow!" Baz was so surprised he took a step back. What would grandpa Botez say about that? He always dreamed of the stars - at least when he was alive. Taken by cancer when Baz was twelve. He stilled missed the old man, grumpy, whiskey soaked and as kind a man as you could imagine. "I guess the field trips dont go that far" he said, speculating. "What are we talking about? The gleaming streets of Freedom City? of Emerald City? or abroad, even? I always wanted to go to South America. I mean, proper south. Brazil. They always look ready for a good party, huh?" He looked behind Lawrence. The corridor was empty, for now. But still. "Lets get into my room. Its a dump, to be honest. I wasn't exactly clean and tidy even before, y'know. But I'd rather be there than out here. Don't wanna attract to much attention. Even in this building..." He egged Lawrence into his room which was, predictably a dump. A few clothes, a bed, some headphones and a junkyard i player, full of music of every description. Except country and death metal.

Rev Rev shut one eye, put her tongue out, and took careful aim. Her hand creaked as she move it. Joints still cranking from the wet rain. She needed lubricating oil. And she felt her petrol levels low. I'm going to soak in a bath of engine oil after this... But she had to survive this, first. She took a deep breath in. Fire, vampires are vulnerable to fire, right? She sure hoped so. "Hey, Vamp! Suck on this!" she shouted, and let loose. A streak of orange fire erupted from her hand - ignited oil that coursed its way to the undead. Inside, she felt her fuel tanks hit empty. From now on, it was running on fumes - unless the Iron Talon had a few spare petrol tanks somewhere.

Just for reference whats Rev's status at the moment? 2 HP? Staggered? Bruised x2? Injured x2? Disabled x2? Fatigued? In any case she is going to try - if she can, to take a full round to aim at the Vamp, and then set him alight! [url=https://orokos.com/roll/985554]Flamethrowa[/url]: [u]1d20+9[/u] [b]16[/b] with an additional +2 from the aim (making 18), and maybe flat footed? In any case, thats a Damage 8 fire to the vamp if it hits, with an additional secondary effect the round after (setting him alight) If its ok with you can I activate complication afterwards, making Rev drained of fuel and thus unable to use jets? (until she gets her hands on some more petrol).

Gamma Buzz "Generic morphic molecules, eh? Maybe Ill get me a super suit one day! Orange, I think. That's a cool colour, right?" Did orange spandex and green armour plates go? Baltazar had no idea, but it sounded cool. Besides, who would notice? he would probably be spending his super hero time patrolling the dimly lit or totally dark tunnels of the subways and sewers of Freedom City. A far cry from warping oneself through space and time. Baltazar tried to grapple with the concept. Dinosaurs! Aliens! Ninja Cyborgs of Zuzu from the 53rd century! The possibilities were infinite. Quite possibly literally. "Sounds like you got a lot of exploring to do! If you ever want company, count me in. I am guessing I wont look so odd to the Ninja cyborg aliens of Zuzu, or at least no more odd than you, eh?" What do aliens look like anyway? Baltazar cracked his knuckles. Partially because he wanted to show he was up for business, up for adventure, up for a fight. But mainly because one of the many amazing things about being a half insect was that his knuckles cracked in a loud and pleasing way. "Do we get field trips? I guess you are the man to go to, eh?"

Also, forgot to mention, could you throw me a DC 10 Auditory Notice roll? -2 penalty for range.

Gamma Buzz "What do you do then? Freeze time? Speed it up? Wrap it round your little finger and admire your orouboros ring? Hey.... that would be cool, right? An orouroboros ring, maybe you could make that in a craft class? And put your supersuit in it! You could do that, right? Don't they have atomic suits or something that can shrink?" He paused. Maybe he should get a super suit. T shirt and jeans wasn't exactly super, but it was all he could afford. And besides, its not like he would ever have a secret identity. Some small, battered part of his brain told him to be proud of what he was, to own it. As usual, the brutal part of his brain - the ashamed one - gave the proud part of his brain the battering of a lifetime and told it to shut the hell up or there would be trouble. "I can see it now! A slick super suit with a clockface logo! or a stopwatch, right? What's your favourite colour? What colour is time, anyway? Does it have a colour? Blue? Pink? Purple?"

Give me a WIS DC 10 Check

GM The Duke drummed his chin with short fingers - not a pianists fingers, the astute might note, but perhaps they were sufficiantly nimble to dance around the keyboard. Fall all his portly, short build, the Duke seemed to have an air of elegant grace. A dancer, perhaps? "I do not know if it is ready for you. But perhaps you are the ones to make it ready?" he concluded, wearing a thoughtful smile. "I would offer to be your patron, but alas, as much as I appreciate music, I have no head for business, law, administration. Pfft! Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork! The bane of the twentieth century. And now, I hear we have spreadsheets on computers! Woe! Lamentations! Wretched computers compounding the misery!" He shook his head. "No, I am a scientist, an artist, a philosopher! A man of the Renaissance! I will not drown my sould in paperwork!" he said with defiance and pride. He sighed, shoulders sagging. "But alas, I am depleted of energy. Not the man I was, I daresay. I need something to rejuvinate me. Maybe you!... but I digress.... there is something more important afoot..." Bernadette felt it again, that spike in the ether, that pulling. "Beyond my scientific mind" explained the Duke. "Something attracting me, like a black hole, tugging at my spirit. Something in the music? Can you feel it? What do you make of it? Did you come here of your own free will, or... something else? Maybe something pulled you in, something unconscious... hmmm...."

Gamma Buzz "Good news!" Baz wondered about the electronics. Perhaps if some key components went "missing"... who would notice? he could build his own transmitter! His mind danced around the risks, the ethics... but inside he felt his half-insect intestines quiver with excitement. My own transmitter! Broadcasting the sounds of the subway! Bringing fat beats and conpsiracy the--- I mean truths to the public! He wondered what Lawrence would think of such well intentioned but naughty activity. Kind of well-intentioned, anyway. -ish. "And what are you doing here? Learning how to control your powers? Bringing down despots and masterminds around the world? Timeout! The Terror of Tyrants! I can see it now! Maybe you need some entrance music!"

Echohead Echohead adjusted his tie. He didn't like ties, but he felt he had to wear one. He worried some thug might grab it and strangle him. Stop it! You are a damn superhero! You could freeze him on the spot! That's what he told himself. That's what he told his fibrillating heart and sweat soaked skin. But the truth was, he needed to be extra vigilant - for without his armoured suit he was vulnerable. Have to stay alert! He took another sip from his espresso cup. A double. Fortunately Echohead was not limited to his eyes - he could feel all the brains around him, ripe for the plucking if need be. And in the back of his skull, he could feel the agent, insidiously letting him where to look, what to study, looking for bulges in jackets, or suspicious briefcases. The Talon guys looked heavy duty, and dangerous. Were they thugs in uniforms, or uniformed thugs? Well - that wasn't a question, he realised. He had made his mind up already... was it childhood bullying? He decided to strike up a conversation with the nearest one. "Nice suit..." He started. Not the best opening gambit, he thought, but at least innocuous.

Can I take 10 / 20 for that? If not: 11 for escape artist and/or [url=https://orokos.com/roll/985438]STR[/url]: [u]1d20+11[/u] [b]16[/b] for STR

Gamma Buzz "Great!" Baz wasn't good at hope. He was positive, but the kind of positive that was determined to make the best of living in a septic tank. Not the kind of hope that one could crawl out of it. Those hopes, he felt, were the ones that got dashed. Those hopes were the one that stopped your dealing with the mountain of manure that was life. He didn'd dare dream of ascending. He dreamed of a shovel. But this... this sounded hopeful. A hope he could dare believe in, even if he must mute it. "Like, real stuff? I mean, who pays for it? What if I break it? Can I keep it? What can I do with it?" He gabbled. But would Lawrence know? Lawrence probably had a much better chance of knowing than Baz did. Baz was feeling progressively like a hunter-gatherer with a spear and net having an encounter with a field of wheat, a plough, and a tractor. This wasn't something he had a map for.

GM "Ah yes, do forgive me, madam. Summer, is it? And well you are named, because you are like sunshine painted onto a Turnereaque sky. Quite wonderful. Now, forgive my fabulous fascination, but.. Claremont, is it? What can you do?" Summer blushed, and held out both hands. In but the bat of an eye, the fingers split in 'twain and she held twenty digits aloft. The Duke raised his eyebrows. In another moment, the fingers came off her hands, spiralled around Summer and Bernadette and the Duke himself, and then promptly reattached themselves to her hands. This time the Duke gasped and clapped his hands. "Magnificent! Why, you two will be the musical duo of the age - I am quite sure. Tell me, have you any thought to what you might call yourself? Perhaps you need a percussionist, or a piano master! Why, I have been known to dabble on the ivory myself, quite the amateur, though hahaha!"

Gamma Buzz Baz breathed a sigh of relief. Lawrence had not recoiled - and offered reassurance that Claremont was the place to be. The long and horrific journey from Mexico was worth it. The smuggling, the dealing with smugglers. The only good thing had been crawling through the dark and dusty tunnels. There, Gamma Buzz was in his elements. "Well, I came to the right place then!" he said, sticking two thumbs up. At least I still have thumbs. Sure, only three fingers. But opposable thumbs are handy. "Yeah. I dug around the trash a lot, growing outside Mexico City. I'm a scavanger. Built my own radio from scraps. Fuzzy and static, but it worked. Kind of..." He shrugged. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box - especially not amongst the super geniuses of Freedom City, but he wasn't stupid, either. He hadn't gone to school much, but he had picked up a practical skill or two." "I'm not good at maths. But I know my way around a tool box. I should probably try and get a bit better. Computers, too. Need to know my way around them. I want to set up a Radio station eventually.... I don't have the face for TV!"

GM Juan needed little encouragement to wince in fear. La Puma could, at the moment, have threatened him with a feather duster and made him pass out. Teeth, claws - they were more than up to the job. The priest stopped, clutching his bible tighter, holding his eyes slightly wider. Tazel was in the ether, invisible, although he still whispered in La Puma's ear. "Have care! I cannot enter a holy place... if he sanctifies this building I will be ejected... I do not know why I can enter this place at all - someone has defiled it, I think..." "I halt" said the priest, voice trembling but laced with boldness - was it faith? was it desperation? something propelled him, something made his brow swim in sweat. "But you must tell me, what transpires here? This is a holy place, and I will not see it maligned by intent or by action. Tell me! What is going on here? It does not smell good, it leaves a taste of... sulfur in the mouth!"

Rev Rev instantly knew the situation was not good. No, not good at all. She and Pete were blood bags for a gang of vampires. Well, it was Bedlam city. Sooner or later some bloodsuckers were going to turn up. In fact, it was probably good they chose Bedlam - at least they would be feeding on the fungating scum and villainy that circulated the streets. But - but that wasn't good enough. There were plenty of good souls trying to shine in the tsunami of silage that was Bedlam city. "Too much fat is bad for you..." she mumbled. Fat... oil... it all sounded vaguely biochemically correct. But she was struggling to keep her eyes open. "Got any asprin, Pete? I got a devil of a headache..." There was at least a glimmer of hope. The guard was occupied. She detatched her arms from her body. They were still connected via electro-radio mechawaves - and she tried to force her detatched arms to crawl out of the leather straps...

GM "It don't look like much. A shack between Wharton Forest and the sea. Well, ain't exactly a shack, I suppose. More of a barn. Plenty of space, but nothing fancy. No pillars of marbles..." Grabber Gibbons stopped to consider, allowing some rare and precious intelligence to seep into his brain which was quite unused to the sensation. "I mean. It could have frikkin laser beam cannons as a defence. I don't know. I just picked up the drill-suit from there. He wanted money, and he wanted to test drive his invention. He was a bit of a nerd. Barely spoke to me, thick glasses, and ten computer screens. Or about ten. I didn't count em, not exactly." An observer might wonder if Grabber Gibbons could count at all, the way his fingers fluttered in the effort of simple maths. "But I guess he was more contraptions. Right? Maybe we could steal em!"

Gamma Buzz "I'm adjusting fine; the question is - is Freedom City adjusting to me?" he said with a shrug, looking away. He couldn't technically blush with green skin laced with armour plates. But he could sure look like he was blushing. The statement was a mix of bravado and shame. Like most bravado, it was birthed in shame. Perhaps arrogance? Baltazar didn't know for sure, but he knew he didn't like to dwell on introspection. It was a dirty and painful business. He risked a small glimmer of honesty. "I mean, I don't look like someone its easy to adjust to, do I? Most people would think I crawled out of a gutter having drunk some insect-enlarging nuclear waste. Or something like that. Gotta say, it can suck..." That was a bit to honest. A bit to raw. He backpedalled. "...But then, I can climb walls and shoot frikkin' laser beams out of my eyes. So I am a cool superhero, too!"

GM The duke clapped his hands in delight. "Bravo! So the rumours are true! I suspected as much! Quite the smorgesbord of talent you have there, madam! I can only imagine the sound of a choir of you. A choir! The harmonies! I would pay good money to hear that!" He tapped his chin twice, bringing up the sound in his imagination. "Yes indeed. And as it turns out I have a lot of money. Some of it good, some of it bad. But it all pays the bills!" he added, with a wink. "I could fly you both to the Sistene Chapel! Can you imagine the sound? I would get on my knees and pray, so I would..." He shook himself out of his vision. "Now tell me, why did you come? There is something about this whole event that has some curious magnetism, does it not? Speak plain and true, now. I have felt. Like an itching in my heart. Something that needs to be scratched..."