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Found 90 results

  1. "Mr. Kraig, do you know why you are here?" Thomas rolled his eyes at the woman, "Yeah, I'm here because the suits think my head isn't in the game. I'm here because it was that or not be given more field work." The dark haired woman sighed, "That's not what I meant. Do you know why you've been sent to me? If the director had wanted to punish you, to keep you in line, they could have done that without me. So. Do you know what you are here?" Those emerald eyes bored into Thomas like green lasers. "They think I'm unstable. They want you to evaluate me, to tell them that I'm not going to snap and go all melt down on them and level a city or something." Thomas stared at the ceiling, it was better than looking at the woman doctor, she was hot, undeniably hot, and she had shut him down so fast during their first session that he wasn't even going to look at her. No matter how nice her legs looked in that skirt. "Something like that yes. More specifically they are hoping that you will open up to me and let me help you. We already know you are not entirely stable. The previous psyche evals said as much, but there are never enough Class Fives, especially those willing to work for an organization like this. You got through on the merits of your prior experience and capabilities, despite what the evaluations suggested." "Which was?" Thomas was pretty sure he knew. The Company wasn't exactly known for the breadth of its methodology. "Termination." He could hear her shifting, uncrossing and recrossing her legs; those long legs that had made him very appreciative of her presence in the office prior to this. "Mr. Kraig, the Directors don't know what to do with you. Your body count on the last mission is twice that of the combined kills of all the other agents in the field for the past year. They need a scalpel, not a weapon of mass destruction, and whatever is wrong with you is impairing your ability to function as they need you to. If I cannot-" "If you can't get me to play by the rules by finding out what's wrong with my head they'll bench me, or tank me, or maybe just bury me, if they can. I get it." He sat up and looked at her. He could suppress his libido for a while, when he wanted, no matter how gorgeous she was. "OK, Raven-" "It's Dr. LaCroix-" He smirked at her, "OK, Raven, how do we begin?"
  2. Travis smiled briefly, enjoying the view Felicienne gave him. She did have a very nice body but there were more important matters to attend to. He could already see 2 of the BlackOps slowly working their way towards the balcony. Teargas was billowing to the sides and slightly upwards granting the heavily armored and weaponed soldiers some cover. As Travis came closer he could hear how the men radioed their status to each other and by the way this went he expected at least another 3 men inside the appartment. Something about their accent..., the men were speaking french and he had the odd sensation of knowing roughly where they came from. One of them had just reached the balcony when Travis decided to swoop around him and with a precise telekinetic burst he made him slip against one of the supportive pillars knocking the man out. His friend was just a step behind him and opened fire but missed Travis by several yards. The BlackOps requested for reinforcement as he moved carefully under the cover from the balcony and teargas to get a better angle at Travis who waited patiently for his next window of opportunity. Just when he thought the soldier had made a wrong step he heard a very angry and female hiss right behind the man. Felicienne had managed to climb to the other side getting behind the soldier who had obviously forgotten about her and didn’t expect an attack coming from behind him. Her strong legs were wrapped around his upper body and with a violent jerk she sent the man flying over the railing of the balcony and down into his death. From inside the BlackOps opened suppressive fire and Travis quickly swooped back to pick up Felicienne. „Hang on tight!“, he yelled at her and she gladly wrapped herself around his body. Her eyes were still blindfolded and he could only imagine how badly the teargas had inflicted her. Knowing that time was running out he looked up to fly straight to the roof of the Wynn and then decide their next move. He heard the telltale noise of a handgrenade rolling over the floor and as it reached the balcony he quickly flicked it back using his power before he lifted off. Once he reached the roof he could feel the building shaking briefly under him just as the grenade exploded. Felicienne had obviously kept some secret from him... these weren’t ordinary burglars. „Feli? You ok?“, he slowly removed the blindfold seeing how she was still shedding tears. She seemed ok aside from that, though. Click to reveal.. Roll: [19 +5 Modifier +2 Circumstance B...SS.Travis has a hunch that these guys may be AMSU. Maybe if you found the time to search one of their bodies he could make sure if he’s right or wrong. Felicienne will recover from the gas quickly, no penalties aside from hurt pride.
  3. The streets were illuminated with the fires caused by the skirmishes between the police and the mutants who were fighting for their survival. It was difficult to determine when and especially why everything had gone so out of control. Remus was used unexpected twists and turns but this was somewhere beyond the realm of imaginable although deep down most mutants feared that something like this could happen. It supposedly already happened in Germany, if the rumors were right. But here in the U.S. of A? If someone had told him he was in Beirut now, he wouldn’t have questioned it. Now that night has come those who had been in hiding started to crawl out of their holes and take advantage of the general situation. Even though the military had virtually sealed the city there were ways for the Mutant Underground to move freely through the street. Raze, a tall, handsome man with greyish lines running through his normally black hair was the leader of the MU Faction Remus got ‘recruited’. Under different circumstances he might have tried to avoid dealing with them but since he was trying to dodge several other unpleasant ‘organisations’ it seemed a good idea having ‘friends’... just in case. As long his duties were not requiring him to do things he morally was opposed to he had no problems with the MU, but now that war has been declared Raze seemed too eager to retaliate... fully. The Fraternity were a rather aggressive faction of the MU and Raze always argued that they should take action and strike first. What happened in LV gave him enough support, even from those who always opposed him or tried to argue that his path was wrong and not desirable for the MU as a whole. But Raze didn’t care. He had his war now and he would take it back to those who started it.
  4. Rebecca was chasing down the streets and alleys ignoring the general chaos around her and scanning minds briefly hoping to find another clue on her search for the siblings. The closer she got to the general vicinity of the MIC the less people she saw on the streets and it got increasingly difficult to find anyone whom she could surreptitiously scan. Instead the streets were filled with police men and fire fighters in heavy gear. She could see smoke billowing up from several buildings in the distance and as she turned into the next street to catch her breath a anti-riot vehicle unloaded a squad of policemen who instantly charged towards her. There was no warning and from what she picked up these men were angry and frustrated and didn’t seem to care if she was an innocent bystander or a mutant they wanted to lock up. Rebecca felt her heart beat faster and she fled down the next alley looking back to the men chasing her. From the bulk of the Squad only 2 men decided to take up the chase while the rest regrouped and moved towards the MIC. With some relief Rebecca stepped backwards, keeping the men in sight and thinking about a way to get rid of them completely forgetting the immediate surrounding and the deadly approaching truck from the next street. She stumbled a bit before she actually saw the truck, huge and almost on top of her. Her eyes widened and she screamed as she reached out to the drivers mind hoping to make him stop the truck before it hit her. The driver jerked the steering wheel around and hit the breaks which at first slowed the vehicle down but inertia and drift made the large vehicle skid sidways and then fall over on the side. The sky was darkening above her and... Originally Posted By: Jaunt What had he gotten himself into? He knew he was going to hate himself for what he was about to do, but he dug his feet into the concrete and pushed off...... down deep into his body his DNA fired off so many synaptic pulses that his very body was a torrential electrical storm! Nerves fired upon muscles which fired upon cells which fired upon organs, it was glorious symphony of mutant DNA at it's finest. Then the Virus moved in to do what it was created to do. Triangular cells each with several small tentacles latched onto and buried their barbed feelers deep into the synaptic firing centers of his nervous system. In one brief moment the current was more than his body could take and cells, muscles and organs began to bruise and burn at an alarming rate. Stressed by the sudden effort that, without the Virus, would have been a cake walk for Jaunt... ...the sidewalk square that he was standing on literally shattered into debris as he launched himself at an insane speed toward the unsuspecting woman. She never saw it coming, but he slowed down just enough to 'appear' in front of her, and leap at her in time to tackle her out of the way. Everything in his body burned and as they rolled aside he knelt up and coughed up a bit of blood. "Y-you okay lady?" He was trying to get to his feet, looking for the siblings, as he staggered about, coughing up and spitting some blood on the sidewalk. "Look, my night is totally sucking, so just say 'yes', aight?" Click to reveal.. For dramatic purposes the blood coughing is A-OK – Jaunt suffers no further penalty except for feeling miserable/nauseatedSam watched how the speedster mutant responded to her but time wasn’t on their side. Even for her enhanced perception which she possessed when she merged with the machine his movement was barely perceptible. One second he stood right next to the mutant siblings she was searching for, the next he was gone, just to reappear and rescue a young girl from certain death. The Truck crashed into the asphalt flipping over several times before it came to a halt completely wrecked. She quickly expanded her field of view by adjusting to different screens, keeping an eye on the twins (from which she now got a 100% ID) and searching for Jaunt. There!, she found him and was somewhat relieved to see him mostly unharmed. The girl he rescued was still shaking from the adrenaline and near death experience flooding her system but she manage to stay conscious.
  5. (ooc: Continued from - Nightmare before Christmas and Collateral Damage ) Savannah felt the urgency in Simon’s voice but her eyes remained up in the sky slowly making out shapes which she initially thought to be just one object. To her it seemed as if a flying man/machine was firing some kind of projectile or missle which was quickly heading towards the general direction of the MIC behind them. Simon kept his focus on the street ahead one hand tightly interlocked with his sister’s hand as he guided her forward, away from the MIC. He could feel the distraction and confusion coming from her and struggled to shake it of. “We don’t have time for this – concentrate...“, he told her looking back at her for just a spare second. Savannah looked at him and the huge shadow behind him while they both felt the ground shake. She had a silent scream painted on her face and Simon felt the anxiety sweeping over him before he realized why she was paralyzed with fear. As he turned around the world around him had slowed down as if to mock him in this last seconds of his life. Several cars had crashed and some huge, 9 foot-monster, or so it seemed to him aimed with large weapons in their direction. A schoolbus was flipping over and was directly above them and for a moment he wondered why he hadn’t heard the noise and how it suddenly got there. The large vehicle broke apart a few feet above them and the shadow engulfed the twins... darkness followed. Click to reveal.. You both get a HP for GM Fiat and I’m not talking about the Italian carbrand...The Hospital was running at capacity. Kevin had gone into survival-mode, carefully gauging his limit without pushing it. He healed where his power was most needed and assigned minor surgeries to any capable staff with enough medical knowledge and skill. The war vetaran had no time to actually assess how bad the situation really was. Miriam was dealing with people, scared and confused people who asked all kinds of question. Kids seperated from their parents wanted to know where their parents were, elderly people who thought the next world war was upon them. Kevin was in OP 1 when Miriam entered, her face white behind her two gurneys side-by-side to create a larger space – either an extreme obese person was under the blanket or something else had happened. „Calm down, Miriam. We’ll deal with everything just like we did till now. We’re going to make it, just make sure we have enough supplies.“, Kevin spoke to her reassuringly. „Now tell me what we’ve got here.“, he asked as he approached the gurneys and slowly removed the blanket. Underneath he saw a boy and a girl, barely adults clutching dearly eachother. They were both semi-conscious and their legs were obviously broken. But what worried him most was the large steel girder that went through their abdomens, connecting the twins in a cruel fashion. The girl was panting, eyes unfocused and desperate while the boy seemed to be lucid enough to answer questions. There was blood but not as much as one would expect – Kevin knew that removing the Girder would probably kill them unless... With grim determination he nodded at Miriam, „I see... please prepare everything for surgery, I think I can safe them but we have to be quick.“ Miriam nodded still somewhat under shock but having a task helped her to remain functional, she nodded at Kevin and then left the OP 1, searching for anyone who could assisst Kevin and preparing everything he’d need for such a complicated procedure. Click to reveal.. Alright – SG – I need 2 rolls from you, all vs. DC 25 using your medical knowledge/treatment skill. The twins are considered to be dying if you want to use your healing power.@Twins – you are both conscious and can talk but can’t move. You can’t remember how you got here and someone must’ve given you some kind of sedative because you barely feel any pain, everything is numb. Any use of your powers requires a powercheck vs. DC 20 first, failure my worsen your condition which would mean death.
  6. Jaunt - 32 UNISON SWAT - 20 Juno - 18 Fenris - 15 Wolf-Becca - 13 Adrian - 13 Rebecca - 9
  7. Hello gang, with the new site software and the ability to create our own tags I would like to gather some "standards" to make filtering easier and to create reasonable tags. I would like to create a list with tags that should be used when new topics are started and I want to prevent the creation of different tags for the same kind of thing (like Fic and Fiction for example). I will start with a list of tags and kindly ask for your participation to add (or remove unnecessary) tags to the list. OOC IC Fiction Profile Combat Tracker House Rules Background Mechanics Mature (although this one should also be included as we used to in the Topic Title) Participating Character Names Story Bueller?
  8. Please post here everything that is known about your PCs. I appreciate pictures that give a good impression of what the PC looks like. I don't care if it is a drawing in comic-book-style or an actual photograph. Any changes during the game should be updated here.
  9. Some people say that just before you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. He distantly reflected that this was true. The process was called 'living'. What happens after you die? Blackness. Nothingness. A blessed numb void without fear or pain or hope or joy. No Heaven, no Hell. Not that he believed in them. Not that he believed in anything. Life is a series of moments, snapshots strung together by a common thread, running together and blurring so that only the exceptional ones stood out when you looked back at the whole. But what if the shutter of existence were to slow from a whirr to a steady *click...click...click*, a slow cadence of images that, put together, resembled a jigsaw puzzle rather than a movie. Thusly... *CLICK* The heat was the first thing he noticed. He didn't feel pain yet. A part of him knew that would come, as more of his nerve-endings grew back. But he felt heat all around him, yet concentrated above. The heat triggered a memory: a jet of searing fire shot from a weapon in the hands of someone wearing the flag of his country. He remembered the feeling of his flesh burning. *CLICK* The smell was the first thing he noticed. He smelled diesel fuel. He smelled burned flesh and blood. He smelled dead friends and partners. Leisl was here. And Sergei. He'd know them anywhere. They were here with him. He remembered seeing Leisl attacking the soldiers, screaming at him to fight as she and the man she was grappling were both shot down like dogs. The commandant's calm voice telling him to stay where he was, his muscles trembling with the urge to act as he rested on his knees with his hands behind his head. He smelled his own flesh as it continued to knit. He smelled the staff and doctors of the compound, their own bodies roasting in the same diesel fuel. *CLICK* The sound was the first thing he noticed. It was muffled, quiet now. There were soft, limp weights above him deadening the sound from beyond where they all lay. He remembered the chatter of the guns, the sounds the bullets made as they ripped him apart, the soldiers still shooting as the flamethrower stepped up and took aim. He tried to ask 'why', but he had no vocal chords and just blew bright red froth into the air in place of words. He remembered the screams and pleas of the other dead, and the calm voice of the officer as he explained that they were all surplus, that the Rodina needed them no longer. Doctor Gorkov shouting angrily that this was foolishness, that it was a waste. They had shot him first. *CLICK* The sight was the first thing he noticed. Burned, mangled faces and bodies all around. That one there was Yncka, the nurse who had broken rules and come to his cell one night three months ago. He remembered how she'd looked with her eyes half-closed, biting down on his pillow to keep from crying out as they'd- *CLICK* The pain was everything now. Raw, scraping pain with every breath, every beat of his heart... *CLICK* He was lying at the bottom. Sometime over the last few hours the fire had burned out. He could still feel residual heat, could still smell smoke and smoldering flesh of everyone he'd ever known more than passingly. His nerves still tingled, most of his skin was still missing. But it was growing back: the pain was an indicator of that. He could hear the howling wind above: a snowstorm in Siberian winter. If there were any of the soldiers around, they would be in shelters. Not the compound, though. They'd set thermite and plastique charges all through the compound. He knew by now that all that would be left was rubble. He started to wriggle, to try and force his way through the bodies massed on top of him. His arms still ended just below the elbow in bloody stumps, though the fresh white bone protruding from the left one was a little longer than it had been a few minutes ago. It all hurt. Healing was always painful. He tried not to think past the next wriggle, the next squirming movement towards the surface. He tried not to think of all his... acquaintances (Friends, Vanya. These were your friends.) around him. There would be time to remember this later. Time to consider what had been done... later. Gritting his incompletely-grown back teeth and shouldering past the corpse of Sergei, his partner and friend, the mutant once known as 'Vanya' worked his way upwards through the organic wreckage that had been KGB Section M.
  10. Sam surveyed th destroyed lab again, trying to process the situation and how it came to be. Tick Tock, (or Harry Burns, as Sam had made sure to plaster everywhere) had seemed like a great addition to the Black Parade and the Underground itself. While he wasn't a hacker or a electronics specialist, his medical knowledge and ability to get around biometric protocols had made a valuable new addition to the team. Sam had taken all the necessary procautions with a thorough background check, interviews, test tasks, and monitoring. All that had then been repeated by others in the Underground and even Mouse hadn't happened upon anything that would raise a flag. The only thing he had asked for was time in the med lab to work on the Virus. Something Sam was more than happy to oblige. A perfect fit it seemed...until now. "Tell me again, how he managed to get out of here without anyone noticing?" Sam asked as she turned around and exited the lab. "We're not sure." Frostbite said, "the internal footage for the time period is gone and no one saw anything. He must have had help." "No shit, Sherlock." Sam spat, whirling around on him. She let out a roar of frustration as her mind replayed the last few interactions with Tick Tock. He had stood patiently over her shoulder while she worked in the computer center until her attention could be diverted. She had been updating the software on the cameras. "Is anyone else gone?" "No, everyone else is accounted for and everyone in the field has reported back, I saw to it myself." The tension in her neck was directing screaming, angry, hate-filled messages of pain towards her head, and her head was retaliating. She pulled a hand down the muscle, trying to ease it. "Reconstruct his life for the last 6 months, I want to know everything. I don't care if he jacked off to Pokemon slash fics or painted murals in the park, I want it all. That dude was working on V shit and now it's all gone." "We're already working on it, but I don't know how much we will get, it seems he was using a disposable phone and an offline laptop since about three months ago. I have Mouse tracking video footage through the city...what hasn't been written over anyway. We're hoping he gets lucky." "So, basically, we got nothing but a medlab that looks like it got bombed. No leads at all." "It would appear so." "Fuck me running sideways." Sam lamented, sighing in frustration. "I'm willing to try if you are." the newcomer said with a wry grin as he approached. "Seriously dude? Not now." Sam retorted, kneading her neck. Frostbite was ever-so-slightly shaking his head behind Sam, trying to warn off against anything further, but he didn't listen. "What, I guarantee you'd forget all about that." Phin said, gesturing at the lab, "And all that tension would disappear...c'mon...you know you want it." He took a step back and swept his arms wide. Frostbite's slight shake became more pronounced and he backed up, giving plenty of room for the pair when he saw the lights flicker and some of the loose hairs in Sam's ponytail start rising. Sam stopped rubbing her neck and glared at Phin. His lone talent lie in breathing underwater, which could have untold uses in the right situation. He was relatively new to the Underground, young, full of himself and hadn't left Sam alone since he'd gotten here. He wasn't all that bad looking, but she wouldn't dare give him the satisfaction of falling to what he thought of as 'charm'. The more she refused, the more he seemed to hound her, to the point of ignoring all inappropriateness of social protocol. Evidently, it had gotten bad enough that he didn't realize the gravity of the current situation but she was not in the mood to parley. "Oh, you know it." Sam said dryly, as she approached him. "I'm dying to see some of your wetworks, baby. Phin's smile dropped for a second, but then came back confidently as he moved to close the remaining distance between them. "Your place or mine?" "Let's just see how the spark builds from here..." she said, slowly grabbing his hand and inching his finger to her partially open lips. The discharge happened just as his skin met her lips and he flew back rebounding off the wall and collapsing to the floor into a twitching heap. Sam turned back to Frostbite, who was now some distance away and smiling, "What, you afraid or something?" "At the risk of sounding cheesy, I hope there's never any electricity between us, no offense." "None taken. But you know what," Sam said, rubbing her neck, "he was right about it getting rid of the kink in my neck. Call me when ya get anything, I'm gonna help Mouse." "Sure." The twitching heap started to unfold with mild groaning as she walked away, "...burns so good...never gonna wash that finger again." ~>.<~Sam had just sat down and was rattling off a message to Mouse when her door opened and he ran in, nearly shoving her aside as he took control of the console without a word. "W. T. F. Man!" She said. Mouse was gasping for breath, having the physical prowess of someone who stalked RSS feeds all day, and couldn't talk. He finished punching at the keyboard and pointed, putting his hands on his hips and turning away a bit as he tried regulate his respirations. Sam looked at what he pulled up, ready to let off another biting remark about personal space when she realized what she was looking at. The angle was terrible, but there was no mistaking it. There was Tick Tock getting on the elevator that went to the Club level suites at the MGM. 'I'm Sorry' the note had said. "Yes. You will be."
  11. Initiatives: (from highest to lowest) Travis 26 Grav 25 Click to reveal.. Initiative http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2957150/ (25) Blackhammer #1 20 Click to reveal.. (Fight in Cat on a Wire) Roll: 18 +2 Modifier = +20Felicienne 17 Felicity 15 Click to reveal.. (Initiative) Roll: 13 +2 Modifier = +15Modifiers Travis -2 Perception is dazed until next turn and Injured -1 Felicienne is dazed until next turn and Injured -1 and spent 1xLuck Blackhammer #1 is Injured -3 Current Combat Turn 3
  12. June 15, 2010 "Ah, I hate this." His voice filled his Mumbai apartment with unwelcome sound, shattering even more of his composure. Grumbling under his breath, he rose, stalked to his fridge and grabbed a beer. For Tyler, starting was the hardest part. Some people just dropped right into the operation without hesitation; he always hated the fretting and the worrying - the struggle to get it right. Building rapport was one of the things he was built for, but he still didn't enjoy it. He was befriending people to betray them. Tyler dropped back into his seat, his hazel eyes staring at his computer screen. He took a gulp of beer and ran his hand through his hair, glaring at his empty email, waiting to be composed. The cursor blinked at him like the world's thinnest middle finger, flashing before his eyes again and again. "Damnit." He sat up straight and made himself enter the email address. Fill in the subject line. Move the cursor into the text box. Celeste had it easy. She did what he did, but she always kept a part of herself back. Or maybe that was because she'd been doing this for fifteen years. As the oldest of the Et-als, she'd probably done this dozen of times. He had yet to bring a case to fruition. His first attempts to get in with a group had ended when the entire group had been killed by a third party. Three years of being on the back burner while Ronnie had run around with Travis had set him back again and there was the fact that these people didn't just trust anyone. Just getting this email, clearly a use-and-trash one, had taken a while. "C'mon, just type something." His English teacher had told him that once. Except he hadn't said that to Tyler; he'd never had an English teacher. "C'mon, little wooden boy," he muttered, "dance!" His pep talk helped a little and he started to pick out letters. Quote:To: 1558433512488@gmail.comFrom: pin1200@yahoo.com Subject: contract A friend of mine has told me that a friend of yours recommends you for computer work. Since you're using what feels like a disposible email account, I'm assuming that I'll have to undergo some kind of inspection, test or maybe even a hazing. Just be gentle. I scar easily. Thirty minutes later, he made a final edit and sat back to read it again. Rotating his neck, he sighed, drained his beer and hit send. Now, it was the waiting game.
  13. Ronnie had always needed less sleep than most people. It was a function, she’d been told, of her body’s unique shifts. They still weren’t sure why it worked that way, but it had been something that May could do as well. It was something, like their resistance to poison, that linked the Et als to one another. So she was the first to wake up. She wasn’t alone. Ronnie stiffened as she became aware of the foot resting against her calf – a masculine foot, given the roughness of the hair she felt. Her hand balled up in a fist as she twisted, prepared to pummel whoever had dared to sneak into her bed. Her pummeling fist hung in midair when she saw her partner sleeping next to her. Even in the dark of the room, she knew that face. Travis was as perfect in sleep-tousled repose as Ronnie had always imagined he look. The urge to touch him was unavoidable; her fingers brushed over his jaw, feeling the scratch of his overnight growth of whiskers. Ronnie pulled her fingers back as he murmured sleepily at her touch. So he was real. Nervously, she fell still and silent, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. When he seemed to drop into sleep again, she relaxed. That was good. It gave her time to sneak out of bed- She stopped with a foot on the floor, staring at her toenails. They were painted. They were painted a soft pink color. Ronnie blinked, wondering what the hell was going on. She never painted her nails, and if she wanted to, she’d never pick a color like that. It was… girly. She turned her head, making the things in her hair bounce. Ronnie felt at one of the round things; it felt like a roller. “What the fuck?” she said, rising from the bed. She immediately winced and looked at Travis. He stirred again, but she didn’t stick around to see if he’d wake up. She headed for a door and exited into the hallway. The bathroom was directly across from the bedroom and she closed the door softly before turning on the light. The room was decorated in an older fashion, but Ronnie didn’t notice the décor. She was interested in the mirror. Her reflection drew a horrified gasp out of her. Someone had put rollers in her hair. With shaking fingers, she yanked them free, jerking on her hair since she wasn’t sure how to remove them. Even with them out, even after she’d raked her fingers through them, her hair stayed in curls. That wasn’t the worst indignity. Someone had dressed her in a white, lacy nightgown that fell to her ankles. It left her arms bare and had ruffles down the center. “Someone must die,” Ronnie snarled before turning off the light and opening the door. She snuck back into the bedroom and rifled through the closet, finding a man’s dress shirt and pants. She pulled them on without removing the nightgown, as skilled as most women in the art of changing clothes without getting naked. As soon as she was decent, she snapped on the light and barked, “Travis, get up, we’re in-” She started to say ‘trouble’ but the word died in her throat when she saw the room. It looked like her grandmother’s bedroom, had she ever had a grandmother. It was all as old-fashioned as the bathroom had been, with decorations that were the height of style fifty or more years ago. An honest-to-god vanity was in one corner, while the bed skirt had enough ruffles to suffocate a child. “… Hell.”
  14. Juno didn't care for animals much. Some were cute, but most were smelly, drippy, mean-tempered bags of dirty hair and covered with a wide selection of disgusting bugs. She was reminded of this fact frequently these days. Ever since she'd taken a summer job at the Las Vegas Zoo, in fact. Las Vegas was not known for its zoo. Most tourists, and no small number of residents, were never even aware there was one. Consequently, it wasn't very large, nor was it filled with amenities. It subsisted almost entirely on school and church youth group field trips, and the occasional family outing. Despite this relative lack of income, they did hire over the summer because it was hard to find people willing to shovel hay and feed...and the biological results of the same...in hundred degree temperatures for more than a week or two. In that regard, Juno was a favorite. She worked all summer, from the moment she biked there from school to the closing bell. And while she didn't particularly LIKE the animals, she was also completely and utterly unafraid of them. Which was why she found herself in the Great Cat exhibit with a stiff wire brush on a long wooden pole, trying to fish an accumulation of...papery stuff or something that had clogged the drain of one of the watering pools. A pair of lions lying on their sides under a tree's shade watched her with vague curiosity that might have led to an investigative foray had it not been 103 degrees that afternoon. Juno was wearing a 'zooniform,' which was basically a loose light tan shirt with zoo emblems on it and khaki shorts. Even though the shirt was short sleeved, she rolled them up to her shoulders. After an hour or two she rolled up the hem a few inches as well so she could get some wind over her belly. The customary wide-brimmed hat she let dangle down her back with its lanyard around her neck. She wasn't concerned about heat stroke or sunburn and she liked the feel of the breeze through her short, sweat-soaked hair. After a quick look around, Juno noticed no one at the exhibit but her for the moment. This wasn't unusual for mid-day in mid-summer. Unlike the animals, human beings had the option of sitting somewhere with air conditioning. She concentrated, and her arms shivered unnaturally, the muscles visibly swelling under her tanned skin. In seconds her arms looked like she'd been a professional bodybuilder for years. She jammed the brush deeply into the mess under the water and twisted it with the strength she'd lacked a moment before. Finally, FINALLY the obstruction moved! Fifteen minutes later she had it all out. It was unsightly, but she thought it was probably a combination of some kid's backpack...thrown over by some angry underachiever, or by bullies perhaps...as well as the books that had been within it, and some natural sediment and grit that had been slowly building up down there. The paper and the mud had made something almost like mortar when they mixed together underwater, making the whole mass very hard to move. Juno let her arms relax back to their normal girth and started sweeping the gunk over towards the fence. That done she stood the long-handled brush up against the fence and leaned on it herself, pressing her hands and face up against it, heedless of the little diamonds bring pressed into her skin. "There's gotta be a better way to get money," she sighed.
  15. March 13, 2000 St. Louis Mission of Mercy was a homeless shelter for runaway teens, especially mutants. That last had become more important in the last three months as paranoia about the mutants had spread. The mission was almost full for tonight with nearly all their beds occupied. Jose knew from long experience that they’d be full in probably twenty minutes; then they’d begin the hard process of calling other shelters to see if they had room. It was hard because usually the answer was no. Jose was happy to help the kids that they could, but lately there’d been so many to help. The upsurge in anti-mutant sentiment was hitting all over and people were starting to get nasty. Someone had tried to throw a rock through their front window last night, not realizing that they had wire gridding over the glass for that reason. Jose foresaw it getting worse. With a heavy sigh, the older black man turned back to fixing the clasp on the parking lot’s fence; soon he wouldn’t have the light to make the repair by if he didn’t hurry. So many things to repair; so little time or money. A car pulled up in front of the building. Jose peered at it cautiously, ready to memorize details if they tried to throw something. But the door opened and an older man got out. He walked to the back and opened up the trunk. Jose’s stomach dropped a little as the man threw out two bags, tossing them to land near the door. His stomach clenched as the man opened the passenger door and hauled a teen girl out. She was already crying, calling him Daddy and begging with him. “Damn,” Jose said wearily as he put down his tools and walked over. “Daddy, please! I don’t do it anymore, I promise!” she wept, nearly hysterical as her father planted her on the sidewalk. He didn’t answer, just walked around to his side of the car. She followed like a puppy, only she understood she was being left behind. The man got into his car; Jose arrived just in time to pull the girl back before her feet got run over. She half-collapsed against him, weeping. “Come on, sweetie,” he said softly, steering her to the front door, “let’s get you inside.” He paused to collect her bags on the way into the building. Inside, it was the familiar steps: admission, find her a bed, find her a locker. She could barely talk; getting her vital statistics was a trial. Still, Jose felt only sympathy for the abandoned child. Finally, he led her to the exam room. It was standard for everyone to get checked by the medical staff the first time they were admitted; usually that was a nurse but lately they’d had a traveling doctor available. Jose put her in a chair in the hallway and tapped on the door. “Doc? We’ve got a new patient. Can you see her?”
  16. Hi, guys. I'm starting this thread to ask us to give Joani a bit of help. The idea is that creating the society and culture of a world like FI takes effort. When you have mutants being public for the last sixty years, things are fundamentally changed, especially socially. I'd like this to be a collaborative effort to build Our World. So what kind of changes do we see? The people that modify their body (such as giving themselves 'horns') - do they still do this? Or with the anti-mutant sentiment are alterations such as this and colored hair and contacts more a statement of support for mutants? What about movies? Music? What industries have sprung up, catering to mutants or to anti-mutant movements? Terrorist groups? I think we could have a lot of fun working all of this out, with Joani getting to override whatever isn't going to work. If you're interested, please start posting ideas below.
  17. Raven LaCroix - PL 13 Strength 1, Stamina 2, Agility 2, Dexterity 2, Fighting 5, Intellect 5, Awareness 8, Presence 5 Advantages Attractive 2, Benefit, Cipher, Benefit, Wealth 2 (indepently wealthy), Connected, Daze (Deception), Diehard, Fascinate (Persuasion), Favored Environment: Astral Plane, Languages 4, Second Chance: Choose Hazard, Speed of Thought, Taunt, Trance, Well-informed Skills Athletics 8 (+9), Close Combat: Unarmed 2 (+7), Deception 8 (+13), Expertise: Psychoanalysis 3 (+8), Expertise: UNISON 3 (+8), Insight 3 (+11), Intimidation 5 (+10), Perception 5 (+13), Technology 3 (+8), Treatment 3 (+8), Vehicles 2 (+4) Powers Body in Flux: Regeneration 5 (Every 2 rounds) Hard Body: Immunity 4 (Aging, Disease, Poison, Sleep) Mental Shield: Enhanced Trait 4 (Traits: Will +4 (+12); Limited: Mental Effects only) Psionic Powers . . Astral Form: Remote Sensing 13 (Affects: 2 Types, inc. Visual - Mental, Auditory, Range: 30 miles; Subtle: DC 20+rank, Dimensional: dimension - Astral Plane, Subtle: subtle; Limited: Physical Body is defenseless, Side Effect 2: always - Virus [7 ranks only]) . . Mental Blast: Damage 11 (DC 26; Increased Range 2: perception, Alternate Resistance: Will; Side Effect 2: always - Virus) . . Mental Illusions: Illusion 8 (Affects: All Sense Types, Area: 250 cft., DC 18; Resistible: Will, Side Effect 2: always - Virus [4 ranks only]) . . Mind Control: Concentration Cumulative Affliction 11 (1st degree: Dazed, 2nd degree: Compelled, 3rd degree: Controlled, Resisted by: Will, DC 21; Cumulative, Concentration, Increased Range 2: perception; Side Effect 2: always - Virus [6 ranks only]) . . Psychic Concealment: Concealment 2 (Other Sense Type: Mental Effects, DC 12; Affects Others, Increased Range 2: perception; Side Effect 2: always - Virus, Resistible: Will) . . Psychic Nullification: Nullify 11 (Counters: Mental Effects, DC 21; Increased Range: perception, Simultaneous, Effortless; Side Effect 2: always - Virus [6 ranks only]) . . Psychic Surgery: Healing 10 (Persistent, Restorative, Increased Range 2: perception; Limited: Others only, Side Effect 2: always - Virus [5 ranks only]) . . Telepathy: Mental Communication 3 (Sense Type: Mental; Subtle: encrypted) . . Telepathy: Mind Reading 13 (DC 23; Side Effect 2: always - Virus [7 ranks only]) Turncoat: Morph 3 (+20 Deception checks to disguise; Broad group; Metamorph 5; Limited: Plot Secret) Offense Initiative +5 Grab, +5 (DC Spec 11) Mental Blast: Damage 11 (DC Will 26) Mind Control: Concentration Cumulative Affliction 11 (DC Will 21) Psychic Nullification: Nullify 11 (DC Will 21) Telepathy: Mind Reading 13 (DC Will 23) Throw, +2 (DC 16) Unarmed, +7 (DC 16) Complications Responsibility Secret Languages Arabic, English, French, German, Russian, Spanish Defense Dodge 8, Parry 9, Fortitude 6, Toughness 2, Will 12/8 Power Points Abilities 60 + Powers 79 + Advantages 19 + Skills 23 (45 ranks) + Defenses 14 = 195 Created With Hero Lab® - try it for free at http://www.wolflair.com!
  18. Click to reveal.. This is directly taken from SalmonMax's fiction Hanging by a hair "Today marks a new sad end of an era as the last member of the famous New-York self proclaimed vigilante-group known as “The Supremacy” died..." "Hey guys, knock it off for a second, I wanna hear this." Habeeb and Feelies looked around from the old pinball machine they were trying to bang back into shape. Spread out over a good half of a previously abandoned sofa they'd reclaimed was Juno. Habeeb, who's real name was Rashid Hadim, shrugged at Marcus 'Feelies' Polk and put his screwdriver down. The two boys, both fifteen, turned from their interrupted work and watched their boss watch the news report. Juno wasn't some street nickname. It was on her birth certificate and everything. She was the daughter of Hector Reyes, and was visibly Hispanic despite her mixed heritage. Her mom had been white as Wonder bread. Juno was good looking...but it was hard to say 'pretty.' Pretty was too effeminate, somehow. Even at seventeen she was beautiful, even gorgeous at her best, but never seemed particularly girly. Her physique was best described as 'sleek,' perhaps...muscles under just enough fat to give her some curves and not much to spare. She dressed casually, as often as not in a t-shirt or even tank top, jeans and either flipflops or steel-toed boots, depending on if she was looking for trouble that day. And yeah, sometimes the jeans were tight or low riding...and sometimes the tank top was a bit tight, but no one put the moves on Juno. There was a distance between her and the others. A difference. No one talked about it, but it was always there. So when the news talked about a famous mutant dying of the 'Mutant Virus,' the other two kids in the room were quiet and uncomfortable as if Juno had been watching the wake of her grandmother. When Six came sauntering in and gave Habeeb and Feelies a glare, the two quickly found other places to be. Six was the second in command of their little gang...though in truth, the 48th St Regulars were more like an anti-gang. Juno'd assembled them and led them to do what the cops were unable or unwilling to do; keep order in this little 2 block neighborhood deep in the low-rent slums of Las Vegas. "Hey boss," was Six's greeting. He didn't sit down though. Always on the move, Six. "Check this out," Juno replied without looking away from the fuzzy image of the newscast on the thirdhand (at best) 14" TV screen. Broadcast, no less. Even getting power to this address had been a pain. Cable would be ridiculous. "That guy from the superhero team died." Six shrugged. "Sucks. You know him?" Now Juno glanced over at him. Her eyes were dark brown, nearly black, deep and mysterious. Her expression was unreadable, but she leaned over and turned the TV off. "No," was her answer. "What's up?" Now Six sat down. He was a black kid, sixteen, tall and slim and wiry; built for speed. His hair was an unruly shock of curls teased out into something that was probably supposed to be dreadlocks, but didn't quite make it. He wore a baggy knit cap most of the time. He had long fingers, pianist hands, and was crazily good with his hands. "So what's the deal with the new kids?" he asked without preamble. Juno turned to lean back against the sofa's armrest and half shifted her legs up onto the couch. From that position she could watch Six easily, and did so with a cagey smile. "New kids? You mean Adrian and Becca? They're older than me, man." Six shrugged, not wanting to split hairs. "Whatever. How long's he staying?" "Why? He's working for his..." "I know! I just..." Six scowled when Juno spread her arms in a shrug. "Me and some of the guys...we just think he's trouble." Now Juno frowned. "Why? Has he done anything? Said anything?" "No! But come on...some guy and a girl, all by themselves out in this part of town, moving around? You ask me, he's on the run. And as long as he's here, he's bringing whatever that is down on us." Juno looked back at the TV for a moment. The thought had occurred to her too, but... "Look...I'm not saying there's no risk, but...alright, look at it this way. How long's it been since we sent the Westsiders packing? Six months? Seven?" Six shrugged. "Yeah, something like that." "Let me tell you something about them. They've got something like two hundred people, and control pretty much everything from Fiftieth Street on down to the power plant. They've got cars...guns...and people. The only reason we're pulling this off is because they've also got the warehouses, and the Brotherhood wants them...so there's a war going on and they can't spare anyone to come get us when they stand to lose turf they actually care about. All right? With me?" Six nodded, a touch sullenly. He liked to think the eviction of the Westsiders from the neighborhood had been a real David and Goliath thing. But he was too smart to really believe it. "We've got maybe a year or two," Juno pressed, "before that war is over. And whoever wins it...either one...is going to take a few months to lick their wounds and finish the other one off...and then they will come for us." She tapped the seam on the inside of her thigh. "We have to be ready. And part of getting ready is getting more people." Six got back up, off the couch, full of nervous energy. "Yeah, okay, but what if he's from the MIC? What if he's got the bug and gives it..." He caught himself and looked around before finishing more quietly, "gives it to you." Juno hesitated, and he rushed into the gap by pointing at the TV and asking, "You want to wind up like captain superhero on the news there?" "If he's from the MIC," Juno said quietly, "Then he's exactly the kind we need. Bug or no bug." "But..." "I've already GOT it," she flared abruptly. "Okay? I don't have it bad yet, but...sometimes after I change, I feel...bad. It clears up. Most of the time I'm fine. And it doesn't even happen every time." Six took a startled step back from Juno at that news. He even swayed for a second. It was like hearing she had AIDS. Or seeing her with a noose around her neck. "H...how long?" he whispered. Juno was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," she finally said. "If I ask anyone official, they'll wonder why I'm asking...dad goes to jail for not registering me, and you can visit me at the Mutant Internment Center whenever you want." "Shit, Juno." "I know. So you see...we've gotta start getting more people, more shit...getting you guys ready to fight. Even if it's without me." Six swallowed, but his throat was dry. Realizing how hard he'd been hit, Juno gave him a smile and got to her feet to deliver a hug. "Relax man. It's not bad. You'll have to deal with me for awhile yet, okay?" His return hug was fierce, but brief. Once he disengaged he skipped back a step and asked, "So we're recruiting this Adrian guy?" Juno shrugged. "We'll give him a place to rest and get food and water for him and his sister...a place to protect...and see what he does. In fact...where is he?" Six shook his head. "Think he was outside." "That narrows it down," Juno replies sarcastically, but with a smile. "Thanks." Her lieutenant gave her a little bow. "Live to serve." Juno brushed past him, intentionally bumping against his shoulder as she passed and muttering, good naturedly, "Asshole." Six watched her go, grinning. The grin faded when he looked back at the TV and heard again in his head what he'd heard before Juno had turned it off... Humanity has lost its last ‘true’ hero in a fight that seems to be futile. To this day science has failed to find anything that could stop the disease from spreading and eventually killing anyone with the mutant-gene. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Juno stared at the TV for a moment before she decided to switch it off but somehow she missed the button on the remote and instead she just changed the channel. Another Report was showing footage from the local MIC and it immediately caught her attention. The Police has come in great numbers and obviously with reinforcements called in from neighbouring counties. A sizeable number of Mutants were pitted in what seemed to be a prelude to a riot against the Police forces. Big trucks with Waterguns were pushing away the masses while Policemen armed with Tonfas and Shields trying to bottleneck the Mutants into the MIC. A Helicopter was circling above the area and Juno could recognise the telltale signs of an impeding breakout. The masses were on the verge of turning into a stampeding Riot and since they weren’t far away from the MIC things could get really nasty in the neighborhood. Juno glanced outside evaluating her options. They could watch the news and hope that things wouldn’t get from bad to worse or she could do something about it...
  19. The holidays always meant work for most teachers but today Annalise decided to continue her papers after the holidays and take a nice warm bath. It had been weeks when she had the time to really relax and recharge her batteries. The bath was already steaming and smelling good from the fragrance she added to the water when she heard the doorbell. For a short moment she waged if she should answer the door or simply ignore it. Sighing she tightened the knot of her bathrobe and went to the door, opening it just slightly. “Excuse me, you are Ms. Gravinsky?”, a tall man with short blonde hair in a military flat cut wearing a standard Policemen uniform was holding his badge up. It read Captain Mark Ward, behind him she could see at least 4 other Policemen, all wearing helmets and fullbody armors. They seemed pretty edgy to her. Annalise just nodded at Capt. Ward but didn’t open the door. “What is going on?”, she asked hoping the officer would realize she wasn’t really able to have a conversation right now. “We are looking for two young kids, a boy and a girl.”, he reached for his breast pocket and produced a photograph of a young boy and a girl. Both looked ragged almost like homeless kids. “Have you seen or heard of them?”, even though Capt. Ward was smiling politely there was an uneasy edge to the entire situation. The armored policemen behind her were waiting impatiently, almost as if they were ready to charge in any moment. “I’m sorry, Captain… Ward?”, Annalise tried to ease the tension by modulating her voice hoping it had some effect on the man. Shaking her head she added, “I’ve never seen them, may I ask why you are looking for them? They’re not one of my students.” “Aha”, nodded the Captain looking back at his men. “I’m sorry Ms. Gravinsky, based on federal law art 215 I have to ask you to open the door and let us look for ourselves.”, he let his hand slide down to his sidearm and unhooked the security pin on his holster.
  20. Las Vegas, May 12, 2006 Travis was having a great evening. He wasn't having sex. That the former was achieved without the later meant only one thing: gambling. "Gimme three hundred yo!" Travis called, tossing a handful of chips out to the croupier. He didn't have the dice, but that didn't matter, he had all the power to change the odds with just a thought. The rest of the table was a flurry of activity, bets being placed, winnings and losses being shuffled about from the last roll. A handful of people who'd been at the table as long as Travis hastily grabbed chips and called "yo" as well; his streak at the table was impressive this afternoon on the yo bet. Yo-leven, a single roll bet that the dice would come up on eleven, paid fifteen to one, and was a good way to earn a quick buck or negate losses when he wasn't cheating. This afternoon at the Monte Carlo he was cheating. Just a little, his winnings today were only going to come out at around five percent of his stake, but fiver percent of ten large was still five hundred dollars. Five hundred bucks for a few hours of free drinks (watered down though they were), and perhaps as importantly, the comps. Casinos gave comps out to their players, the more you bet, the more you were comped, in Travis' case he had memberships at every casino in Vegas worth playing at (and some not worth playing at) and the comps he earned kept him in fine Vegas cuisine on a daily basis. His modest winnings paid the bills and then some, and the rest was invested. That is how Travis Kincaid turned a not so terrible secret agent's salary into a sizable nest egg and all the petty cash he wanted to spend on himself or his girl of the minute. As far as Travis was concerned life was good. The shooter tossed the dice, and with a subtle twist of will Travis ensured it came up eleven. "Yo! Eleven!" the croupier called and Travis watched in glee as 4500 dollars in chips was pushed his way. He pulled it behind the come line and was about to lay some of the stupid bets, the "sucker bets", just for giggles on a genuine roll, when his phone started to ring in his pocket. "Damn." He stepped back from the table and pulled the phone out as it played "Secret Agent Man" from the old "Danger Man" TV show. He smiled and laughed a little to himself, the song was all too appropriate, and he knew Dresdener would have a cardiac if he was aware that his calls rang up to that tune. "Go for TK. Dressy my man, what is up?" "Hilarious Kincaid, get your ass to the Taiwan field office ASAP. We have a situation." Dresdener was his usual businesslike and humorless self." "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sure, I can do that. Lucky for you it's tomorrow there and not my day off." Travis hung up as the German swore at him and turned back to the table to see all his bets gone; the shooter had rolled seven and out, and lost the table for everybody. Travis shrugged, at least cashing out would be easy. He pulled his chips from the table and walked to the cashier. "Taiwan?" he said to nobody, "Guess I'll need to take a 'charter' flight."
  21. December 17, 2010, Ronnie’s apartment, Las Vegas Ronnie walked into her apartment. She closed the door, the click loud in the room. For a long moment, she wasn’t sure what to do. Nothing was different in here; the place was just as she’d left it. Her apartment was still the same neutral-toned room as before. Her pool table even had the same balls on it, the leftovers of the last game. But the silence was oppressive and the room pushed in on her. Ronnie walked into her dining area, dropping her keys on the table. The bottle of Midleton Very Rare, an Irish whiskey so pretentious it told you why it cost $110 in the name, vibrated as the keys bounced off it. Ronnie stared at the bottle before her eyes slid to the gift bag and tissue paper behind it. Travis’s Christmas gift. As predictable as he was. He was dead. Something slipped through her lips; maybe a sob, maybe the start of a wail. Whatever it was, Ronnie clamped down on it. “I’m not doing this,” she growled. Her plane left for Goa tomorrow. Thanks to India’s tolerant attitude toward mutants, the Goa beaches were the place for mutants to go on vacation. Tyler had a secret beach house down there, but Ronnie wasn’t going there. She was getting a vacation on UNISON’s dime. Or maybe just on Raven’s. Her handler hadn’t been clear on that. The only thing she had been clear on was that Ronnie didn’t have a choice. Mandatory vacation. What a joke. I was supposed to be getting laid. She was supposed to be telling Travis right now, “Sure, come on vacation with me. I’ll wear a bikini.” And when he made a lewd comment, she was going to look him in the eye and say, “Sure. Let’s do it.” And then she’d find out if his claims and boasts over the years had been real or bullshit. Ronnie snarled and shook away the daydream. “Fuck this!” she snapped and marched over to the table. Before she could rethink her plan, she snatched up the bottle and ripped the seal way. The cap came off with a few twists and Ronnie put the 750 ml of golden liquid to her lips. Three strong gulps lowered the milliliters appreciably and Ronnie stopped before she choked. Normally she could have chugged this without effort, but her throat was raw and tight. The alcohol was burning into her gut as she wandered over to her pool table. The balls were where they’d left them, after their last game. Ronnie leaned against the table, staring at the solids that Travis had left on the felt. Suddenly, she was angry. “God damnit, why did you tell me to go! We were partners! We should have both gotten out!” She picked up the 6 and threw it, watching it disappear into the wall and rattle back and forth between the studs. Ronnie threw a few more balls, not caring about the mess she was making. It felt good to destroy something, even if it was her apartment. An hour later, her couches were turned over, her bed pulled apart and her countertops had been cleaned with sweeps of her arm. Only her pool table, her beautiful slate pool table, was left unmolested. She was out of Midleton but that didn’t matter, because it had done the job. Ronnie was leaning against her twisted couch, her face buried in her arms, weeping like a baby.
  22. St. Tropez, France, Marc Murdoc’s private summer house December 15, 1999 Eyes turned as she entered. They couldn’t help themselves. When Celeste Prideaux walked into a room, intent on seduction, people stared. It was like flowers to the sun; man and women looked at her. The svelte French-Italian beauty paused in the doorway, allowing the room to study her even as she studied them. Her dress was a deep green that showed her dusky, flawless skin to perfection and hugged her curves fervently. An emerald scarf wrapped around her neck and draped down her back adding a bit of airy lightness to the garment. Her raven hair was allowed to hang long and straight, moving around her shoulders like a curtain. Her legs, smoothed by May’s metamorph gifts, needed no hose. Gray eyes, accented only lightly by makeup, studied each person in turn. She was looking for someone in particular, but didn’t allow her expression to betray that when she saw them. Pleased, Celeste entered the room, moving through the crowds. Unconsciously, they made way for her. It was due to her mutant force of presence, to a degree, but the rest was simply her aura of being untouchable and unavailable. Men who would normally approach the prettiest woman in the room found themselves hesitating, sensing that she was out of their league. Even Marc Murdoc had a momentary pause when the sea of his friends parted to allow him his first vision of Celeste. Fortunately for him, she was walking right toward him. As she approached, a slight smile on her face, she reviewed the facts. Marc Sullivan Murdoc, sixty-three. Five-eight, one hundred forty pounds with a face that had seen too much sun, though his piercing features held a certain attractiveness. Citizenship: United States, though his father was a Scottish immigrant. He still had all of his white hair and carried himself with vigor, which some claimed was due to pharmaceuticals. He was ridiculously wealthy and the inventor of some of the world’s most cutting edge weapons technology. Owner of Murdoc Industries, the engine which created his weapons. Asshole and douchebag were the most common phrases used to describe him; whore and letch were the favored terms his three ex-wives used. Celeste’s eyes flicked to his side, where his fourth wife was talking with one of his friends. Even in profile, Skye Duchesne-Murdoc was beautiful, and Celeste found her eyes lingering on the woman. She was only a couple of inches shorter than Murdoc, with thick, wavy brown hair and deep, dark eyes. Her body was attractive, but not in the overblown way that Murdoc’s three previous wives had sported. Her face was her most charming feature; her smile and features implied a youthful playfulness that Celeste found appealing. The girl was twenty-three, a brilliant physicist and the first wife of Murdoc’s to have any intelligence at all. If rumors were to be believed, she had played more than a significant part in the development of Murdoc’s latest targeting system. Attempting to focus, Celeste pulled her eyes away from the enchanting woman, bringing her gaze back to Murdoc. He’d regained his confidence by her approach and was now waiting for her, his eyes playing over her form. Celeste was a little older than he liked his women, but she was confident that her beauty would make up for that. “Mr. Murdoc,” she murmured, her husky voice thick with both her French and Italian heritage, “I wanted to introduce myself to you.” ,,Her sources had told her that he liked bold women. Celeste certainly hoped so.
  23. In it’s first incarnation I had a house rule for XP-Rewards especially concerning Fics. Back then the major `issue´ was that some players simply didn’t have the time to write lots of Fics which would put them at a disadvantage to those who had both more time and more creativity at their disposal. Since I’d like to keep the PCs at a roughly similar powerlevel I was faced with the problem of dealing with this. On the one hand I wanted to reward those, who put time and effort to flesh out the world and their PCs, on the other hand I didn’t want to ´punish´ those who didn’t. The middleroad was the creation of XP-Caps which still gave those who wrote loads of fics an advantage while not ´gimping´ those who didn’t. I’m looking for a simliar solution with M&M and came up with the following house-rule. I will reward Fics with PowerPoints and maybe occasionally a HeroPoint (or a combination of both), Maximum will be 3 PPs (although I expect most Fics to reward 1 PP) and 1 HP. Now comes the new Cap-Rule for Powerpoints rewards. I have a general rough sketched plan of how Characterprogress should develop. The PCs should be at X PP and Y PL at a certain point in the progression of the story, just to keep things challenging and rewarding. In order to maintain that rough range There’ll be a PP Cap to make sure that no one gets ahead too far or falls back too far. I define a hard Cap depending on the Progress of the story. Currently the Hard Cap is simply the current Maximum PPs (150) + 20. Normally the PP Max would be 120 PP (PL 8 = 120 PP) but you all got more PPs for character creation, even those who joined at a later point (I think only Jaunt and Felicienne atm). Normally 150 PP would be PL 10 This means the highest PP maximum as of now is 170 PP. The only exception to this rule are Jameson (Travis) and Asarasa (Felicienne) whose cap is 3 PP higher (173) – this is a special reward for their extensive help in explaining rules especially during Character Creation/Conversion from Aberrant to M&M 3e. I will update this Thread as the story progresses and the PP rewards rise but as general rule you can assume a roughly +20 PP range between those who write tons of fics and those who doesn’t.
  24. There are parts of Las Vegas that no one really ever gets to see. Parts that even mutants who were trying to hide avoided. Simon and Savannah didn't really know about that, they were just seeking shelter and some time to gather some food and then see how to move on. So far Las Vegas has been kind to them. The local homeless shelter served warm food every tuesday and friday and had warm blankets and even some shoes for those in demand. The two young mutants had found an old abandoned warehouse where they already managed to make themselves comfortable. It looked like this years Christmas would be a merry one for a change. Simon was about to fetch something downstairs, a present he had ceremoniously planned to get for his sister. It was tough thinking something up without letting her know. They shared almost every thought, knew what they dreamt and feared. For most of the time they were like one. Simon's plan seemed to be adding up though and as far as he knew his sister had no idea. When Berta, the local "good spirit" showed up with a package he kindly asked her to stow it somewhere on the main floor of the warehouse without him knowing where. He wanted his surprise to be perfect. Berta was about to leave when she reached out for Simon's hand. "I know about you two, I know you're mutants but don't worry. There were some men asking for a boy and a girl just a day ago. Creepy men, you know. They were dressed like hudlums but no one had seen them before. I thought you might want to know... I didn't tell them anything but... but I don't know how might have.", she gave him an apolegetic smile before she left the warehouse.
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