The Harvestfair(IC)

[Ironox]

Bluesman coughed at the gas entering his lungs, reminding himself that he needed to get a rebreather somehow. Once the effect of the gas wore off, he looked between the coalescing Mr. Mist and the henchmen beginning to go through the crowd. Deciding that there wasn't much punching was going to do against a man who was apparently made of gas, but he could do something about the people being robbed. He aimed his grapple gun towards a high tree branch, firing it and swinging into the crowd, landing next to the closest concentration of the hoods.

Using the momentum of his swing, Bluesman aimed a strong right hook at his first target as he landed, looking to knock the man out before he could bring his weapon to bear. He turned, keeping aware of all of the thugs; he needed to make sure that they weren't going to fire into the crowd in a panic.

[TheAbsurdist]

Seeing the spread of the gas, he was rather happy he was up in the air already. That does not look pleasent. I would feel bad but, well, it's icky and I glad it's not me. Way to go with the Ivy League schooling Amir. Icky. Criminy. He dipped down selecting an area that he could see. Alright just like practice... only this time it's real people, so it counts. Here goes. Also say something pithy. "Gentlemen, I see you are trying a bit of applied shared economics, I commend you. Now let us see how you handle some trickle down!" Asad yelled as he released the power boiling up inside of him. Throwing out his arms was a little dramatic, but the electricity arced out from him and he controlled the released, it crackled and shot out, completing their circuits with the Lads and Mr. Mist.

He was uncertain how he was going to handle the Lads' boss. Uncertain what happens if he gets gassed, as he still had to breathe. He felt the crackle of power still in him, as he readied himself for the next salvo.

[Ari]

GM

Mr. Mist hadn't expected the heroes to get back on their feet nearly so quickly, used as he was to striking from ambush and winning before the first move was made. So the look of shock and surprise on his face as Quintessence picked up the bleacher and threw it at his and Mike's heads can easily be imagined. However, the construct of metal and plastic failed to make the impression that it might normally have, Mr. Mist being made of..mist, and Mike having the presence of mind to throw himself to the ground as the seats sailed towards him, only barely managing to save himself from injury. The soldier lay flat on the sandy grass, staring at Quintessence with clear fear and awe, while Mr. Mist looked deeply vexed. "Well, what do you know? That batch wasn't strong enough. Note to self," he muttered, placing two ephemeral fingers on his forehead, "distill the new nausea gas at least a dozen times more, still too weak for combat use" he watched with mild irritation as the Bluesman raced off to begin a beatdown of his henchmen, saying angrily to himself "This is going to end badly for me again, isn't it?" he turned to Spitfire, cracking his wispy knuckles "As for YOU! You'll pay for that singeing, Flamethrower, or whatever you call yourself!"

[Airon]

Weaver was on Arug, the left knee bent, grabbing a corner of the carpet firmly in his hand. Now he thought. The magical carpet flew high above the trees and planed near the sinister mist.

Still fighting the disgusting smell of Mr Mist’s gas, Weaver flew a couple of times around his enemy’s head “You certainly do your best to redefine the appellative “old fartâ€, don’t you now, despicable man?†he mocked him, trying to get on his nerves. “I really don’t think you’re a pleasant attraction for the good people of Freedomâ€.

As he said so, he moved both his arms in a paced circular gesture: a myriad of flags, sheets, scarves and handkerchiefs freed themselves from their places in the fair and took the sky, flying and whirling around the vaguely face-shaped cloud of mist.

[Ari]

GM

Mr. Mist stopped abruptly, his right hand outstretched towards Spitfire, but frozen, as was his usually constantly-shifting body. He simply stared at the nothing between him and the fire-breathing hero, his eyes glazed and his mouth slightly ajar out of sheer habit from his corporeal days. The words of Weaver had cut him to the core, the long years of building up his image as the cool, emotionless Mr. Mist fell away, and Brad Raymond, the gloomy, aging chemist found himself forced to look at what he was doing with his life. He saw himself briefly through the eyes of the cloth-manipulating hero, as posturing pile of foul-smelling vapor in a ridiculous 'costume' of briefs and boots, he wondered, for the first time since he had left his secret laboratory beneath the sewers of the city, if maybe he should turn himself in, maybe A.S.T.R.O. Labs could help him regain his old body, maybe he could leave this business forever! But then what? he wondered bitterly, I've been a wanted criminal for years now, there's no way I can get anything like my old life back. With a sigh, he steeled himself, and his misty body began to waver again.

While he was still in the fight, it was clear that he had been powerfully affected by Weaver's words, and wouldn't exactly be on top of his game unless he managed to shake off the biting phrases the hero had used.

[Eviscerus]

Spitfire

This time, when Mr. Mist attempted to cut off Spitfire's air supply with a suffocating gas, he was ready, filling his lungs with fire, burning the harmful vapor before it could get into his lungs. Snorting a lick of flame out his nose, Maxie smiled derisively at the floundering supervillain.

"What's the matter, pal? Outta gas already? It wasn't very nice, tryin' to stink us all outta here, and it was less cordial to try and part these people from their hard earned money. I reckon you got a bit of a tanning comin' boy!"

Maxie sucked in a deep breath and let fly a gout of flame that could melt metal directly into the face of Mr. Mist, doing all he could to focus the cone of conflagration away from innocent bystanders and expensive looking items such as cars and set pieces. Some collateral damage was to be expected, when dealing with someone who breathed fire, but that didn't mean Maxie couldn't do all he could to minimize chaos.

[Ari]

GM

The flames roared over the beach, burning stray branches, leaves and grass in its path as it struck Mr. Mist like a hammer, burning away an immense chunk of his 'body', sending him reeling back in silent agony, until he came to a stop a few feet back from where the immense gout of fire had originated. Spitfire's taunt obviously rubbed salt into the wound Weaver had torn only seconds ago, as Mr. Mist had opened his mouth furiously just before the searing heat had struck him. His hissing, bursting cloud of a body slumped to the ground, where his features twisted and distended, clear signs that his command over his gaseous form was weakened greatly.

Meanwhile, significantly closer to the other edge of the fairgrounds, the last Lad found himself surrounded by a massive cloud of swirling cloth, tent material and flags. Having no idea what to expect from something like this, he stopped dead, a wave of panic rooting to the ground as he stared wildly around at the barrier to the outside world, the swirling mass doing a lot to disorient him from his usual senses of both reality and direction.

[Ironox]

Bluesman ducked when he saw the crackle of energy from Asad's attack took out most of the rest of the soldiers, though it seemed like it wasn't necessary; nothing came too close to him. However, the hesitation allowed the final standing soldier a chance to run. Glancing back and seeing that his impromptu team's attacks (and cruel barbs) were doing a number on Mr. Mist, Bluesman decided to chase down the last of the Lads.

Aiming at the highest point he could see past the fleeing man, he fired the grapple. When it hooked, he hit the trigger to recall the winch, sending him hurdling towards the man at a high speed. At the end of the line, the pull turned into more of a swing, as he landed near the man, who had been frozen in place by a whirling cloud of various textiles. Aiming carefully, Bluesman swung at the man's jaw, looking to lay him out once and for all.

[Ari]

GM

The Bluesman's fist struck squarely into the side of the head. The man stiffened, swayed, and then crashed to the floor. Meanwhile, Mike had met enough of the force Asad had generated to knock him out fully, and lay insensible on the grass.

By now the distant sound of approaching police sirens could be heard, and the majority of the fairgoers were either fleeing in droves, or else edging closer to the fight to shout encouragement, depending on how close to the fight they were.

[Paragon]

Looking around for threats and seeing only Mr. Mist standing Quintessence Fly's over to the big lamp the mist came out of. Taking a grasp of the bottom edge of the lamp Quintessence heaves it up and slams it down in the direction of Mr. Mist with all his strength. "Take that you wind bag! No evil can stand before the forces of good. God what a lame line! I need to get better at this witty banter. Get it together man. " Quintessence says. After attacking Quintessence moves to stand between Mr. Mist and the departing crowd.

[TheAbsurdist]

Holding out his hand a bolt of electricity arced out and hit hit the ground near the lamp. Asad managed to keep the annoyance off his face. I know that is what is going to be on the evening news and the tabloids later. Recover, dammit, recover. He dropped then, letting gravity do it's work. He fell, and landed on his feet a couple paces away from Quintessence. Recover. A cocky smile went over his face, as he nodded to the other hero, as he felt the force of the impact surging through his form, adding to his power. Then he got a serious expression as he looked back to the lamp.

"That was a warning shot, Mr. Mist, please stay down. We don't want this to continue being violent. We want this to end as peacefully as possible." Nothing pithy or witty to say, as he lowered his hand to his side. Asad hoped the little speech would work, but he doubted it. Dammit, it was hard to adapt to using his powers when what he could blast would be different each time, and they had a starkly different feel.

[Ari]

GM

Asad's words had little effect, mostly because the chemist supervillain was too dazed from the violence of the heroe's onslaught to focus much on what the man in the gold and burgundy costume was saying. He muttered something about "Ne'er surrend'ring", but it was abundantly clear that there wasn't much fight left in him, if any.

It was about then that the giant tin lamp spray-painted copper came crashing down on Mr. Mist's wavering body, his crippling from Spitfire's assault meaning he could only stare blankly at it as it hurtled towards him and smashed a deep indent on the soft sand of the beach, trapping the chemical cloud beneath it. Fom under it muffled sounds could be heard, but obviously the gaseous man was pretty squarely trapped under the metal shell.

A hearty cheer came from the fairgoers who had stuck through the fight, the jubilant cries attracting many of those who had fled back to the scene of what was shaping up to be a profound victory for law and order, punctuated by the noisy, siren-heralded arrival of several squads of the FCPD, including a few A.E.G.I.S. agents with what looked like vacuum cleaners strapped to their armored backs.

[Eviscerus]

Spitfire

Spitfire, as his custom, played up their victory for the crowd while they waited for the AEGIS agents to show up with their do-hickeys. Turning to the crowd, arms outstretched and smiling widely, Spitfire let loose a gout of flame from his mouth straight into the air, which exploded 50 feet above him, sending a wave of heat and sparks through the air.

"I tell ya, boys. This here is my favorite part of the hero biz: the adulation!" Spitfire then walked up to Bluesman and offered a hand in congratulations

"Howdy friend, name's Spitfire. You did a right fine job takin' out those thugs. Yer a handy fella to have around! Not to mention I like yer style!" Spitfire went around offering similar congratulations and handshakes to the rest of the impromptu team, introducing himself, and commenting in some way or another on their respective abilities. He called Asad's performance "electrifying," he noted with some envy Quintessence's strength, and Weaver he was particularly delighted in, making a horrible pun about "pulling one over" on Mr. Mist's muscle, and "pulling the rug out from beneath" Mr. Mist's pompousness with his barbs. It was easily evident that Spitfire enjoyed the spotlight and the encouragement of the crowd, and knew how to play them, and it was also clear that he truly believed it an honor to work beside other heroes. Despite his naive enthusiasm over being a hero, it was easy to tell that the young Spitfire enjoyed helping others, even if he did so with a little more pomp and circumstance than was actually needed.

[Airon]

Arug landed softly and Weaver stepped down with a graceful motion. Once he was certain that Mr Mist had been safely imprisoned by the fine AEGIS agents, he spent a few moments gathering all the flags and scarves he threw around during the short battle and returning them to their owners... well, what he remembered were the rightful owners. Getting back a scarve lost in a superhero battle would have been a nice ice-breaker for the many college students who were shopping around. He adressed the crowd to make sure nobody would quarrel about their stuff.

"Ladies, gentleme! If one or more of your clothing accessories was, well... lifted from you during the battle, I apologize. Here on the stage you'll find everything in pristine state, if maybe a bit smelly because of the unhortodox attacks of that foul man."

He smiled at Spitfire's showmanship, but he had to work hard to escape the crowd for the time necessary to text his wife and inform her that all was well.

[Ari]

GM

The operation involved in getting Mr. Mist out from under the giant lamp and into the gas-packs the AEGIS agents carried was at least interesting to look at: several heavy-duty jacks were taken from the back of the truly formidable-looking truck the agents had arrived in, placed under the lamp and jacked. Once the lamp was on its base Mr. Mist attempted to dissipate into the air but was quickly apprehended: the gear AEGIS had sent split his gaseous body into pieces, none of which had the full agency or power the whole possessed. Once that was done, the packs were placed in large sealed canisters, so that if he escaped through the cracks of the pack, he'd still be trapped.

The apprehension done, the apparent leader of the squad, a Mr. Leuven(short, stockily-built, iron-gray hair and deeply tanned skin), approached the heroes on the beach "Thank you for your quick work here. From what eyewitnesses have told me, you acted admirably today. May I ask what you've named yourselves, so that if we need to get this guy again, I know who to call?" he smiled a little more broadly than if he was entirely serious, but he seemed grateful nonetheless.

After the heroes had given their answers, he shook their hands, thanked them again and departed, the squad cars and AEGIS van threading their way through the returning(and renewed!) crowd. It was by now noon.

Crowds clustered about whichever heroes hadn't slipped off back into their regular guises, the play on the dock was postponed until after lunch, and most of the assembled musicians, by some unspoken agreement, gathered near the meal tents to play their hearts out.

As the heroes went their ways, they now had the satisfaction of having kept even the arrival of a supervillain from stopping others from enjoying THE HARVESTFAIR!